Running on Empty

I'm so fried I can barely see straight. Five hours of sleep, zero coffee, and now 5:30 AM cross-country practice like my life depends on it. Coach Miller is screaming something about "digging deep" but I'm just a zombie at this point, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other while everyone else is actually athletic and motivated and awake.

The November air bites through my thermal, and I'm literally running on nothing but spite and the fear of failing Regionals again. My best friend Mia catches up to me, breathing way too evenly for someone who's been awake since 4:45 AM.

"You good?" she asks, which is code for "you look like actual garbage right now."

"Never been bette," I wheeze, because admitting weakness is basically social suicide. "Just vibing."

"Sure you are." Mia gives me this look like she knows something I don't. "Hey, did you finish that chem lab?"

"Last night." At 2 AM, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Cool, cool." She's being weird. Shifty. Like she's hiding something.

The suspicion hits me during third period when I catch her scrolling through my phone—which she'd totally borrowed from my backpack while I was in the bathroom. I'd left it unlocked like an idiot.

"Yo, what?" I demand, snatching it back.

"Just checking the time," she says, but her face is doing this nervous twitch thing.

I pretend to let it go, but the whole day I'm watching her. And by watching her, I mean being a complete paranoid wreck. Mia—my actual best friend since sixth grade, the person who literally saved my social life when I transferred—is acting like a total stranger.

The realization crashes during lunch when I catch her showing something to Jordan, this senior who's been lowkey obsessed with my running splits since freshman year. She's pointing at her phone, and Jordan's nodding like they're planning something.

They're BOTH staring at me when I look over.

"What's going on?" I confront them, ignoring that my voice is shaking a little. "Mia, why are you being weird? And Jordan—why are you always watching my practices?"

The whole table goes silent. This is it. The moment. They've been talking about me behind my back. Jordan's been spying on my times for the rival team. Mia's been feeding him information. My life is actually over.

"We're NOT being weird," Jordan starts, looking annoyed. "I'm trying to HELP you."

"By spying on me?"

"By scouting you for college recruiters," he says, and my brain actually short-circuits. "I've been sending your split times to my brother at State. He's the assistant coach there."

"And I was putting together your highlight reel," Mia adds, holding up her phone. "That's why I needed your phone. For the videos from your meet last week."

"Oh."

The table exhales. Someone snorts.

"You're so dramatic," Jordan says, but he's smiling. "State wants to see your Regionals times. If you PR, they'll offer you a walk-on spot."

I'm still processing when Mia slides her phone over. It's a video of me finishing last week's meet—grainy and shaky, but I look strong. Focused. Not like a zombie at all.

"You're not just running," she says quietly. "You're actually good."

The hallway bell rings, and everyone scatters, but for the first time all day, I'm actually awake.