Thunder In My Chest

My dog Rocky knew something was wrong before I did. Usually chill around the house, he started pacing at 3 AM, that low whine in his throat that meant trouble incoming. I should've listened to him.

"Yo Marcus, little man thinks he can run with varsity?" Jordan's voice echoed across the track. Being a freshman on the cross-country team was already nerve-wracking without the senior's daily routine of making me feel small. His crew laughed like it was comedy hour.

I kept running. That was my strategy — keep moving, don't engage, hope they get bored. Same approach I used with everything since middle school: avoid confrontation, fly under the radar, survive.

But Rocky didn't know how to avoid anything. That dog would charge at thunder like he could bite the sky. Mom always said he had more courage in his paw than I had in my whole body.

Practice ended, Coach blowing her whistle as clouds gathered overhead. Great. Rain. Perfect end to a perfect day.

"Hey, four-eyes!" Jordan's voice behind me.

I kept walking. Faster now.

"I'm talking to you, freshman."

Something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the humidity, maybe it was three months of taking it, maybe I was just done being the bull's target.

I turned around.

"What?" I said. My voice shook but my feet didn't move.

Jordan stopped, confused. "What?"

"You heard me. What do you want?" Lightning flashed somewhere behind the football field, close enough that the hair on my arms stood up.

"Whoa, chill, I'm just—"

"Just being a jerk? Yeah, I noticed." My heart hammered like Rocky's tail when the doorbell rang.

Jordan's crew went quiet. The sky opened up, rain sudden and cold, and I realized something: the worst thing that could happen already happened every day. Taking it sucked. Speaking up? That was just rain.

"You know what?" I said, already walking away. "Save it."

Rocky met me at the door like I'd been gone a year, jumping, whining, smelling like old blankets and loyalty. I sat on the floor and let him wash my face with that tongue that had witnessed my lowest moments and never once judged.

"You were right, buddy," I whispered. "Running away's exhausting."

He nudged my hand, eyes dark and understanding. Some days the bravest thing you can do is just stand still, let the lightning flash, and wait for the thunder to pass. Rocky had been teaching me that for three years. Sometimes I'm just a slow learner.