Favorite Friend

Bonus Chapter: What Came Before

I never want the track to end.

In this instant, it doesn't matter whether I lose or win, whether there's anyone watching, whether my legs ache or my lungs feel too tight. All that matters is the feeling of the air rushing past my face, the reliable rhythm of my feet hitting the ground, the dizzying thump-thump-thumping of my pulse in my ears.

Sometimes when you're running, my mom told me once, it looks as if, with the next step, you'll lift right off the track and start flying.

When I'm like this, it already feels like I'm airborne, carried skywards by the distant cheers of the crowd, the pure adrenaline that hijacked my bloodstream the moment the starting gun fired. It's one foot in front of the other, easy, familiar—

And then it's suddenly over. My last high school track tournament. Another piece of my childhood abruptly filed under past tense, cue the sepia filter.

I feel like it ought to feel monumental, but instead it just feels sweaty and panting and like my legs are made of jelly all of a sudden.

"You did it, man!" someone from the track team shouts, and then, "Remember me when you're famous!" Hands ruffle my hair, but I don't see who they belong to. My eyes are too occupied darting across the stands, scanning the crowd until finally...

There. Third row from the bottom, sandwiched between two of his sisters, the third one trying to clamber into his lap. I can't hear what he says to Isabel as he gently sets her down—all I care about is that she's standing safely on her own two feet again by the time I make it to them and that I don't accidentally tackle a toddler when I launch myself at Feli.

He stumbles slightly when I crash into him, but his arms immediately come around me, fingers clutching the back of my shirt. The laugh he lets out is a breathless thing. "You won," he says. His voice is soft, and it's only because he's speaking right next to my ear that I can make out the words over the racket.

Like all the other times, it's only then that it really sets in. Not crossing the finish line, not the medals, not the back thumps and high fives from my team mates—this is what makes it feel like a win. It's as if all the cheers and whistles don't mean a thing until I can press my grin into Felipe Rivera's shoulder.

I'm sure my smile is ridiculous when I finally lean back, wiping the sweat off my forehead. Even now, my heart is still racing, determined to sprint on even when my feet have come to a stop.

Feli's eyes are bright bright bright and— Fuck, what am I gonna do when I'm in L.A.? I'm going to have to make him fly out for every track tournament. Maybe I can convince the college board that it's a necessary investment. Emotional support, and all that.

"There he is!" Dad's voice makes both of us jump. I turn around to find him steering towards me, beaming like I just won the Olympics and not a tiny high school race in San Aburrido. "That's my boy!"

His words light my chest with a private little pang of pride. Face warm, I dutifully step away from Feli to accept his bear hug. Mom descends on me next, and then Feli's mother and Elena and the twins and even Abuela, kissing my cheeks and telling me she's proud of me and—

Shit. Maybe this does feel a little bit monumental.

***

Prom, predictably, is underwhelming. When we get there, we realize that most of our year has made the wise choice of pre-gaming—at barely half past ten, there's wildly swinging limbs everywhere, slurred, off-key singing bouncing off the walls of the crowded gym.

I can tell from just one look at Feli that he wants to be anywhere but here.

"Hey." I knock my shoulder against his. "We don't have to be here, you know?"