The iPhone Bull Rider

Running away from that text message felt like the hardest sprint of my life. My thumb hovered over the screen—'You up?' from Jason, the guy who'd made my freshman year a living nightmare since he'd cornered me by the lockers last Tuesday.

My iPhone practically burned in my hand as I shoved it deep into my cross country practice bag. Coach Martinez had recruited me for the team two weeks into the school year, and surprisingly? I was actually decent at it. Running gave me an escape—from the whispers, the constant social media surveillance, the feeling that everyone was playing spy with my life, analyzing my every move through their screens.

"Maddie! You coming?" Maya called from the track. She was the only person who'd made an effort since I'd moved to Oak Creek High three months ago. That should've been my first warning sign.

The truth came out at Brianna's party last Friday. There I was, thinking Maya had finally invited me somewhere because we were actually becoming friends. Instead, I overheard them in the kitchen. Maya had only gotten close because Jason's crew wanted dirt on me—some rumor about my family that wasn't even true. They were literally playing spy, using her friendship as their reconnaissance mission.

So I'd been ghosting everyone all week. Blocking, muting, disappearing.

But here came Jason himself at the track, sauntering toward me like he owned the place. The school's mascot was literally a bull, and Jason played the role in every pep rally—charging around in that foam costume like he was the king of everything.

"Hey, running star," he called, totally oblivious to how hard my jaw was clenched. "Heard you're ignoring Maya's texts. That's cold."

I stared at him. Maybe I should've been scared, but honestly? I was just tired. Running had taught me something about endurance—about pushing through when your lungs burned and your legs felt like lead. About realizing that most obstacles are only as powerful as you let them be.

"Funny," I said, loud enough for his friends nearby to hear. "Because from where I'm standing, I'm not the one who needs to prove anything by turning other people's lives into entertainment."

My iPhone buzzed in my bag—probably another notification I didn't need to check. But I didn't reach for it. Instead, I turned toward the trail, tied my shoes tight, and started my warm-up lap. Let them watch if they wanted. I was done running from things. Now I was just running—toward whatever came next, one stride at a time.