Sun at my back, girls on either side of me, eye locked and focused on the rusty colored dirt laid in a strip before me.

"If I can't take it, break it."

The flag raised, the stopwatch in hand, ready to start its count. The summer air is not only thick with its muggy humidity but the stench of curbed adrenaline rages to come out.

"And if I can't break it, fake it."

With no hesitation in mind, my nostrils fill with the competitive whiff of sweat glean bodies.

"Then fake it till I can make it."

The flag drops and it's every girl running in uniformed tightness towards the finished line. It's a 200 meter. I can run a 200 meter. It's only 200 meters.

"Don't look at the competition, studying the victory line."

My breathing remains as it should be, in and out in a steady, fluid steam from both my mouth and nose.

"One, two, three, in. One, two, out."

To be the best well-oiled sprinting machine is the goal- it's all that matters.

But it's hard for that to matter when you're gradually being overtaken by the girls who started behind you. You don't want to get lost in the pack and you certainly don't want to get left behind.

"Pushing forward like a bullet through water."

Keeping up the stride, I pay attention to nothing but the distance in front of me, of other girls' heads. Exerting my extra stored energy, I keep using that adrenaline to propel myself even farther ahead.

"Know the curves like the back of your mind."

We turn and the staggering of runners starts, but not like expected. They're good, they're uniformed, they're almost like the body of one synchronized runner.

A sharp pain in my side signals a mistake made.

"Bad idea to do the boost, bad idea."

But I have no room, no time, for regret. I'm catching up to the pack leader- leading by the slightest bit that makes a whole lot of a difference. Blondie with the short, bouncy hair is good.

"Almost there, hold out on me."

She's just a fingernail away, just a ha-

Splat.

That was my dreams.

"Fuck!"

My face kisses the ground.

And that was my dignity.

The whistle is blown as the rest of the girls finish the run. Blondie comes in first.

Even before I'm dragging myself off the dirt staining ground, a girl, who had been hanging in the middle, pauses to help me.

"Hey, you okay?" She asks, already holding out a hand for me.

I accept the hand, though I'm not in such a gracious mood now after that wipeout. Dusting myself off, I grimace, keeping it together while she's present.

"Yeah, I'll live, thanks."

Nodding, she starts back up, finishing the practice run, leaving only me left to half-ass it the rest of the way.

"As if this day couldn't fuck me over any more than it already has."

Welp, I can surely kiss the dream of making it onto the track team goodbye. Not only have I managed to look like a dumbass in the last hour or so, this is by far the worst I've performed in my life.

What the hell is wrong with me today!?

As I miserably cross the finish line, coach blows the whistle one more time.

"Good job, ladies. Take a drink for that. I'll look go over some extra things then we can break and go home, sound good?"

From the tired, breathless "yeahs", it does sound good, except for the fact that I'm going home knowing I did not make this team.

We all congregate around the bright yellow water jug to refill our water bottles that have been sucked dry from the first hour of tryouts.

"I hope to God I make this team," A svelte brunette laments.

"You're telling me," A shorter chick with braces pants as she takes a greedy gulp of water. "It's hotter out here this year than last year. Why didn't coach hold this inside?"

"Uh, 'cuz you know him," A dark-haired girl says. "It'd be 'too easy'."

They all say it in unison in coach's deep, husky voice then laugh as the water flows. I'm the only one left standing to the side, still trying to get the dust out of my clothes.

"Hey, are you okay?" Shorty asks me, causing every girl to look my way.

I look up. "Wha? Me? I'm cool."

"Don't feel bad," A girl, that's been pretty ditzy, says encouragingly. "Everybody trips up some days."

Yeah, but why today?

I restrain myself from making a face- I do kinda want them to like me. "I don't feel bad."

"Well, I think you did good today," Blondie says, probably trying to cheer me up but failing.

Trying to inflate my busted ego is futile though. Because you know what? That's bull. I sucked today. A toddler with an amputated leg would run better than me, that's why it's bull! But I don't let on that I know they're just trying not to hurt my precious feelings about this.

Actually, why do I care about being kind to any of these girls? They're not going to be my future teammates so screw the happy boat.

"But they still are going to be at school."

Ah, right. Damn.

"Alright ladies, let's talk this out."

We all gather around Coach Petrova- my not future coach- for some final words.

"Good job today, ladies. I'm more impressed every year. I'd like to especially thank the new girls who were brave enough to come and try out for our varsity cross-country team-"

Translation: I'd like us all to feel sorry and pity the one upcoming freshman who decided she was going to come out here and waste her time.

"-I'll be sure to let you know via email by next week if you're in. Alright, ladies, see you soon."

And so we disperse. All the girls go into their separate little clumps, slinging their matching bags over their shoulders as they chatter away, excited for the new cross-country season. Me, being the only odd man out, gathers my things, flings them into my duffle bag, then starts for the entrance so I can leave. Just before I can scurry out, though, Coach P stops me.

"Hey," His eyes are scanning the list, searching for the new name on there that he didn't know. They pop back up at me once he's figured it out. "Joan. Thanks for coming out to try out for varsity, that's pretty bold for an incoming freshie."

Translator: You are the reincarnation of a dumb, cocky freshman. What were you thinking?

I shrug, heaving the duffle bag over my sore shoulder. "Thanks."

His brows furrow a little in confusion. "Why didn't you come try out for the JV team last week as well?"

Translation: Why didn't you bother trying out for the team you possibly had a chance at getting into?

Shrugging half-heartedly again, I reply. "I just wanted to try out for varsity."

He nods with a crow's feet smile. "Oh."

Translation: Dumbass.

"Well, good luck. Make sure to check your email next week."

