Chasing Lightning

Marcus stood at the starting line, his orange singlet already soaked through with sweat. The bull—aka Coach Miller—had been yelling at them all week about regionals, and Marcus's stomach did somersaults every time he thought about it.

"You've got to want it," Coach bellowed, his face the color of a ripe tomato. "Some of you are just coasting on talent. That vitamin D supplement ain't gonna run the race for you, Johnson."

Marcus rolled his eyes. Coach had started that thing where he blamed everything on Marcus's "vitamin deficiency" after Marcus's mom mentioned he was taking supplements at parent-teacher night. Now it was Marcus's permanent nickname.

His best friend Jayden smirked from the next lane over. "Hey Vitamin, you gonna puke again?"

"Shut up," Marcus muttered, but his face burned.

Truth was, he had been puking after practice lately. Not from running—well, not just from running. It was everything. The pressure to keep his GPA up for college applications. The way his chest felt weird whenever Maya sat next to him in AP Bio. The fact that his dad had been working double shifts and Marcus barely saw him anymore.

The gun went off.

Marcus took off, his sneakers hitting the track in a rhythm that was almost meditative. For the first lap, he thought about nothing. Just breath, just motion, just the thud of his own heart.

Then it hit him—literally hit him. Not pain, but clarity, sharp and bright as lightning. He was running from everything. From his mom asking about colleges he couldn't afford. From Maya's smiles that made his brain short-circuit. From the future pressing down on his chest like a weight.

He was running because he didn't know how to stop.

Marcus slowed to a jog, then stopped. The other runners blurred past him. Coach Miller screamed something unintelligible.

But Marcus just stood there, bent over with his hands on his knees, finally admitting to himself that he was terrified. That he had no idea what he was doing with his life. That maybe that was okay.

Maya was waiting at the fence when he walked off the track. She held out a orange Gatorade.

"You looked like you were fighting ghosts out there," she said.

Marcus took the bottle, his fingers brushing hers. Something electric zipped through him, but this time he didn't look away.

"Maybe I was," he said. "But I think I'm done running."