Fast Company by Rich Wallace Read Free Book Online

just a yard or so behind the leaders. He was well ahead of his previous race, but his breathing was a struggle and his arms felt like lead. The three runners ahead of him accelerated toward the finish. It felt like the race would never end. Manny was fading badly.
    Wu raced past him on the final turn, and then another runner swept by. Manny pumped his arms harder, but he had nothing left to give. He could hear the others coming up behind him, but he managed to hold them off and finish sixth.
    Manny stepped off the track onto the infield. He held his arms across his stomach and walked stiffly toward the high-jump mat, where he fell face-forward and shut his eyes in agony. He’d never felt worse in his life.
    “You all right?” came a familiar voice.
    Manny sat up and rubbed his eyes. Sherry was standing next to the mat.
    “I’ll be okay,” Manny said. “You run yet?”
    “Soon,” she said. “There’s about a million heats in the boys’ race. Nice job, by the way.”
    Manny frowned and shook his head. “I got toasted.”
    “Don’t worry about it. You hung in there.”
    “I sucked.”
    “No you didn’t.”
    Manny stood up and swallowed. “I gotta go,” he said in a hurry, not sure what was going to happen next. All he knew was that he needed to get to a bathroom.
    “Wish me luck,” Sherry said as Manny hurried away.
    “Luck,” he said, not turning back. He waited for a pack of runners to pass by on the track, then quickly made his way toward the exit. The rest-rooms were on the next level. Manny hustled down the stairs, his spiked shoes making click-click sounds on the steps.
    He barely made it to the bathroom in time, bending over the first sink in the row and vomiting up his breakfast in three quick heaves. Froot Loops, orange juice, everything. He turned on the faucet to rinse the sink, and leaned against the porcelain with his eyes shut.
    After a minute he began to recover, and he cupped his hands to take water into his mouth. He rinsed and spit, then wiped his mouth with his arm. Two younger kids were staring at him.
    Manny laughed gently. He felt much better already. The dizziness was gone and his stomach was relaxed. “Tough race,” he said to the younger boys.
    Manny took off his spikes and walked up the stairs barefoot. Serrano was on his way down.
    “You win?” Manny asked.
    “Barely,” Serrano said. “Where were you?”
    “Way back. No kick today.”
    “A fast pace like that takes it out of you,” Serrano said. “We were all tying up. I barely got past Bertone at the finish.”
    “I just puked my guts out,” Manny said.
    “Comes with the territory,” Serrano said. “You got e-mail?”
    “What? Sure.”
    “Write down your address for me. I’ll be in touch.”
    “Okay. Catch me upstairs.”
    “You got it.”
    Manny took a seat in the bleachers with his teammates, sipping from a bottle of blue Gatorade. His throat burned from the racing and the vomiting.
    Coach came over eventually and took the seat next to Manny.
    “How bad was my time?” Manny asked.
    “Just over 2:22,” Coach said.
    “That’s terrible. I’m supposed to be getting faster . ”
    “You were on pace for a 2:16 until that monkey jumped on your back,” Coach said. “Listen, every good runner has races like that. It’s just part of the learning curve. You stayed with those guys for most of the race. The tough guys keep at it, whatever they’re up against. There’s nobody tougher than you.”
    Manny nodded. He’d blown this opportunity, but there were plenty more ahead. He knew he could run faster. But those other guys—Bertone, Kamalu, Serrano—they were on a whole different level from him.

11
    Two Meals Behind
    B y the time they got back to Hudson City late Saturday afternoon, Manny was starving. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and he hadn’t digested anything all day.
    Manny had ridden over with Calvin, Zero, and Anthony in Mr. Martin’s van. As the runners unloaded outside the school, Manny