"Why bother?" I mentality grumble to myself as I march off the field to start the walk back home.

The other girls were lucky enough to live in town, meanwhile, I have to go over the woods and through the Sahara desert to get back home. Ignoring my exaggeration, Cauldron isn't too horrid a walk from here. In my naive, confident energy, I practically skipped all the way here in under 30 minutes flats. Now, now I'm dragging my feet and feeling every sore muscle in my feet with each step. The duffle bag on my shoulder weighs me down more than desired, my sweat soaked clothes cling to me while I breathe in the dry, frizzy hair that sticks with my sweat-slick face. I'm looking like a model, I tell you, a Victoria Secret's top runway strutter.

The sign I've been dying to see comes into view forty-five minutes later; a weather-worn, beaten by the elements, looks like it was carved from a dying great oak tree that reads Welcome to Cauldron.

"There you are! How'd it go? You showed them what Cauldron's made of, right?"

"How can I even bother?"

You know, in hindsight, it wasn't such a good idea to go advertising around that I was trying out for varsity. I mean, not that people's standards here are very high for me but I kind of liked the idea of them actually being impressed by the one (positive) skill that makes me stand out from every Joe and Jane here.

Of course, I would have told Nora regardless, but that just makes this worst.

Passing her by without a single word or glance thrown her way, she continues to follow me on her bike.

Message not received.

"Where are you going? You look a sweaty mess, which means you must have kicked ass," She grins ear to ear like a Cheshire cat.

"Correction: my ass was kicked and served back to me."

The amusement frizzles from her face.

"What do you mean?" She hopes off her bike to begin walking it next to me. "You're the fastest runner in Cauldron- you're like the female version of the Flash. No one can catch up with you to kick your ass."

"I'm the fastest runner in Cauldron, not the world."

"First Cauldron then the world," She theatrically taps her fingers together like a cheesy, sinister villain.

"I made myself look like a dumbass!" I aggressively kick aside a rock in the way.

"Cool your tits, it couldn't have been that bad."

I stare at her like she's looney.

"Not bad? A minute and fifty seconds- almost two minutes- for a sprint is not bad!? Nora, a freakin' double amputee could have looked like Usain Bolt next to me!"

She grimaces. "That bad, huh?"

"Guess who's not [i] making varsity or doing cross-country this fall."

"Aw, I'm sorry, J. There's still tryouts in the winter and spring, don't knock yourself down yet."

"Nora, I fell on my fucking face because I tripped on air, I am screwed."

She skips alongside me, her dark, dyed navy hair showing its true color in the light as we walk under a row of towering trees.

"So the devil's tripping you now?"

I swat a dismissive hand. "Probably one of his minions. I'm not that important that he trips me himself."

Picking up a mandarin orange from her Wizard of Oz basket on the front of her bike, she chirps-

"You're too dramatic, try out for drama club. Or, you can do softball with me in the spring."

"Screw softball. It's a rip off of baseball."

She elbows me, hard enough to cause me to wince, yet smirk at the same time as she pouts.

"No, it's really not. We've been over this."

"I know, I know," I laugh, moving out of elbow jabbing reach. "Calm your tits."

That reminded me.

"Oh, yeah," I pipe up in a peeved tone as we pass a few houses on our way to the main drag. "I wore the wrong bra- my tits were bouncing like an anime schoolgirl's. God, I hate these things."

All Nora can do is laugh at me. "You poor, unfortunate, busty soul, you."

Picture a stick with coconuts on it and frizzy hair on top, that's me. I have no ass, no curves, my figure is a stick and yet I am endowed with a perky pair of Ds. An incoming freshman with Ds, I dare someone find another one of those in my school. Unfortunately, I've always had big puppies (every female on my mom's side does) and they're not done growing so I'm crossing my fingers to end high school with double Ds, worst case scenario, my boobs are going to be eating me alive- I'm talking Es. I'd be fine with my bust if it weren't for the fact I'm a runner and it's hard to find sports tops that will keep my goods in place without them coming up to slap me in the chin as I jog.

"When did you starting growing?" She questions, still on my breasts size. "Not lying, I can't remember you without boobs."

"I'm convinced I came out the womb with these suckers," I jiggle them for emphasis. "Training bras? What are those? I came out wearing my mom's bras. Hey, maybe I can seduce the coach into letting me join the team, he looked like a boob man."

We share a laugh, making me feel a little better, but heading into town causes me to remember all the big talk I had of making varsity and how, now, that's not going to happen.

As if reading my mind, Nora pauses to ask me-

"Wanna cut?"

Biting my lower lip for a second, I nod. "Yeah, let's cut."

Though it's a longer route to my house, I don't have to go through the embarrassment of going right through the heart of town. Usually, I don't give a damn what people think of me (low bar thing), but it's different today- I don't want ridicule or reminders.

So we take the long, convoluted way around to my house. It's fine with me and we hardly pass anyone along the way.

"You know, it's crazy that we're going to be high schoolers finally," She muses. "I feel it's taken us ages to get to this point."

"Yeah. Get ready for four years of hell and hormones."

She jabs me again, lighter though.

"You're such a pessimist, missy."

"No, I'm simply realistic," I explain, jabbing her back.

Getting on her bike, she scoffs while giving me that typical smug Nora face.

"Realistic? Please, you still believe in aliens."

"Um, and you talk about demons and angels all the time."

"Because they're actually real."

"Because you're actually mental, but I love you anyway."

She stands up on her bike as she starts peddling in the direction of her house. Looking back at me she grins, her freckled face revealing her lone right dimple.

"Glad to see someone's in the same nuthouse as me."

That girl always brightens my day no matter how shitty it can become. It's more fun to have two crazies than one, you know.