“Please tell me you’ve washed that thing on your head,” Teddy Pierce says as he stands next to me. His eyes are focused on my headband, and there’s a look of disgust on his face.
“Of course,” I say, although I’m questioning myself. I think my mom washed it, but maybe she didn’t. That could explain the odd odor I smell and thought was coming from the chicken curry booth.
Crap.
Oh well, not like I can do anything about it now. It’s my good luck charm, and I’m superstitious.
“My God, what is that smell?”
I glance to my right to find Dotty Lovell with her nose scrunched. She’s waving her hand back and forth in front of her face, and I think her eyes are watering.
“Dude, it’s you,” Teddy leans in and says too loudly for others to hear.
Now that all the attention is on me, I have no choice but to remove my headband. I grab the cloth from the back of my head and slowly let it fall in front of my face. When it’s in reach of my nose, I inhale deeply and gag.
“Shit, this is the most putrid thing I have ever smelled.”
Teddy slaps me on my shoulder and says, “Clearly, you never smelled yourself on the football field, Kyler. You stunk the place up back in high school.”
I push Teddy away and throw my headband at him. “You’re just jealous because I kicked your ass every year.” Teddy is from a rival high school but lives in Plymouth now. The only time he’s beaten me at anything was my freshman year, in a track meet. He crossed the finish line first in a 400m race. It was a photo finish, and he’s never let it go since.
While in the act of pushing Teddy away, I happen to lock eyes with the newest EMT in town. She was the shiny new toy among the locals when she first arrived. As soon as word spread that she had grown up in Plymouth, the hype of her arrival died down. I’ll admit, it took me a few weeks to realize we had gone to school together. I even pulled out my old yearbooks and looked her up because I couldn’t remember her. I still can’t, really. Everything I read says we were in the same class, but I would’ve remembered a beauty like her.
Over the past few months, I’ve waited for her to come into the bank so I could put myself in her path, but she never does, and it’s not like I can walk into the fire station without cause. The chief and every other firefighter and EMT would wonder what I’m doing there. “Oh, hey, yeah, I’m here to flirt with your newest member,” would not go over very well. There’s a brother/sisterhood in the station, and I’m guessing they protect each other from unwanted advances. At least, this is how I am at the bank. I don’t appreciate people hitting on my staff while they’re working. There’s a time and place for romance, like the Turkey Festival. After I win the race, I’ll happily stop by her booth and show her my prize.
Finally, the mayor starts his countdown. I give my arms and legs a good shake and then ready myself. I’ve trained for this race, running miles upon miles on the treadmill. I’m ready.
The shotgun fires and I’m off. People bump into me, crowding my space. I pump my arms and my legs. Inhale and exhale. I do everything I’ve trained for. Up ahead, I see Teddy and wonder when he passed me.
“Shit,” I mutter as I continue to run along the pavement. My muscles burn. My shins ache. I shouldn’t feel like this; I’m in shape. There’s a twinge in my knee, almost like a pinch.
I ignore it. It’s nothing, I tell myself. Just runner’s knee. Everyone gets it. It’s common. I continue to run, staying with a small pack of people who are around me. We head for the turn or, as the racecourse map called it, the bend in the road. It’s a corner, plain and simple. Someone sprints by us, taking the inside like they are Usain Bolt. Doesn’t he know this is a marathon and not a sprint?
I make the mistake of turning my head to look behind me. I don’t know why I do this. Maybe it’s my ego of needing to be the best, or perhaps it’s because I want to know who’s behind me. Either way, I shouldn’t have done it.
My knee twists and something pops.
By the time I realize what is happening, it’s too late to stop my body from falling forward. My hands reach out for the guy in front of me, but he’s too fast in his gait to help me break my fall. My arms flail about, and a string of cuss words emit from my mouth as my feet stutter to try and stop myself from face planting onto the pavement.