"Again." Coach Dormer's voice cut through the heavy afternoon air as Miles bent over, hands on knees, sweat dripping onto the track surface.
"Thirty seconds rest," Coach added, studying his stopwatch without sympathy.
Miles nodded, straightening up and walking back to his starting position. This was the sixth 150-meter sprint in a workout that had already included a grueling circuit and multiple block starts. His quadriceps burned with accumulated lactic acid, but he settled into his stance without complaint.
Two weeks had passed since his standout performance at the Spring Invitational. Two weeks of Coach Dormer systematically increasing the intensity of every workout. Two weeks of the Velocity System highlighting small technical flaws that needed correction. Two weeks of Henderson Invitational—and Davion King—looming larger on the horizon.
"Set." Miles raised into position, eyes fixed on the curve ahead.
The whistle blew, and he exploded forward, focusing on driving his knees high through the first thirty meters before transitioning to full stride. Around the curve, he concentrated on keeping his form tight, remembering King's tendency to fade in the final stretch.
He crossed the imaginary finish line and immediately checked his watch: 15.91 seconds. Still under sixteen despite the fatigue.
"Better," Coach Dormer acknowledged, the closest thing to praise Miles had heard all week. "Your arm carriage is still dropping in the final twenty. One more, focus on maintaining form through the finish."
Andre jogged over as Miles caught his breath. "You know he's pushing you harder than anyone else, right?" he said quietly.
"Noticed that," Miles managed between deep breaths.
"Henderson's getting attention. Scouts will be there." Andre handed him a water bottle. "King put up some solid times at North Heights' dual meet."
Miles had seen the results—King had run 21.1 in the 200m, a strong early-season mark. Track forums and Instagram accounts were already speculating about the Henderson Invitational, where the two fastest sprinters in the state would finally compete head-to-head.
"Back to positions," Coach called. "Carter, I want to see perfect execution this time."
Miles handed the water bottle back to Andre and returned to his mark. As he settled into his stance, his phone vibrated in his bag at the side of the track. Probably Kayla. They'd been texting constantly since their ice cream date, sneaking calls at night, making excuses to meet up for "training sessions" that involved more talking than running.
Nobody knew—not their teammates, not their families. It wasn't exactly a secret, but there was something special about keeping it between them for now, away from the gossip and teasing that would inevitably follow.
The whistle cut through his thoughts. Miles launched forward, channeling his focus back to the task at hand. This time, he concentrated on keeping his arms driving all the way through the finish line, fighting the fatigue that wanted to collapse his form.
"16.03," Coach announced as Miles slowed to a stop. "That's enough for today. Cool down, stretch properly. Tomorrow we'll work handoffs with the relay team."
As the team dispersed for their cool-down routines, Miles retrieved his phone to find a text from Kayla as expected:
torres is killing us today. u free later to "compare training notes"? 😏
Miles smiled, quickly typing back: dormer trying to end my life too. study session at library @ 7?
Her response came immediately: perfect. bring those calc notes u promised
Their cover story—helping each other with schoolwork—had proven effective so far. No one questioned why the track stars from rival schools needed to study together, especially with finals approaching alongside championship season.
"Texting your mom?" Trey's voice came from directly behind Miles, startling him into nearly dropping his phone.
"Yeah," Miles lied, locking the screen. "Dinner stuff."
Trey raised an eyebrow but didn't push it. "You coming to Andre's tonight? COD tournament?"
"Can't," Miles said, trying to sound casual. "Got to study for that calc test."
"On a Friday night?" Trey looked skeptical. "Since when do you care about calc?"
"Since Coach threatened to bench anyone who doesn't maintain their GPA," Miles improvised.
This, at least, was believable. Coach Dormer was notorious for his academic standards.
"Your loss," Trey shrugged. "King ran 21.1 at their dual meet yesterday. MileSplit already comparing your times."
Miles kept his expression neutral. "That's fast."
"That's it? 'That's fast'?" Trey shook his head in disbelief. "Everyone's talking about Henderson and you're just... chill about it."
"What else is there to say?" Miles started his cool-down jog. "We'll both be on the same track at Henderson. That's when it matters."
Trey jogged alongside him. "Man, you've changed. Freshman Miles would've been overthinking this for days."
