Three Laps Left

Practice started in ten minutes and I was seriously considering faking my own death. Or at least a sprained ankle. Anything to avoid the humiliation that was definitely, absolutely coming my way.

"You coming, Goldfish?"

I flinched. Marcus. Of course he'd noticed me sitting on the bleachers, staring at my phone like it contained the secrets to avoiding social suicide. The nickname had stuck since freshman year when someone posted that photo of me at the pool with my mouth half-open. Three years later, still Goldfish. Still not drowning, barely swimming.

"Yeah," I said. "Just, uh. Stretching."

"Cool." He grinned, all easy confidence and varsity jacket. "Coach says you've been killing it lately. Finally gonna show us what you got?"

Here's the thing about telling one lie: it's not that bad. You say you're good at something, whatever. No harm. But then you have to maintain the lie. And the lie grows. And suddenly you're at tryouts for the track team because you told your crush you used to run cross-country at your old school, and now you're committed to showing up and proving you can actually run.

The bull—I was in so deep.

I laced up my shoes. My stomach did that thing where it feels like it's trying to exit your body through your throat.

"Alright everyone," Coach yelled. "Today we're doing timed miles. If you want a shot at varsity, you need to break six minutes."

Six minutes. A whole six minutes to run four laps. That seemed doable, right? I mean, I'd never actually run a mile in my life, but surely I could manage—

"Go!"

The first lap wasn't terrible. I found a rhythm, kept pace with the middle of the pack. Second lap, my lungs started burning. Third lap, my legs turned to concrete and I seriously considered just walking and accepting my fate as That Girl Who Lied About Running.

Then I heard it. "Come on, Goldfish! You got this!"

Marcus was cheering for me. From the sidelines. Like he actually believed in me.

Something in me snapped. Not in a bad way—in a real way. I wasn't running anymore. I was running.

I crossed the finish line at 5:58.

Collapsing onto the grass, gasping for air, I realized something important: I'd spent so much time worrying about getting caught in the lie that I'd forgotten I could just become the person I pretended to be. Sometimes you have to run straight at what you're afraid of. Sometimes you surprise yourself.

"Nice time, Goldfish," Marcus said, smiling down at me. "See? Told you you had it in you."

"Yeah," I wheezed. "Guess I did."