Time-Out by W. C. Mack Page A

deserved better.
    â€œSo,” the final speaker continued, “I know you’ll all be excited to hear that on Friday we have a very special event planned.”
    My hopes lifted for a moment, at the thought of a day of rest and recovery, but in my heart I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
    â€œWe’ll be staging a sort of mini-Olympics, where you’ll compete in all of the sports we cover this week. Parents are invited to attend.” He smiled. “And we’ll even have a medal ceremony.”
    The buzz of excitement grew even louder.
    â€œYou’ll be split into four teams before you leave this building and those teams will be yours for the week. It’s up to you to come up with team names.”
    â€œAwesome,” the kid next to me whispered.
    That
was debatable.
    Then again, choosing a name would likely be the only creative moment I experienced all week.
    That was as close to awesome as it might get.
    I barely heard the last few remarks made by the staff and the next thing I knew, Orientation was over. When I stood up, I was immediately swept up in the current of campers.
    I knew from my schedule that teams A though D would rotate through sessions in soccer, volleyball, and track and field in turn.
    I had no idea how my week would play out, so I took adeep breath and followed the arrows to the indoor arena, bracing myself for disaster.

    When my fellow C Team members and I lined up on the field, a coach who introduced himself as Hernandez blew his whistle to end the chatter.
    â€œOkay, folks,” he said when we’d all quieted down, “let’s start with some stretching and a couple of laps around the field to warm up.”
    Here we go.
    I rolled my shoulders, trying to eliminate some of the tension I’d been carrying around since state. I followed Coach’s lead as he ran us through a series of stretches, relieved that several of them were exactly what the Pioneers did at practice. At least that much was familiar.
    Unfortunately, the only other familiar component was running.
    C Team took off in a solid pack, but it only took a few strides before a number of my teammates bolted ahead.
    â€œThis isn’t a race,” Coach Hernandez shouted after them and I gasped with relief until he added, “The racing comes later!”
    I tried to find my own pace and ignore the fact that so many people were passing me. I should have just started at the back.
    Step, step, inhale.
    Step, step, exhale.
    The turf felt strange under my feet and I couldn’t help noticing the resistance it created. It was actually more work to run on the field than on the court, which wasn’t exactly a delightful discovery.
    I kept my elbows bent, like Owen had shown me, and tried to think of anything to distract me from the task at hand. Of course, my inclination was toward the periodic table.
    Nonmetals. Hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon, oxygen.
    I got stuck on oxygen. I needed some. Desperately.
    â€œTake it easy,” Coach Hernandez said, appearing next to me and matching my pace. “You don’t want to hurt yourself.”
    He was absolutely right about that.
    Step, step, inhale.
    Step, step, exhale.
    â€œDo you need to stop?” he asked, sounding concerned.
    Did I
want
to stop? Absolutely.
    But
need
to?
    It was only day one.
    I thought about the running I’d done to prepare for Pioneer tryouts and how every breath felt like it would be my last. I thought about running lines and hating every second of it. Missing the basket more times than I could count.
    Then I thought about how good it felt to make the team.
    All of the pain had been worth it.
    I took a ragged breath. “I’m okay,” I told him.
    â€œGood job,” he said, slapping me on the back as he picked up the pace to catch up to the guys ahead of me.
    I let the words echo in my mind.
    Good job. Good job. Good job.
    By the time I finished my second lap, I felt tired but satisfied. I may not