Running on Empty

I'd been running from my problems since seventh grade, but today they were literally chasing me down the hallway. Third period PE, and Coach Martinez decided that conditioning meant endless laps until someone puked. I was operating on two hours of sleep and a singular espresso, basically a zombie with a GPA to maintain.

"Pick it up, Torres!" Tyler yelled, cutting across the infield with that stubborn-as-a-bull expression he'd been perfecting since he made varsity. The guy was like a human wrecking ball of testosterone and track scholarships.

I flipped him off mid-stride, which was impressive given my lung capacity was currently nonexistent. The social dynamics of sophomore year were exhausting enough without Tyler reminding everyone that I'd barely made JV while he was busy being the school's golden child.

"O'Malley, your dog is loose again!" someone screamed.

The next thirty seconds were pure chaos. Mr. Henderson's elderly golden retriever, apparently having had enough of being tied to the bike rack, burst onto the track like he was training for the Olympics. Tyler, being Tyler, tried to tackle it. The dog sidestepped him with more agility than I'd managed all morning.

I was still running, but now with purpose. Bypassing Tyler (who was dignity-free on the ground), I chased Buster toward the parking lot, where he'd cornered something near the trophy display case.

"No, Buster, drop it!"

But he wasn't attacking anything. He was tail-waggingly fascinated by a plastic bag containing what looked like... a goldfish? A betta in a ziplock bag, abandoned on the pavement like someone's forgotten impulse buy.

"That's Sarah's," someone said behind me. "She was gonna release him into the creek after school."

I scooped up the bag, careful not to jostle the fish that was apparently having a worse day than me. Tyler limped over, still brushing dirt from his varsity jacket.

"You're actually fast," he admitted, sounding almost impressed. "Maybe Martinez should put you in the 400-meter relay."

Maybe he wasn't just a bull-headed jock. Maybe I wasn't just the girl who couldn't keep up. And maybe that fish was about to experience more freedom in Blue Creek than he'd ever get in a classroom.

"Let him go," I said.

We walked to the creek together, three track athletes, one confused dog, and a fish about to have the adventure of a lifetime. Some days, you're running away from everything. Other days, you're running toward something real.