Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

ing around to hear I didn’t make the team. Great! There goes USC.
There goes the one thing I could count on to keep me going on this
stupid island. There goes my life for the next year—and beyond.
“Wait a minute, Castro,” Coach Lenny calls out. “We have a meeting
in the locker room to announce the team roster.”
Yeah, right. Does he think I enjoy humiliation? I didn’t even finish
the race—not that it was my fault or anything, but quitting is
quitting. Oh well. Since I have to stop by school anyway to pick up
my homework, I might as well sit in on the announcement. With
Griffin coming in first, I’m sure there’s no way he’s not on the team,
but maybe I’ll get the satisfaction of seeing Adara get cut.
The locker room is deafening loud with everyone talking at once.
The coaches are locked away in Coach Z’s office, making their decisions
and everything.
Even surrounded by sixty kids I feel completely alone.
No one is talking to me, but plenty are talking about me. And
staring at me. And pointing at me. And laughing at me.
Rather than sit there and take it, I go get a drink from the water
fountain. A nice, long drink. I don’t think I’ve ever drunk so much
at once—except for the time I ran the Death Valley Marathon. Being
waterlogged is definitely more appealing than sitting around being
stared at like a talking dog.
When I can’t drink any more, I glance around the hallway while
wiping at my mouth. A little ways down I see a display case and
wonder what this one holds. More Olympic medals? More artifacts
from the first marathon?
No, just a big collage of pictures of last year’s track team.
A bunch of guys in blue running shorts dumping a cooler full of
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