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doesn’t even look in my direction. Could Jake be right, and Brody doesn’t remember being at the shelter?
    â€œOkay,” Coach is wide-awake and in charge. “These kind ladies,” he beams at the moms and Mrs. Showalter, a history teacher, “are your chauffeurs today. When you’re in their cars, I expect you to behave like the gentlemen I know you can be. No cussing, no fighting, and no sass. It’s a beautiful day for a morning run. Pick up your gear. Find a car. Let’s move.”
    I like Coach’s attitude about racing: “A beautiful day for a morning run.” If he only knew what makes it so exceptional for me. I still feel stoked from being with Mackie.
    I climb in Mrs. Showalter’s car with Ben and Ryan Long. Ryan’s our elite runner who finished second at State last year as a junior. He runs a 15:40.00 5K. Today, we hope he will be number one in the individual competition, and put us over the top for the meet overall. Ryan pops in his earbuds. He has his tunes and race plan prepped. It will be a quiet ride.
    Mrs. Showalter greets us. “Good morning. You have splendid weather today. I heard on the radio that it’s fifty-three degrees and dry in Seattle. And the pollution index is very good. Okay, does everyone have his seat belt on?” In a few minutes Mrs. Showalter eases down the road, and we pay at the ferry ticket gate. Then we line up for the six-thirty boat.
    Once we’re on the ferry, everyone seems to relax. Ben rests his head back against the seat. Rumbling sleep sounds escape from his mouth. As she opens her door, Mrs. Showalter turns back in and asks if we want anything from the galley. I shake my head no. Ryan nods his head to his music, oblivious to the question. After Mrs. Showalter leaves, I close my eyes to better picture my running inspiration: Mackie.
    â€¢ • •
    We roll into Seattle’s Riley City Park. Coach has arranged for us to meet in a parking lot near the course, and everyone congregates around him.
    â€œHey, listen up,” Coach yells. Fifteen excited voices get quiet in a hurry.
    â€œWe have fifty minutes before the start. Three things I want from you before this race: First, leave your gear with your drivers. As you can see, the ladies are setting their chairs up near the start. Second, check in at the registration table and get your numbers. Now, very important, put your number cards on the front and back of your tank immediately. Third, I want all of you to walk or jog this course. I know, some of you ran it last year, but check it out again. Take your maps and follow the flags. There may be some changes.
    â€œOne more thing: Pay attention to the time. I’ll be very disappointed if I see anyone still on the course or running out of the Port-a-Potty when the start horn sounds.
    â€œAfter the race, pick up your gear bags. We’ll take the ten-forty boat home, leaving this parking lot at ten o’clock. Anyone not in a car will be left behind. We’re not waiting around. Is that clear? Good. Ribbons will be sent to me at school. Any questions? Now, I know every one of you guys can better your times today. Remember your race strategy and stick to it. We went over that last week. Right? Okay, have a good race. Let’s get it!”
    Coach claps his hands. An East-coast runner in his college days, his eyes are fired up. For an old guy, he still feels race day.
    With arm-pumping and hand-clapping, we follow our pre-competition routine. Just the way it does before every race, my stomach turns cold and jittery. To warm up and stay loose, I make myself jog and try to memorize the race flags on the course. The damp air feels cool in contrast to the heat under my skin. Anything is possible. Completing my practice loop, I have one thought: I am going to kill this course!
    Five minutes before the start, Ryan pulls his earbuds and drops his music in his gear bag. He looks detached, his race face. With