Bruce was in no mood for a lecture. “Look, Wilkins, this is none of your business. If the guy’s heard enough, let him speak up for himself.”
But as far as Roger was concerned, Bruce could talk till he got blue in the face. All he was doing was sapping his own strength.
On the sidelines, Coach Schultz paced back and forth, looking over the field. He had some good runners out there, but he was clearly worried. Having scouted some of the top runners from the other schools’ track teams, he knew the boys from Sweet Valley were in for tough competition. No one from the school had won this race since 1956.
Elizabeth said to Enid, “Take a look at Coach Schultz. You’d think somebody died.”
Enid nodded, her hair blowing across her forehead. “You’d look pretty grim, too, if your job was on the line.”
“What do you mean?”
“Winston Egbert told me he’d heard the coach got chewed out by the school board last week. He thinks they might give Coach Horner the job of athletic director if no one from Sweet Valley places in the Bart.”
“I don’t believe it,” Elizabeth said. As the author of the “Eyes and Ears” column, she usually kept a pretty close watch on happenings around the school, but this was news to her. “How could they do that? Coach Schultz is an institution.”
“Even institutions can crumble,” Enid noted. “You have to admit the guy is getting old. Could be they want new blood around here.”
“I’ve got to check into this. Maybe John Pfeifer’s heard something.”
“It’ll have to wait,” Enid said, noticing the coach approaching the microphone set up next to the starting point. “I think the race is about to begin.”
“Good morning, students and faculty.” Coach Schultz’s deep baritone pierced the air. All conversation seemed to stop at once. “Welcome to the trials for this year’s Barton Ames Memorial Mile. As you know, this race honors a very fine young man who died before his time, a young man who loved to run as much as he loved life itself. His parents founded this race to give other young men a chance at bettering their lives. The winner and two runners-up of today’s race will go on to the finals next week, competing with some of the area’s top athletes for the first-prize trophy and scholarship to Sweet Valley College. It’s my privilege now to introduce to you the boys who are competing this morning. In lane one we have Mark Riley; lane two, Bruce Patman; lane three, Roger Barrett; lane four, Todd Wilkins; lane five, Peter Sorley; lane six, Tony Esteban. May the best man win. Runners take your mark … get set—” Coach Schultz gave a short, shrill blast on his silver whistle, and the six boys took off.
Like a jackrabbit, Bruce Patman shot to the front of the pack and took the lead, snickering visibly as he passed Roger in the lane next to his. Mark sped up behind him, a close second, followed by Tony, Todd, and Peter, with Roger pacing himself behind them all.
Lila chuckled. “Look at old Bugs. It’ll be a miracle if he makes it around even once.”
Right below her, Elizabeth looked at the field with mixed emotions. Naturally she was rooting for her boyfriend, but it was almost as important to her that Roger place as well. She wasn’t sure why Todd was out there, but of all of them Roger needed the scholarship most. It would be nice, she thought, if he and Todd could tie for first.
But at this point it didn’t look as if either one would even qualify. Bruce Patman was way in front, striding like a gazelle, a picture-perfect example of high-speed running. His nearest competitor, Mark Riley, was a good ten paces behind, and the strain of the race was already showing on his lean, narrow face. The others were trailing, and as they reached the half-mile point, they were stretched single file in a curve that spanned a full quarter of the track.
Bruce was supremely confident as he looked back and surveyed the field. He was an expert runner who would have been the star miler on the track team if the schedule hadn’t interfered with his first love, tennis. There was no way anyone could beat him now, he felt. Mark’s specialty was the 440; so it was doubtful he’d finish with a spurt, and none of the others was nearly as fast. Even Tony Esteban didn’t stand to catch him. At this point Tony was third, and even though he was known for coming on strong at the end, he was so far behind Bruce that he’d have to run his best time ever to beat him. Besides, Tony’s strong point was his stamina in races far longer than this one. He was racing more because of pressure from Coach Schultz than because he thought he would win. Todd, Peter, and Roger were unknown quantities, but they didn’t look as if they posed any threat.
