The Unusual Second Life of Thomas Weaver Episode Two (The Unusual Life Of Thomas Weaver Book 2) by Shawn Inmon Read Free Book Online

change much. Aside from the races being run in meters instead of yards, a meet like this would look almost the same in 2015, except for all the parents in the stands videoing their kids on their iPhones, of course.
    Zack stood at the starting line, hands on hips, and surveyed the crowd in the bleachers.
    He’s looking for Mom or Dad.
    Thomas half stood and waved to catch Zack’s eye. Zack nodded, scanned the immediate area, then refocused on his stretches. I know who he was looking for. My teenage brain wouldn't have taken it in, but somewhere in Zack's heart, it kills him that Dad isn't here . He shook his head. Their dad hadn’t been back to the house to visit them for five years, since moving out in the middle of the night, but he had twice been spotted at the edge of the crowd as Zack ran. Today, though, that ghost of family past was not present, and Anne had been unable to get out of her scheduled shift at the hospital. Not that Zack was short on people to root for him. It seemed like every eye in the sparse crowd was on him.
    Zack dropped down into his starting stance, fingertips on the ground, head up, eyes forward. The starter’s gun rang out and all eight runners leaped forward. By the first turn, it was obvious the only race was for second place. Zack was already six strides ahead, gliding comfortably, focused only on his own form, his breathing, and his internal clock. Coach Manfred stood at a spot on the other side of the track from the starting line, stopwatch extended. When Zack went by, he checked the time, scribbled on a small chalkboard, and hustled back across the track. As Zack loped by at the end of the first lap, the coach held the chalkboard up for him to see. Zack flashed the smallest of grins and seemed to pick up his pace.
    He’s going to do it. I don’t remember him having the best time in the state his senior year, but unless his shoelaces come untied, he’s going to do it.
    Thomas jumped to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth, shouting “Go, Zack! Go!” before sitting back down.
    How is it possible that he’s outrunning everybody when it doesn’t even look like he’s trying?
    By the time he hit the final turn, Zack finally started to flag. His perfect form picked up a slight jerkiness. Most in the crowd didn't notice or interpret the change, but his teammates did. They ran along the inside of the track, shouting encouragement.
    Turning his head from side to side, face flushed, Zack opened up his stride to gobble up the distance. He broke the tape at the finish line, stumbled, and would have fallen onto the cinder track if Coach Manfred hadn’t been there to catch him. He hugged Zack, pounded him on the back, and yelled something in his ear.
    Zack looked up at Tommy from beneath his shock of hair and gave a quick nod of his head. Thomas jumped to his feet again, screaming, “That’s my brother! Yessss!”
    The track announcer, carrying an oversized microphone and trailing a long black cord, conferred briefly with the official timer, then clicked on the mic and intoned: “Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention, please.” He paused. “It will be some time before the results of the Boys 880 Yard race are official, but if the preliminary results hold, Zack Weaver’s time of 1:51.2 is the fastest 880 time in the state this year.”
    Thomas sat down on the bench, exhilarated.
    “Hello, Tommy.”
    The unfamiliar voice came from behind him. He half-turned to see who it was.
    Michael Hollister.
    Thomas froze. His heart raced.
    Shit! “Umm…hey?”
    “I know you probably don’t know me. I’m Michael Hollister. I’m a senior, like your brother.”
    “Oh, um, hey.” Shit, shit, shit.
    “I went for a walk in the woods behind the school the other day after school and I saw you come out just a few minutes behind me. You don’t look like the pothead type.” Michael paused and looked at Thomas, who shook his head, agreeing that he didn’t look like the pot head