So I want to say six-forty? Why don't you go ahead and take ten.” “Looking sharp, Val!” Coach Freeman said, as she passed.Ĭoach Freeman looked at her stopwatch. But she wouldn't let herself think about that - not out here, with the wind in her hair, and the silvery light of a cloud-blocked sun shining bright in her eyes. Who wanted to watch a bunch of teenagers run in a circle, over and over? If you weren't participating, it wasn't all that fun. Track wasn't a spectator sport, not really. Most of the spectators weren't even spectating. Her eyes flicked to the bleachers where a few students sat reading or talking, or waiting for the football team to come out and start their practice. During meets like these, Val was immensely grateful that boys and girls trained separately. Sweat was dripping down her face, blurring her vision and making what was left of her makeup run. Out on the high school's track, Valerian Kimble had already made the conscious decision to knot hers around her waist. In Derringer, California, this meant stifling humidity and a windchill that made people think twice about removing their sweaty jackets. It was one of those days in late April when the weather wasn't quite sure whether it wanted to be hot or cold, and so settled for a cloudy, muggy hybrid of the two.
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