But as they were approaching the three-quarter mark, Roger began to pick up ground, passing Peter and Todd. He was running faster, his speed pushing his straight hair off his face. His arms and legs were working now with the precision of a locomotive engine, pumping ever harder as he circled the track and closed in on the leaders.
It wasn’t long before he passed Mark Riley, who was tiring and beginning to slow down noticeably. Then he passed Tony. That left only Bruce. But Bruce’s advantage only coaxed Roger to move faster. Using all the power he had within, he stepped up his already lightning-quick gait. For every stride Bruce took, Roger was now taking two.
His progress didn’t go unnoticed in the stands, and several crowd members began to chant his name and root him on. The loudest cheers came from Olivia, who was thrilled to see Roger finally get the attention he deserved. She was proud of him, as proud as any girlfriend would be. Even though their relationship was purely one of friendship, Olivia hadn’t given up hope that someday Roger would notice the romantic side of her. There were a couple of times in the past when she felt he’d come close to asking her out, but he always seemed to back away as if he’d lost his courage. Maybe, she thought, this race, no matter what its outcome, would build up his confidence. She couldn’t wait to find out.
Lila, who hadn’t bothered to pay much attention to the race up to this point, suddenly began to take notice as Cara reached over to tug at her arm. “Look at Bugs go! Do you believe it?”
“What Bugs?” Jessica asked rhetorically. “He looks more like Speedy Gonzales now.” The newfound reverence in her voice was unmistakable. “He’s fantastic, Lila. Kind of sheds new light on things, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Lila asked.
“Do I have to spell it out for you? The boy who wins this race is going to be pretty popular around here. It wouldn’t hurt to be seen with him.”
“You can’t be serious, Jessica.”
“Why not? Have you ever really looked at Roger? He’s not so bad-looking. So what if his taste in clothing leaves something to be desired? Nobody’s perfect.”
The race now appeared to be Roger’s for the taking. Even Coach Schultz, who thought he knew how fast Roger was, let his silver whistle drop from his mouth as he stared in astonishment at the boy. Roger caught up with Bruce as they rounded the final turn. Bruce was so shocked to find someone at his side that he almost stopped dead in his tracks. A large part of the stadium was now rooting for the underdog, shouting, “Roger! Roger! Roger!”—which only added to Roger’s momentum. Bruce’s earlier optimism was gone, and even as he struggled to keep his pace, he knew the race was not going to be his. Roger quickened his steps, put in a final burst of speed, and crossed the finish line several seconds ahead of Bruce.
The crowd went wild, the cheering and stamping reverberating throughout the entire campus. Olivia and Elizabeth hugged each other in happiness, while Jessica, Lila, and Cara began to join the others who were heading toward the field.
The stunned boy didn’t know how to react. Panting heavily, he looked back at the crowd blankly, wondering what to do next. Bruce slipped across the finish line in second place, his head bent in anger and disappointment, and turned toward the locker room without congratulating the winner. The other racers were more gallant, however, and showered their congratulations on Roger, eventually hoisting him on their shoulders way above the approaching crowd.
As his shock faded, Roger began to enjoy the glo
ry, waving his appreciation to his fellow classmates. For the first time in his school career, he felt like a somebody, and he wanted to take advantage of the attention for as long as possible. It was as if he felt that at any moment it would all disappear.
Right after the boys lowered him back down to the ground, someone grabbed him and began to hug him tightly. The slender arms and wavy, light brown hair belonged to a girl, but at first he didn’t know who it was.
“Roger, you were unbelievable!” she shouted. The voice was familiar. Could it be? “I’ve never seen anyone run so well. You were great!”
She loosened her arms a little, and Roger confirmed the fact that he was being showered with affection by the girl of his dreams. “Lila,” he said with disbelief. “You’re here. You’re really here!”
“Where else would I be, Roger?” she said teasingly. “I told you I wanted to see you run. You didn’t think I’d miss being at the finish line, did you?”
“Well, no,” he said, groping for words. “I—I guess the whole thing is still like a dream to me.”
