Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

one requirement to belonging at the Academy and I can’t fill it.
That realization could throw me into a deep, dark depression
that I can’t afford to wallow in today. So, drawing on years of prerace
psychology experience, I shove those thoughts into the back
of my mind.
And just in time, too.
“Racers, to your positions,” Coach Lenny—referee of the day—
calls.
The five girls from the Academy and I line up in our box. The
girls from Lyceum Olympia, Academia Athena, and Hestia School
line up in theirs.
Coach Lenny holds up the starting pistol and my heart jumps.
Then he fires the go shot and everything else fades away.
Halfway through the eight kilometer—five mile—race I’m in the
lead pack with four other girls. Jackie Lavaris is a few paces ahead
of me.
My eyes are trained on her back. I’ve read her number—thirtyseven—about
a million times. At least once for every step since we
left the starting line.
I turn it into my mantra.
Thir-ty-sev-en.
Over and over and over again.
Thir-ty-sev-en. Thir-ty-sev-en. Thir-ty-sev-en.
If someone asked me my age right now I’d tell them thirtyseven.
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