It was true, Miles realized. Months ago, King's posts and times would have consumed his thoughts, triggered doubts and anxiety. Now they felt like background noise—relevant data points, but not worth emotional investment.
He couldn't pinpoint exactly when the shift had happened. Maybe after nationals. Maybe during Marcus Johnson's training session. Or maybe, he thought with a small smile, it had something to do with mint chocolate chip ice cream and the feeling of Kayla's hand in his.
The library was quiet for a Friday evening, most students opting for more exciting weekend activities. Miles found a table in the back corner near the reference section, setting up his books to maintain the study session facade.
When Kayla arrived fifteen minutes later, Miles momentarily forgot about King, training, and the upcoming meet. She wore simple leggings and an oversized Central High sweatshirt, her hair pulled back into her familiar ponytail, yet the sight of her still caused a flutter in his chest.
"Hey," she said, sliding into the chair across from him. "Anyone follow you here?"
Miles laughed. "What are we, spies?"
"Just being careful," she replied, but her playful smile betrayed her. "Amara's getting suspicious about all my 'study sessions' lately."
"Trey practically interrogated me after practice," Miles admitted. "I had to play the Coach-cares-about-grades card."
"Smart." She reached across the table, briefly squeezing his hand before withdrawing to maintain their cover. "So how bad was training today? Scale of one to death."
"Nine point five," Miles groaned. "Dormer's adding extra sessions before Henderson. You?"
"Eight, but only because Torres was distracted by the seniors." She lowered her voice. "She's putting me in the 400 next week to test my endurance before championships."
"The 400 is brutal," Miles said with genuine sympathy.
"Tell me about it. Dad's thrilled though. Says my form is perfect for it." She tilted her head, studying him. "You look tired. More than usual practice tired."
Miles considered deflecting but found himself being honest instead. "King's been posting his workouts. 21.1 yesterday."
"That's still slower than your 20.87," Kayla pointed out.
"Yeah, but—"
"But nothing. Times are just times. You've already proven yourself at Nationals." She leaned forward. "Dad says the guys who worry too much about other runners' performances end up psyching themselves out when it matters."
Miles smiled. "Your dad sounds smart."
"Ex-college athlete smart, which is its own category." She pulled out her own books, arranging them on the table. "Now, about those calc notes you promised..."
For the next hour, they actually did study, Miles explaining a calculus concept Kayla had missed while at a meet, and Kayla helping him with English literature analysis in return. Their feet touched occasionally beneath the table, a small secret contact that made concentrating difficult.
"OK, I need a break," Kayla declared eventually, closing her textbook. "Tell me something not about track or school."
Miles thought for a moment. "I've been teaching Zoe how to drive. She's terrible."
Kayla laughed. "How old is she again?"
"Sixteen now. Got her permit but has the spatial awareness of a goldfish."
"My dad taught me when I was fifteen," Kayla said. "Nearly crashed into our mailbox the first time."
"Zoe hit a trash can. And a shopping cart. In the same session."
Their conversation drifted comfortably from topic to topic, carefully avoiding mentions of King or Henderson. For an hour, they were just two teenagers getting to know each other better, the pressures of competition temporarily set aside.
When Kayla excused herself to use the restroom, Miles checked his phone to find a text from Andre:
dude where are you really? went by library to drop off notes. you're not there
Miles froze. Andre had checked the main library at Westridge. He'd forgotten to specify he was at the public library downtown.
public library he typed quickly. better calc resources
The response came immediately: with who?
Miles hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen. Before he could decide how to respond, Kayla returned.
"Everything okay?" she asked, noticing his expression.
"Andre's playing detective," Miles showed her the exchange. "What should I say?"
Kayla bit her lip. "We could just tell them, you know. About us."
The suggestion hung in the air between them. Miles had been thinking the same thing recently. Keeping their relationship quiet had been fun at first, but the constant cover stories were becoming complicated.
"Not through text though," he decided. "I'll tell him I'm with a classmate."
As Miles typed his response, Kayla asked, "So why haven't we told anyone yet? Are you embarrassed about me or something?"
"What? No," Miles looked up, surprised. "I thought we both wanted to keep it quiet for a while."
"We did," she nodded. "But it's been two weeks of sneaking around. I'm just wondering if there's another reason."