“Then it’s time to wake up, Roger. ’Cause I’m very much alive and here.” Taking hold of a strand of his hair, she brushed it gently behind his ear, letting her fingers tickle his lobe enticingly for a brief moment.
Roger was speechless. Meanwhile, the crowd around him swelled. “Well, I’d better leave you to the rest of your fans. See you around, Rog.” Lila blew him a kiss and then disappeared into the crowd.
Roger didn’t have time to think about her as he was overwhelmed by well-wishers. Another girl hugged him, but this time the touch suggested only friendship. “Congratulations, Roger,” Elizabeth said. “I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks for having faith in me,” he answered. “It helped to know there were a few people out there pulling for me.”
“A few? Didn’t you hear the crowd? You had the whole school behind you.”
“Really? I figured there were a lot of people who wanted Bruce to win.”
“Believe me, there were plenty more who wanted to see him lose. Face it, Roger, you’re a hero.”
“Do you know anyone around here who gives hero lessons? I’ve never played the part before.”
“Just be yourself. The rest will come naturally.”
Coach Schultz caught Elizabeth’s words as he gave the star runner a big bear hug. “Natural, you bet. My boy, that was the best piece of running I’ve seen since Jack Ralston won the Bart in fifty-six.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
“Thank you nothing. The thanks are all mine, my boy. You knew what you were doing from the word go. Keeping behind all those others, pacing yourself for the final stretch. I’m very proud of you, Roger. Why, just imagine what you’re going to do when we put real running clothes on you. Of course, you’ve got to realize that your natural abilities will only take you so far. You’ve got some strong competition in the Bart, and from now until the race I plan to run you, Bruce, and Tony hard. That’s my style, you know, and it’s worked well for me. Unfortunately, I haven’t had the talent to work with in recent years, but you boys are just what the doctor ordered. I’ll see you out here at two-thirty sharp.”
Two-thirty. That was the time he was due at work! All the excitement faded as Roger came crashing down to earth. He couldn’t afford to take time off to run, let alone hours every day for practice. Jobs for teens in Sweet Valley were hard to come by, and more than once his employer had told him how lucky Roger was to have his job, especially since it now paid him fifty cents an hour over the minimum wage.
He had to tell the coach he couldn’t run. “Coach Schultz—” he began tentatively.
The coach turned around. “No excuses, Roger. Practice is a must, and I’m not going to let anyone get out of it. Even a speedster like you.”
“But, Coach, I—”
Coach Schultz gave Roger the once-over. “Listen, don’t worry about a uniform. I won’t let anyone from Sweet Valley go without. I’ll have some racing shorts ordered for you. In the meantime, you can practice in your gym outfit.”
“But, Coach…”
Coach Schultz had already begun to walk off the field, having said all he intended to.
Well, Roger thought, at least he could savor the victory while it lasted. He’d be a nobody again by two-thirty that afternoon. Pasting a smile back on his face, he approached Olivia, who was still sitting in the stadium bleachers, her note pad in hand. She appeared to be lost in whatever she was writing. The happiness she’d felt at Roger’s victory had faded quickly when she saw Lila make her play for him, and she was writing about her feelings.
“Hey, got some time for an old war-horse?” he asked, tapping her lightly on the arm. “Some race, huh?”
Olivia looked up. “Congratulations,” she said politely. Closing her notebook, she rose, lifted her long skirt, and retreated back toward the campus.
Roger knew that Olivia wasn’t much of a sports fan, but he expected more thanks from his good friend. Shaking his head, both at her behavior and at his own hopeless predicament, he walked toward the locker room.
Six
As the day went on, Roger grew more accustomed to his role as Sweet Valley sports hero. He would miss all the fuss when he was back to his normal routine. After he’d showered and gotten back into the same clothes he had worn during the race, he grabbed his books from his gym locker and headed for his American history class. But before he could get past the administration offices, he was stopped by Sweet Valley’s principal, Mr. Cooper.
