Racing the Rain by John L Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

dressed out, too, even though this was not his gym class. He wore red-and-green-plaid gym shorts and a Glenridge T-shirt, like nearly everyone else, but also something Cassidy had never seen before: tight-fitting bright white kangaroo-skin track slippers with wicked-looking long spikes and three perfectly spaced black stripes slanted on the sides. They were the most amazing shoes Cassidy had ever seen.
    Coach Bickerstaff finally looked up from his clipboard. “All right, gentlemen, this morning we’re gonna be doing 440 time trials,” he said. “This is part of President Kennedy’s fitness program, like the sit-up and pull-up tests we did last week. We’ll do all this again at the end of the year, and your times will be recorded and compiled in a report that will go to the superintendent’s office, then to Tallahassee, and eventually on up to President Kennedy in Washington, D.C.”
    That sobered everyone. No one wanted to let President Kennedy down. He had been on a PT boat that got sunk.
    â€œEveryone will line up at the starting post and we’ve got two watches so we’ll run two at a time like we did last time. If you don’t already have a partner, Coach Burke will pair you up with someone close to your speed so you’ll have some competition.”
    There was nervous grumbling. A 440 was a whole lap, and everyone could see what a long way that was. Even a 100 seemed like a fairly long race compared to the 50, and a 220 was way beyond that. Twice a 220 was hard to imagine.
    â€œOh, and before we get started, y’all probably noticed Chip here. He needs to get his 440 done this period because he has a dentist appointment this afternoon. So, who wants to run with Chip?”
    Everyone laughed. Exactly nobody wanted to run with Chip Newspickle.
    â€œAll right, settle down. Hohlmeister, Castleberry, you’re the fastest guys in class. How about it, one of you?” They were the two ninth graders who were under seven seconds. They were both on the football team, but neither of them wanted any part of Chip Newspickle in a foot race.
    â€œUh, we’re running with each other.” Castleberry pointed to Hohlmeister sitting next to him. Hohlmeister nodded vigorously. “We already decided,” he said.
    Bickerstaff looked at the group and suppressed a sigh. He couldn’t really blame them. He was about to announce that Chip would run by himself when he heard a thin voice from the back of the throng.
    â€œI’ll run.”
    Everyone turned to look. Bickerstaff smiled. Of course. The skinny kid who kept trying out for the basketball team. Everyone was craning around to look, and the laughter was starting already.
    â€œAll right, fair enough, Mr. Kissam Building Supply,” he said, referring to Cassidy’s T-shirt, a freebie from last weekend’s Bargain Days Lumber Sale his father had taken him to. “The rest of you, shut up. At least he has some gumption. Now, up and at ’em. Two lines at the start. Coach Burke will arrange you into pairs if you haven’t already found somebody. I’ll be in the middle of the field so I can give you the split at the 220 mark. Coach Burke will give you a three command start. He’ll say ‘Ready, set . . . ,’ and then the whistle. Okay, that’s it. Start lining up. Chip, you and your opponent go first so you can get changed and go meet your mom.” Most were already clambering to their feet.
    â€œAnd boys, one more thing. The 440 is a long race. I repeat, a long race,” Bickerstaff said. “It’s a whole lap, one quarter of a mile around. Do yourselves a favor and pace yourselves. Do not, I repeat, do not blast out and think you can run full speed the whole way. I promise you that you can’t do it.” He began walking toward the middle of the field.
    As they were all milling around the white starting post at the middle of the straightaway, Cassidy