Chasing Ghosts at Sunset

The orange sunset bled across the track as I laced up my worn-out Nikes, trying to ignore the jitters doing jumping jacks in my stomach. Freshman year at North Valley High, and somehow I'd made varsity cross-country. Everyone said it was 'cause I'd been running since middle school, but honestly? I just wanted somewhere to disappear.

The social pyramid at this school was brutal—jocks and popular kids at the top, everyone else scrambling for the scraps below. Coach Jensen kept comparing our team lineup to a pyramid, with seniors at the peak and freshmen building the base. Original? Not really. But when you're 14 and trying to figure out where you fit, you'll listen to anyone who sounds like they know what they're talking about.

"Hey, new kid," a voice called out. I turned to see Tyler, aka "The Bull"—senior captain, three-time state champion, and the kind of intense that made you question your entire life choices. He'd earned the nickname after he'd literally charged through a rival team's banner at regionals last year. "You nervous about tomorrow?"

"Nah," I lied, like an idiot. My voice cracked halfway through the word.

Tyler grinned, all teeth and zero mercy. "Good. 'Cause Jackson Academy's been talking mad trash about how they're gonna crush us at sectionals. Apparently they've got some transfer student who's been running sub-15 minute 5Ks." He tossed me an orange slice from his bag. "Eat. You look like you might pass out."

I caught it automatically. "Thanks, but honestly, I'm just trying not to finish last."

"Last place is still a place," he said, surprisingly serious. "Besides, nobody remembers who came in twentieth. They remember who kept running when everything hurt, who helped their teammate across the finish line, who didn't quit when their legs were screaming and their lungs were burning and that little voice in their head was like, bro, just walk already." He paused. "So yeah. Don't finish last. But more importantly? Don't stop running."