The Aftermath

"Oh my goodness!" The announcer's voice echoed through the fieldhouse, a moment of stunned silence following his exclamation before he continued. "Ladies and gentlemen, that time—6.71 seconds—is a New York State number one, a US Freshman number one, and... I'm being told it ranks top ten nationally for all high school athletes!"

The crowd erupted, the energy in the fieldhouse shifting from impressed to electric. Miles stood at the finish line, hands on his knees, the magnitude of what he'd just done not fully registering yet. Around him, officials exchanged glances, double-checking their timing devices as if suspecting an error.

"Let's hear it one more time for Miles Carter of Westridge High School, setting records in his first-ever track meet!"

Applause cascaded down from the bleachers as Miles straightened up, raising a hand in awkward acknowledgment. Ryan Higgs, who'd finished second in an impressive 6.94, extended his hand again.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this from Coach," Ryan said, a mix of disappointment and grudging respect in his voice. "But man, that was something else."

Miles shook his hand, still catching his breath. "Thanks. You ran well too."

"Not well enough, apparently."

The other finalists gathered around, each offering some variation of shocked congratulations. Miles nodded, thanked them, but his mind was already moving elsewhere—to his mother's voice, to the purpose that had driven him through those 60 meters.

Coach Dormer appeared at his side, uncharacteristically animated. "Carter! I knew you had potential, but this—" He shook his head, checking his stopwatch again as if confirming the official time. "This changes everything."

Miles nodded, accepting his warmups from a meet official and pulling them on. The adrenaline was beginning to fade, leaving him with a strange mix of physical fatigue and mental clarity.

"Get some rest," Coach said, the excitement in his voice tempered by practicality. "You've still got the relay."

"Yes, Coach."

As Miles made his way back to the Westridge team area, he noticed several people holding up phones, filming him. At the edge of the track, a man in a blue jacket was rapidly typing on his phone while glancing up at Miles.

"That's from MileSplit," Trey said, appearing beside him and nodding toward the man. "Track news travels fast."

Miles had heard of MileSplit—the premier high school track and field platform. Having his name there seemed surreal, something that happened to other athletes, not to freshmen in their first meet.

"Wonder what kind of clickbait title they'll use," Trey mused. "'Unknown Freshman Breaks Physics' or 'High School Freshman Outruns Time Itself.'"

Despite his exhaustion, Miles found himself smiling slightly at Trey's commentary. The absurdity of the situation was starting to sink in.

@MileSplit_NY · Just now BREAKING: Miles Carter (FR, Westridge HS) drops a SHOCKING 6.71 in the 60m dash at Central HS Invite. That's NY #1, US #1 for freshmen, and US #10 overall this season! Video coming soon. #NYTrack #HighSchoolTrack

@jrivers_23 · 1m Who is this kid??? 6.71 as a FRESHMAN?? 👀👀

@keegan.smith · 1m Watched it in person. Never seen anything like it. Kid literally left everyone in the dust.

@coach_tjackson · 2m Any verified timing on this? That's approaching national HS record territory. If legitimate, colleges will be watching.

@alexis.nyc · 2m First the 21.40 in the 200 and now this?? Is he human??

@TracknField · 3m For context: 6.71 would have qualified for NCAA Division I nationals last year. FROM A 9TH GRADER.

@mike.d.florida · 3m @MileSplit_NY What's his training background? Nobody comes out of nowhere like this.

@dr.jenkins · 4m Technique looked raw but the speed was unreal. Imagine what happens when he gets proper training.

@tylerb_2024 · 4m Cap. No way a freshman is running those times. Wait for FAT verification.

@dannymemes · 5m Every college coach watching this kid's races right now: 👁️👄👁️

@jamal.w · 5m This dude's running times I can't even DRIVE 💀

@samanthap_ · 6m Anyone have his insta??? Asking for research purposes...

@coach_aiden · 6m Just watched the video. His form isn't even fully developed yet. This kid is the future.

@mark_johnson84 · 7m My son ran against this kid today. Said he felt like he was standing still. Absolutely unreal talent.

The buzz of conversation followed Miles like a wave as he moved through the fieldhouse. Where earlier there had been curious glances, now the entire venue seemed to track his movement. Parents pointed. Coaches whispered to each other. Athletes from other schools stared openly or pretended not to look.

This is weird, Miles thought, pulling his hood up in a futile attempt at anonymity.

When he reached the Westridge section, his teammates erupted in cheers again, several of them holding up phones to show him the MileSplit post that was already circulating.

