Chapter 7 - Regionals
Regionals felt like a championship and a courtroom at the same time.
Every camera seemed pointed at us.
Every whisper seemed louder.
Grandma sat in the front row wearing her American flag shirt again.
Mom sat beside her.
For the first time in my life, they looked like family.
Not repaired.
Repairing.
I warmed up for the 400 with my stomach twisting.
Coach Bennett crouched beside me.
“Block out the noise.”
“I’m trying.”
“No. Don’t try to block it out. Turn it into rhythm.”
I looked at him.
He smiled.
“Your grandma told me that.”
Of course she did.
When I stepped into lane five, the stadium quieted in my head.
I looked at the curve.
Not at cameras.
Not at reporters.
Not at Mr. Carver’s empty seat.
The gun fired.
I ran.
First curve smooth.
Backstretch controlled.
At two hundred meters, I was third.
At three hundred, my legs burned.
Then I heard Grandma.
Not yelling my name.
Just clapping.
Once.
Twice.
Steady.
A rhythm.
I matched it.
I drove forward.
The girl in lane four tightened.
The leader faded.
I leaned at the line.
For one terrible second, I didn’t know.
Then the board flashed.
Second place.
Fifty-seven point eight.
State qualifier.
I stared at the time.
Then I screamed.
Mom jumped from her seat.
Grandma tried to stand too fast and nearly fell.
Mom caught her.
They laughed together.
I cried before I even reached them.
But the drama wasn’t over.
The pole vault started an hour later.
Madison competed.
She cleared her first two heights.
Then she froze at her personal best.
Grandma called from the fence, “You’re thinking about falling!”
Madison shouted back, “I am falling!”
“Then fall after you clear it!”
The crowd laughed.
Madison ran.
Planted.
Lifted.
Cleared.
The stadium exploded.
She ran straight to Grandma and hugged her.
A photographer caught the moment.
Another headline was born.
But then Mr. Carver appeared.
He stood near the officials’ tent in a suit, even though he was supposed to be on leave.
Mom saw him first.
“What is he doing here?”
Coach Bennett went over.
Carver handed something to the head official.
The official’s face changed.
Coach Bennett turned toward me.
I knew before he spoke that something was wrong.
He came back slowly.
“Lily.”
“What?”
His jaw tightened.
“Your regional entry is under protest.”
My chest dropped.
“Why?”
“Residency paperwork.”
Mom stood.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Coach looked furious.
“They claim your address on the district athletic form doesn’t match your mother’s tax record because of her maiden name issue.”
Grandma whispered, “Carver.”
Mom grabbed her bag.
“I’ll fix it.”
But Coach shook his head.
“They’re saying if not resolved today, her qualifying time won’t count.”
The world tilted.
Grandma stood.
“Where is he?”
“Grandma, no.”
She leaned on her pole like a soldier leaning on a rifle.
“He stole one girl’s result from me. He doesn’t get yours.”
She walked toward Carver.
The cameras followed.
Carver saw her coming and smiled.
“Mrs. Hayes, still causing trouble?”
May you like
Grandma stopped inches from him.
“No, Mr. Carver. I am ending it.”
