Last Race Before Summer

The orange neon sign buzzed above the 7-Eleven, casting that weird glow on everything. Maya leaned against the wall, checking her phone for the fifteenth time. Coach's text still sat there: 'State qualifs tomorrow. Don't be late.'

Her best friend Dev materialized from the darkness, breathless. 'Dude, you won't believe what happened. My brother's goldfish—rest in peace, Gerald—literally jumped out of his bowl trying to escape his existential crisis. We're having a funeral at midnight if you want to come.'

Maya snorted, but her stomach did that nervous flip thing it always did before races. 'I can't. Coach is already on my case about my start times. If I don't place top three tomorrow, I'm off the relay team for regionals.'

Dev slung an arm around her shoulders. 'You're overthinking it again. Remember freshman year when you accidentally ran the wrong direction at homecoming? You still broke the school record.'

'That's different. Everyone was watching.'

'Maya.' Dev turned serious, palm suddenly sweaty against her bare arm. 'You've been running since we were twelve. You're literally the fastest person in our school. The only thing holding you back is your head.'

A group of seniors walked by, their laughter carrying that effortlessly cool energy that Maya always chased but never caught. She watched them disappear around the corner, orange slurpees in hand, living their best lives while she stood here spiraling about a race.

'So what if I choke?' she said quietly. 'What if everyone finds out I'm a fraud and I've just been getting lucky all these years?'

Dev looked at her like she'd grown a second head. 'First of all, that's literally the most absurd thing you've ever said. Second, even if you DNF—like, completely eat it—I'll still help you bury Gerald with the dignity he deserves. Deal?'

Maya laughed, actually laughed, for the first time all night. 'Deal.'

'Good. Now let's get you home. You've got a race to win tomorrow.'

The next morning, lining up in her lane, Maya spotted Dev in the stands, holding up a poorly drawn sign that said GERALD SAYS GO in orange marker. When the gun went off, she didn't think about technique or times or what anyone would say. She just ran.

She didn't win. But she PR'd by two seconds and made the relay team. And sometimes, that's the kind of victory that actually matters.