Miles considered this. Why had he been so hesitant? It wasn't embarrassment—quite the opposite. Part of him wanted to tell everyone that somehow, impossibly, Kayla Fisher was his girlfriend. But another part...
"I think," he began slowly, "I like having something that's just ours. Not about times or records or rivalries. Just... us."
Kayla's expression softened. "I get that. Once people know, it becomes this whole thing. Central girl dating Westridge boy. Rival schools. Track drama."
"Exactly," Miles nodded. "Though I'm pretty sure Trey already suspects something."
"Amara definitely does," Kayla admitted. "She keeps asking why I'm suddenly so interested in calculus."
They shared a laugh, the momentary tension dissolved.
"We should probably head out," Miles said, checking the time. "My mom's expecting me back by nine."
Outside the library, the spring evening was cool but pleasant. They walked close together toward the bus stop, no longer needing to maintain distance now that they were away from potential onlookers.
"Henderson's next Saturday," Kayla said, breaking their unspoken agreement to avoid track talk.
"Yeah," Miles nodded. "You nervous about your races?"
"Not really. Excited, actually." She glanced at him. "You?"
Miles considered the question honestly. "Not nervous about racing. More just... ready to get it over with. Everyone keeps talking about me versus King, you know?"
"The matchup of the season," Kayla said, mimicking a sports announcer voice. "State champion versus Florida transfer."
"Sounds exhausting when you put it that way," Miles laughed.
They reached the bus stop, standing close together in the shelter. The memory of their first kiss here after the ice cream date lingered between them.
"For what it's worth," Kayla said quietly, "my money's on you. King's times are good, but he hasn't been where you've been."
"What's that?"
"Me in your corner," she smiled, rising on her toes to kiss him quickly.
Miles wrapped an arm around her waist, prolonging the kiss for a moment before the sound of an approaching bus forced them apart.
"That's me," Kayla said, shouldering her backpack. "Text me later?"
"Definitely."
As the bus pulled away, Miles began his walk home, mind cycling between thoughts of Kayla, the upcoming meet, and the growing expectations surrounding Henderson. His phone buzzed with a notification from MileSplit.
A new article had been posted: "Henderson Invitational Preview: State's Top Sprinters Set to Clash." There was a split image of Miles and King from their respective last races, side by side with their season-best times.
Miles skimmed the article, which analyzed their different racing styles and backgrounds without manufacturing unnecessary drama. He closed the app, appreciating the technical breakdown rather than artificial hype.
At home, he found his mom in the kitchen preparing lunches for tomorrow.
"How was studying?" she asked.
"Productive," Miles answered truthfully, if incompletely.
"With friends from the team?"
"Something like that," he replied, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl.
His mom gave him a knowing look. "You know, when you were little, you were a terrible liar. Always got this little wrinkle right here." She tapped between her eyebrows.
Miles tried to keep his expression neutral. "I'm not lying."
"Mmhmm." She returned to packing lunches. "Whoever she is, I hope she's nice."
Heat rushed to Miles's face. "Mom—"
"I'm not asking for details," she held up her hands. "Just saying, you've seemed happier lately. It's good to see."
Miles opened his mouth to deny it, then changed his mind. "Yeah. I am."
Later, in his room, Miles checked the Velocity System for his training analysis. The screen displayed a detailed breakdown of his workout data, highlighting improvements in his acceleration phase and noting the fatigue-related form deterioration in his final repetitions.
HENDERSON PREPARATION: 72% COMPLETE
RECOMMENDED FOCUS: FINISH LINE MECHANICS
RACE SIMULATION RECOMMENDED: 24-48 HOURS PRE-COMPETITION
Miles set the System aside and picked up his phone instead, finding a goodnight text from Kayla:
dream about breaking 20 seconds. or me. preferably both 😴💭
He smiled, typing back: def both. night
For all the intensity of training and the upcoming Henderson meet, Miles fell asleep easily that night, his thoughts not on times or techniques or competition strategies, but on the feeling of Kayla's lips against his and the quiet confidence in her voice when she said she was in his corner.
The balancing act of it all—training, relationship, school, expectations—wasn't easy. But for the first time in his life, Miles felt like he might be getting the hang of it.