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Part 4
Page 2
Such a terrible thing.
It was the 50-meter, hot spring day. Shujuan was
part of the last group to go up again, which she figured was always done
intentionally, because the gym coaches were the only teachers that tended
to like her, at least until they discovered how impossible she was. Track
burned at the touch, felt it up through the soles of her sneakers and cut
into the palms as she slung into position. Geared her shoulders, trained
her ears for the coach's whistle.
Through the heat-haze she could see the fence that
separated the track field from the basketball courts, where the boys group
was practicing. Two shapes waved at her excitedly. Idiots. She'd kick their
asses later.
But Shu-rin, someone has to, Wensley had reasoned.
Morons. She didn't need cheers. She didn't need
applause. She didn't even need anyone watching. Running was for her,
that was the point. They'd taken away every sport she'd tried to
join and she was the outcast of every team in P.E., but at the very least
no one could ever take away this.
The whistle blew.
And she was flying. If her feet touched the ground
it was only incidentally, the air rushing around her, slicing a straight
path through the world whatever it cared about it. Pure adrenaline carrying
and heart pounding until it was lost and vision stopped and the only thing
was to get to the end.
Someday she was going to run fast enough that the
rest of the universe just ripped away, that everything fell back and left
only her, and the feel of the muscles and the heat of the pavement and
the slam of the soles and the breath in her throat. Where it was nothing
but the beat and the beat and the beat and the need to push as far and
as fast as she could humanly take herself, and then farther than that.
Run and keep running, keep running, not to or away,
just straight ahead. Go, go. The finish line gets farther every day and
she will always, always reach it before breath or sweat or the ache of
lungs could keep up.
Someone called time.
The next time her hearing resumed it was to the
sound of cheers. Panting, hunched over and hands braced on her thighs,
Shujuan blinked the sweat out of her eyes and tried to sort out just what
her ears were picking up. People never cheered her. She didn't need it,
of course, but they never gave it, had no reason to start now. Why...?
Straightening up, she saw her. The Girl.
Arms raised up and laughing between the heave of her breasts, beaming at
her applauding classmates with all the joy of those people on television
that won lotteries and game shows. Beaming at her, beaming at Shujuan
as she stood and couldn't imagine what she was supposed to think.
No one had ever beaten her before. She had never
come in contact with anyone that even made her push. There had never been
any challenge before.
The Girl smiled bright as spring time and pulled
out her ponytail, shaking out damp silver-blonde hair and looking just
generally perfect. Not pleased. Just happy.
"What... the fuck..." Shujuan hissed at nothing.
So terrible.
Wenlong opened the door about twenty minutes later,
when Shujuan still had not reappeared and Jianmin was getting bored. He
called out as he stepped into the rain, saying, "Shu-rin? Did you die?
We'll take your ashes to the headmaster tomorrow if you li--"
He stopped abruptly and spun around, seeing the
shapes huddled under the overhang and recognizing the pattern too readily
to waste on questions. "We'll, uh, just be waiting for you inside..."
Shujuan pulled out of the kiss reluctantly and said,
a bit absent breath, "Wen--"
"Remember to invite her in
to dry off when you're done."
"Wen--"
But the door was already closed.
After a moment, Shujuan felt
a hand on her cheek. Cold, but no longer shivering. Coaxing down for another
kiss.
She agreed.
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