The Last Lap

My sneakers were screaming. Not literally—though at mile six of my first cross-country practice, my brain was too fried to tell the difference. I'd somehow convinced myself that joining the team would be cool. Maya was doing it. Maya with the perfect hair and the way she made everything look effortless, even **running** up hills that made my lungs feel like they were folding in on themselves.

"You good, rookie?" Coach Martinez called out, already at the top. I gave a thumbs up that was definitely more convincing than my actual physical state.

Practice ended at the water fountain behind the gym. Everyone gathered there, this weird ecosystem where the varsity kids held court and us freshmen tried to look like we weren't dying. Maya was there, dumping **water** over her head like it was a hair commercial, laughing at something Tyler had said.

Tyler, who was now looking at me. "Hey, new girl. You surviving?"

"Barely," I admitted, which made him laugh. Not mean-laugh. Real laugh.

"Your face is literally the color of that **orange** Gatorade," Maya said, sliding in beside me. "Here." She pressed a bottle into my hand. "Trust me, last year I thought I was gonna projectile vomit at every practice. It gets better."

I took a sip. Then a bigger one. "You said that last year?"

"Last year I was trying to prove to my dad that I could make varsity." She stretched, casual. "He's all about sports being this character-building thing. Meanwhile I spent the whole season questioning every life choice that led me to voluntarily **run** until my legs felt like jelly."

"So why'd you come back?"

Maya smiled, and for the first time it wasn't her perfect smile. It was realer than that. "Because somewhere around week three, I stopped running for him and started running for me. Also, the team breakfasts are elite."

My phone buzzed. A text from my mom: *Don't forget your **vitamin** D!*

"Your mom?" Tyler asked, reading my face.

"She thinks I'm gonna get rickets because I'm always inside with art stuff. Now suddenly I'm this athlete and she's in full nutrition mode."

"Same," Maya said. "Last week my mom literally sent me to school with a protein shake that tasted like chalk. She's trying so hard to be supportive and it's simultaneously the best and worst thing ever."

The bell rang. "See you tomorrow, rookie," Tyler called as they headed off.

Maya lingered. "You coming?"

"Yeah," I said, and actually meant it. "Yeah, I think I am."

My sneakers were still screaming, but something else was happening too. Something like maybe, just maybe, I'd found my people. Or at least found people who didn't think I was crazy for trying to become someone new.