“We’re mighty proud of you, Roger,” Mr. Cooper said excitedly, throwing his arm around the startled boy. It had been a long time since Roger had seen the man known around school as Chrome Dome, and he had forgotten how accurate the nickname really was. Mr. Cooper’s scalp shone like a car fender. The rumor was that he oiled his bald head, but it had never been proven. “Come with me, boy,” Mr. Cooper continued, leading Roger into the administration office suite.
Smiling modestly, Roger took a seat on Mr. Cooper’s plush green couch. Right in the middle of the principal’s wooden desk was the microphone from which he made his daily announcements about school activities, rules, and anything else that came to his mind. “I’m going to be late for class,” Roger said.
“No need to worry about that, Roger. I just had to call you in here to congratulate you. Why, do you know how fast you ran?” the principal asked, resting himself on the edge of his desk.
“No, sir,” Roger admitted.
“My boy, you set a school record: four minutes, five point five seconds.”
“Really?” Roger was astonished. Although he knew he was fast, he’d never timed himself and had had no idea he was capable of running that quickly.
“Coach Schultz told me we haven’t had anyone as fast as you since some fella back in fifty-six. Of course I wasn’t here at the time, so I’ve got to take the coach’s word for it. But believe me, Roger, I liked what I saw out there.” He paused, then frowned slightly. “Weren’t you wearing those clothes out on the field?”
“Yes, sir,” Roger said with shame. “It’s all I have.”
Mr. Cooper leaned over his desk to his intercom. “Rosemary,” he spoke into it. “Bring me one of those sweat suits, please—in a large.” Looking back at Roger, he said, “Don’t you worry, my boy, we’ll have you out of those things in no time.”
“Really, Mr. Cooper, you don’t have to—” Roger began.
“Of course I don’t. It’s my pleasure,” Mr. Cooper said. “I don’t have to tell you how important the Bart is. Big press coverage. And no one from Sweet Valley has won in years. You’re our only hope, Roger. We’re counting on you.”
“I don’t know.…”
“Where’s your confidence, my boy? The coach tells me you didn’t even practice for the race. With a little help and work, you could break four minutes at the Bart. Nobody from any of the other schools runs like that. Why, hardly anyone in the country does. Do you know what I’m talking about?
”
Roger knew only too well. The Bart could be the first rung of a ladder that could lead to the state track finals, NCAAs, the AAUs—perhaps even the Olympics. Could. Perhaps for a boy like Bruce Patman, who had the time and money to devote to nurturing his talent. Not someone like Roger, who had to retire from racing even before he got started. What good was talent when you couldn’t develop it?
Before Roger could tell Mr. Cooper that he wouldn’t be able to run, Rosemary entered the office with an official Sweet Valley High warm-up suit. Roger’s eyes opened wide. He’d seen the suit many times in the school store and had always longed to have one just like it. But coming up with the thirty dollars it cost was next to impossible for him.
Mr. Cooper took it from Rosemary and handed it to Roger. “From everyone at Sweet Valley to you.”
“Thank you,” Roger said. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say you’re going to break four minutes next Saturday afternoon. We’re counting on you.”
With the blue running outfit now in his hands, Roger couldn’t muster up the nerve to tell Mr. Cooper he wouldn’t be there. “Th-thank you,” Roger said, rising from his seat. “I—I really have to get to class now.”
Feeling a bit like a little boy with a new Christmas present, Roger walked out into the deserted hallway and entered the first bathroom he could find. Shedding his faded fatigues and ragged T-shirt, he tried on the new sweats. They couldn’t have fit any better if they had been custom-made, and with the bright red Sweet Valley High emblem, he truly felt like a winner. He ached to savor the feeling as long as he could.
* * *
Even champions couldn’t escape the mediocrity of the Sweet Valley High cafeteria food. As Roger passed through the lunch line later that morning, he halfheartedly grabbed a plate of the day’s entree, beef goulash.
Jessica and Lila were already sitting at a table as he moved through the line.
“Now there’s a class-A bod,” Lila said, admiring the back of the lean, tall boy dressed in a blue running suit.
Racing Hearts Page 4