"You're going viral, man," said one junior Miles barely knew. "My cousin at Syracuse just texted me asking if you're for real."

Before Miles could respond, a group of three boys around his age approached, all wearing Central High warmups.

"Hey, you're Miles, right?" asked the one in front, a tall kid with a close-cropped fade. "I'm Jayden. That race was insane."

Miles nodded, not sure what else to say.

"Can we get your Instagram? People are trying to figure out who you are."

"Uh, sure. @MilesCarter98."

One of the other boys typed it into his phone. "Found you. I'll tag you in the video I got."

"Thanks," Miles said, wondering how many more of these interactions he'd have to endure before the day ended.

They moved on, but were quickly replaced by two girls from Millbrook Academy, then another group from Central. Each interaction followed the same pattern—expressions of disbelief, requests for his social media, and looks that lingered a beat too long. Miles responded on autopilot, part of him still processing the race while another part wondered what his phone would look like when he checked it later.

[Velocity System: Social integration protocols activating. Host experiencing increased attention levels (174% above baseline). Recommendation: Maintain hydration and balanced energy levels.]

After a dozen such interactions, Miles felt a tap on his shoulder. Andre stood there, looking both amused and concerned.

"You need air?" he asked quietly.

Miles nodded, grateful for the lifeline.

"Water station," Andre said, gesturing toward the far side of the fieldhouse. "Coach told me to make sure you're hydrating anyway."

They made their way across the venue, Andre running interference when anyone tried to approach. The line for the water and sports drink station was mercifully short, with just two people ahead of them.

"Man, I'm thirsty too," came Trey's voice as he slid into line behind them, ignoring Andre's raised eyebrow. "What? I ran a PR too, you know. Just because nobody's asking for my autograph doesn't mean I don't need hydration."

Miles smiled slightly, Trey's familiar banter a welcome distraction from the strangeness of the past half hour.

"Speaking of people asking for things," Trey continued, lowering his voice as they moved forward in line, "you notice the track baddies checking you out?"

"The what?" Miles asked.

"Track baddies. You know, the girls who are actually fine and do track." Trey wiggled his eyebrows dramatically. "It's a whole subculture, man. I've been studying it extensively. For science."

Andre rolled his eyes. "Since when are you the expert on 'track baddies'?"

"I've been on the team for two years," Trey said, puffing out his chest. "That's like, fourteen in track baddie research years."

Miles couldn't help but chuckle at Trey's ridiculous expression. "And what exactly have your 'studies' found?"

Trey glanced around conspiratorially before leaning in. "See those girls over there? The ones in the red uniforms?" He nodded toward a group of athletes from North Heights. "Throwers. Do not underestimate throwers, man. They might look sweet, but they can literally throw you across a room."

"Noted," Miles said dryly.

"Now, hurdlers," Trey continued, warming to his topic as they moved up in line, "they're the hottest ones at most schools. It's just facts. All that flexibility training?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Plus they've got that perfect mix of sprinter speed and jumper hops."

Andre shook his head. "This is the dumbest conversation I've ever heard."

"You're just mad because that hurdler from Hamilton curved you last year," Trey shot back.

"She did not curve me. I never asked her out."

"Exactly. Because you knew you'd get curved. The worst kind."

Miles found himself actually laughing now, the tension of the day easing slightly.

"Water or Gatorade?" asked the volunteer at the station when they reached the front.

"Gatorade, please," Miles replied. "Blue."

"Ah, blue. Classic choice," Trey nodded approvingly. "Distance runners always go for yellow, which tells you everything you need to know about their personalities."

The volunteer handed Miles his drink with a confused look, clearly wondering if she was missing something.

"What about sprinters?" Miles asked as they stepped aside, genuinely curious about what ridiculous theory Trey would come up with next.

"Sprinters are the celebs of track," Trey declared, accepting his own red Gatorade. "They get all the attention, all the followers. Like dating a TikTok star—everyone else is always in their comments, but when they perform?" He kissed his fingertips. "Fire."

Andre snorted. "And what does that make you?"

"I'm versatile, baby. I can hang with any crowd. Which is why I'm the perfect wingman for our friend here." Trey slung an arm around Miles's shoulders. "Speaking of which, those Central girls from earlier? The ones who asked for your Instagram? The one with the braids is straight fire. Her TikToks got like 20K likes."

"You just happen to know her PR?" Andre asked skeptically.

"I know everyone's PRs. It's part of my research methodology."

