The Race

The world shrank to nothing but the track ahead of Miles. The crowd noise faded to a distant hum. His fingers pressed into the blue surface, body coiled tight as a spring.

[Velocity System: Heart rate optimal. Muscle tension ideal. Ready for explosive start.]

"SET!"

Miles raised his hips, finding that perfect position he'd practiced countless times with Andre. The moment stretched like taffy, his senses heightened to a razor's edge.

BANG!

The starter's pistol cracked across the fieldhouse, and Miles exploded forward. His first three steps weren't perfect—he rose a fraction too soon—but they were better than they'd been in practice. His arms pumped powerfully as he fought to get his body fully upright and into his sprinting form.

[Velocity System: Drive phase 0.3 seconds faster than previous best. Vertical transition improving.]

Ten meters in, he still trailed most of the field. The boy in lane five—Ryan Higgs from Central High—had gotten out masterfully and already built a lead of nearly a meter. In lane three, a tall kid wearing Westridge blue—Trey—was slightly ahead too.

[Velocity System: Acceleration incomplete. Maximum velocity phase initiating.]

Twenty meters in, Miles found his rhythm. His stride lengthened and his turnover rate increased simultaneously—something Coach Dormer had said was nearly impossible for most high school runners.

"Look at Carter from Westridge starting to move!" the announcer's voice pierced through Miles's concentration.

Thirty meters. This was where Miles began to shine. His body now fully upright, he hit his top-end speed. The Velocity System flashed impossibly detailed metrics across his vision, but he wasn't reading them. He was feeling them.

The gap was closing. Ryan Higgs was still ahead, but Miles was reeling him in with each powerful stride. Trey was now alongside him, their steps briefly synchronizing before Miles began to edge ahead.

"Carter is flying down the stretch! The freshman is making a move!"

The crowd's roar swelled as Miles pulled even with Ryan at the forty-meter mark. His arms were pistons, driving his legs forward with perfect mechanics. His dreads had come partially loose from their bun, streaming behind him like a flag.

[Velocity System: Maximum velocity achieved. Maintaining optimal stride length and frequency.]

Miles felt something he'd never experienced before—a perfect synthesis of power, speed, and rhythm. It wasn't that time slowed down; it was that his perception accelerated. He could see the slight tension in Ryan's jaw as the Central sprinter sensed him drawing alongside.

Fifty meters. Miles edged ahead by a shoulder, then a half body length. Trey had fallen back slightly, battling with another Central runner for third.

"It's Carter now in the lead! What a comeback from the Westridge freshman!"

The finish line approached like a magnet pulling him forward. Miles drove his knees higher, squeezed every last bit of power from his muscles. Ryan was fighting back, refusing to yield.

"This is going to be close!"

Fifty-eight meters, fifty-nine, sixty—Miles threw his chest forward as he crossed the line, a technique Andre had shown him just days ago.

The momentum carried him forward, his steps gradually slowing as he continued down the track. His lungs burned as he gulped air, but he didn't feel tired—he felt alive.

He turned to see Ryan jogging toward him, hand extended. "Damn, Carter. Where'd you come from?"

Miles shook his hand, still catching his breath. "Westridge," he managed to say, which made Ryan laugh.

"No kidding. You were moving."

They walked back toward the finish together as the announcer's voice boomed across the fieldhouse.

"Results for heat two of the boys' 60 meter dash: First place, Miles Carter, Westridge, with a time of 7.00 seconds flat."

A ripple of impressed murmurs spread through the crowd.

"That time ranks as US number five for freshmen and New York State number one for freshmen this season! An incredible performance!"

Miles felt his face grow warm as heads turned toward him. Andre rushed over, face split in a wide grin.

"Dude! Seven flat? Are you serious right now?"

Miles shook his head, still processing what had just happened. "I don't know, I just—"

"Qualifying for the finals from that heat," the announcer continued, "Miles Carter of Westridge, Ryan Higgs of Central, and Trey Washington of Westridge. Finals will be held following the completion of all preliminary events."

Trey jogged over, bumping Miles's shoulder. "Way to make the rest of us look bad, rookie." But he was smiling as he said it.

Coach Dormer appeared, clipboard in hand, trying to maintain his composure but failing to hide his excitement.

"Good race, Carter," he said evenly, then broke into a grin. "Damn good race. Your drive phase still needs work, but that top-end speed..." He shook his head. "We're going to have to revise our training plan."

[Velocity System: Mission complete. First 60m race completed in 7.00 seconds. Time faster than target by 0.2 seconds. Status: Exceptional] [New mission unlocked: Win the 60m finals. Reward: Advanced acceleration mechanics.]

Miles nodded, still too winded for many words, but he felt something settling into place within him—a certainty that had been missing before. On this track, in this moment, he wasn't Marcus Carter's son or Zoe's brother. He wasn't the kid who avoided his father's legacy.

He was just Miles Carter. And he was fast.

Coach handed him his warmups. "Get these back on, stay warm. You've still got the 200 and the relay, plus the 60 finals now. This is just the beginning."

Miles pulled on his sweats, glancing at the scoreboard where his name and time were still displayed.

Just the beginning.

"Get some water and rest while you can," Coach said, gesturing toward their team area. "I need to check on the other heats."

Miles nodded and started making his way back across the fieldhouse. He was still catching his breath when a sophomore hurdler from their team—Devin—passed by on his way to check in.

"Yo, that was sick!" Devin held out his fist for a bump. "You made it look easy."

"Thanks," Miles replied, returning the gesture. "Good luck with your race."

A few steps later, he passed Jamal and Marcus from the distance squad heading to their 1600m.

"Carter with the wheels!" Jamal called out, giving him a high five as they crossed paths.