Miles sipped his Gatorade, surprised to find himself enjoying Trey's ridiculous commentary. After the intensity of the races and the strange new attention, there was something refreshing about normal teenage nonsense.

They started walking back toward the team area, weaving through groups of athletes and spectators. Miles noticed several people pointing at him, whispering behind their hands. A few coaches watched him with analytical gazes, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

"Oh, here's a good one," Trey continued, oblivious to the attention they were attracting. "You ever notice how all the pole vaulters are always hooking up with each other?"

"I have not noticed that," Miles replied.

"It's facts. They're always together at meets, always posting each other on Instagram. It's like this whole secret club." Trey lowered his voice dramatically. "Plus they're all super flexible. Just saying."

Andre groaned. "You're the worst."

"What? I'm just keeping it real," Trey defended himself. "Plus their arms are always toned from all that upper body work. It's science, bro."

"Is this what you think about during practice?" Miles asked. "When Coach is giving instructions, your mind is working on track dating theories?"

"Multi-tasking, my friend. It's a gift." Trey tapped his temple. "Besides, now that you're famous, you need to know these things. You're probably going to get DMs from every track team in the state after today."

The absurdity of the statement hit Miles all at once. An hour ago, he'd been just another freshman at his first meet. Now Trey was talking about him getting famous enough for DMs from strangers.

"Look at his face," Andre said to Trey. "You're freaking him out."

"I'm not freaked out," Miles protested, though he wasn't entirely convinced of that himself.

"It's cool if you are," Trey said, his tone shifting to something more genuine. "This is a lot. Even I'm a little freaked out, and all I did was come in third."

Miles appreciated the acknowledgment. "It's just... weird. I didn't expect any of this."

"Nobody did," Andre said. "That's what makes it cool. But also why everyone's losing their minds right now."

They paused as they passed a group of girls who were openly staring at Miles. One of them elbowed her friend, whispering something that made the others giggle.

"See?" Trey said, returning to his comedic tour guide persona. "The track baddie migration begins. Soon they'll be circling with increasingly obvious hints. First comes the casual compliment on your race. Then it's questions about your training. Next thing you know, they're asking if you want to grab smoothies after the meet."

"Does that actually work?" Miles asked, genuinely curious despite himself.

"On me? No. I'm still building my reputation," Trey admitted. "But on Mr. 6.71-US-Freshman-Number-One? Yeah, it probably would."

They had nearly reached the Westridge team area when Trey suddenly grabbed Miles's arm. "Wait, perfect opportunity. See those girls over there? In the purple warmups?"

Miles followed his gaze to a group of three girls stretching near the long jump pit. "What about them?"

"That's the North Heights sprint squad. The tall one with the braids is Zara. She ran 12.1 in the 100 last year as an eighth grader. Could probably give you a decent race."

"That's... good?"

"It's excellent. Athletic compatibility is key. Plus, they're all staring at you right now, so the interest is clearly there." Trey straightened his uniform. "I happen to know them. Well, I know of them. Well, I've seen their results on Athletic.net, but that's practically an introduction in track world."

Andre shook his head. "This is painful to watch."

"You want me to introduce you?" Trey continued, ignoring Andre. "Casual, no pressure. Just, you know, the record-setting freshman meets the up-and-coming sprint sensation. A track power couple in the making."

Miles was saved from having to respond by the PA system crackling to life.

"First call for boys' 4x200 meter relay. Competitors report to the clerk of course."

"Oh thank god," Andre muttered.

Miles couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. "Guess that'll have to wait," he said, finishing his Gatorade and tossing the cup in a nearby trash can.

Trey looked genuinely disappointed. "Rain check then. But this conversation isn't over. Your track career is just getting started, and so is your track social life." He gestured around the fieldhouse. "This is your kingdom now, young prince. All of track-dom shall know your name."

"Please stop talking," Andre said, but there was no real annoyance in his voice.

Miles found himself smiling again. Between the intensity of his races and the strange new reality of being "track famous," Trey's ridiculous commentary had been exactly what he needed—a reminder that despite everything that had happened today, he was still just a high school freshman with goofy friends and normal teenage concerns.

Coach Dormer waved them over from across the fieldhouse, clipboard in hand. "Relay team, let's go! Carter, Wilson, Washington, Brooks! Check in now!"

They jogged over, Miles feeling his focus shift back to the task at hand. One more race. One more chance to prove something—to himself, to everyone watching, to the father who wasn't there to see it.

[Velocity System: New Mission - Complete 4x200m relay leg under 21.5 seconds. Team support mission active.]