"Save some for the rest of us," Marcus added with a grin.

Miles felt a small smile forming. He hadn't even known most of these guys' names a few weeks ago, and now they were acting like he'd been part of the team all along.

As he continued walking, he became increasingly aware of the stares following him—not just from his team but from other schools, coaches, and spectators in the stands. A couple of girls from Central were not-so-subtly pointing in his direction. An older man with a stopwatch who looked like a college coach was watching him with interest.

Miles pulled his hood up, letting it shield his face slightly as he focused on getting back to the team area. The attention was... different. Not bad, necessarily, but not something he was used to.

He spotted Andre talking with a few seniors and slipped past them to his bag, grabbing his water bottle and taking a long drink. His legs felt surprisingly good—tired, but not drained. The System had been quiet since the finish, which was unusual.

"Earth to Miles." Andre's voice broke through his thoughts. "You planning to acknowledge what just happened or just sit there looking mysterious?"

Miles looked up, realizing he'd been staring at nothing.

"Sorry, still processing."

Andre dropped down beside him. "Seven flat is no joke. That's the fastest freshman time I've seen in person."

"Beginner's luck," Miles said, though he knew it wasn't.

"We both know that's bullshit," Andre replied, keeping his voice low. "Natural talent, maybe. Hard work paying off, definitely. But not luck." He nodded toward the track. "You've got two more events plus the final. How're you feeling?"

Miles took stock of his body. "Good. Ready."

"The 200's going to be tougher. Higgs is even better at that distance."

"Guess I'll have to be better too," Miles said, surprising himself with the confidence in his voice.

Andre smiled. "There it is. Was wondering when that side of you would show up."

Around them, the fieldhouse buzzed with activity. The girls' 3200m was underway, runners circling the track in a tight pack. Announcements for upcoming events crackled over the speakers. Despite the chaos, Miles felt strangely calm now, centered in a way he hadn't expected.

He zipped his jacket up to his chin and leaned back against the wall, watching the meet unfold around him. For the first time since joining the team, he didn't feel like an outsider looking in. He belonged here, even if he was still figuring out exactly what that meant.

"So you're the new Westridge sprinter everyone's talking about."

Miles looked up to see three girls standing in front of him. They wore Central High warmups with the school's red and black colors, though they didn't look like they were competing today—more like they'd come to watch. The one who'd spoken stood slightly ahead of the others, confidence in her posture. She had glossy dark hair cascading past her shoulders and warm brown eyes that were studying him with undisguised interest.

"That was pretty impressive," she continued when Miles didn't immediately respond. "Seven flat? As a freshman?"

Miles nodded, suddenly aware that Andre had conveniently disappeared the moment the girls approached.

"I'm Amara," she said. "This is Kayla and Destiny." She gestured to her friends—Kayla, a girl with honey-blonde hair pulled into a side braid and bright blue eyes, and Destiny, who had her curly hair styled in a half-up look that framed her face perfectly.

"Miles," he replied, though it was obvious they already knew that.

"We know," Kayla said, smiling. "The announcer only said it like ten times."

Destiny nudged her friend. "Don't exaggerate." She turned to Miles. "It was more like five times."

Miles couldn't help but smile a little at that. "Feels weird hearing my name over the speakers."

"Better get used to it," Amara said. "Especially running times like that."

There was a brief pause where Miles tried to think of something to say. Destiny saved him the trouble.

"Do you have Instagram?" she asked. "A bunch of us follow the local track scene."

Miles hesitated. His Instagram was mostly empty—a few pictures of him and Zoe, some gaming screenshots, nothing track-related.

"It's @MilesCarter98," he said after a moment.

"Cool, I'll follow you," Amara said, immediately pulling out her phone.

"Same," added Kayla, doing the same. "We're going to the county meet next month too. Maybe we'll see you there?"

"I'm sure you will," Destiny said before Miles could answer. "He's definitely qualifying with that time."

Miles shifted slightly, unused to this kind of attention. "Yeah, I guess I'll be there."

"We should hang out sometime," Amara said, looking directly at him. "There's usually parties after the bigger meets."

The invitation hung in the air, and Miles found himself momentarily at a loss for words.

Kayla filled the silence. "Or we could just get food or something. The diner near Central is where everyone goes after meets."

"I, uh—" Miles started, but was cut off by the PA system.

"First call for boys' 200 meters. First call for boys' 200 meters."

"That's me," Miles said, relieved to have an excuse to end the conversation. "I should probably get ready."

"We'll be watching," Amara said with a smile that made Miles feel suddenly very conscious of the compression uniform hidden beneath his sweats. "Good luck."

"Thanks," he managed to say.

As the girls walked away, he heard Destiny whisper something that made the others laugh. He chose not to wonder what it was, focusing instead on gathering his things for the 200m.

Andre reappeared, a knowing grin on his face.

"Don't," Miles warned before Andre could say anything.

"What? I didn't say a word." Andre's grin widened. "Central girls move fast, huh? Meet's barely started and they're already planning your social calendar."

Miles shook his head. "They were just being friendly."

"Sure," Andre said, dragging out the word. "That's why they all needed your Instagram immediately. For friendship purposes."

"Can we focus on the race?" Miles asked, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide a small smile.

"Whatever you say, superstar." Andre nodded toward the track. "Ready to give them something else to be impressed about?"

Miles stood, pushing thoughts of Instagram and girls and attention to the back of his mind. "Let's go."

As they headed toward the check-in area, Miles felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw three new Instagram notifications:

@amarawest_ started following you @kayla.michelle started following you @destiny.j started following you

He put his phone away without responding. The 200 was calling, and this time, everyone would be watching.