Acquired Tastes

Chapter One

Neil was woken up the first night in his new room by an alarm ringing, the sound piercing through his head. Someone banged on the door. "To the track!" They growled, then moved to the next door, banging again, repeating the gruff sentence. Neil rubbed his eyes and got up, still half asleep as he struggled to pull on shorts, hopping on one foot to keep his balance. He shoved his feet into his shoes and hurried out the door without bothering to tie them, making his way with the flow of other groggy students to the stairwell, dozens of feet clanging on the metal stairs. When he made it out the door, the sound from the alarm grew quieter, fading into the background as he walked, surrounded by chatter, shivers, and half-asleep confusion. He and the others made their way to the track, which was a thick rectangle of straight lines rather than a circle and was situated not too far from their rooms. They stood, waiting, as more and more students arrived. Finally, a man standing on the grass beside the track clicked his megaphone a few times, quieting the group.

"Good morning," he said in that annoying way that teachers say it when they know very well it's not good, nor even morning. He grinned at them, eyes scanning their faces. "I'm so excited you're all here. You might remember me from orientation, but I know there were a lot of names to keep track of. You can call me Coach Harrison; I'm gonna help get you all in shape. And what better time to start than now." He paused, still grinning that annoying little grin, surveying the group. "This is essentially just a relay; one of you will run down and back, then your partner goes, but each time, you go up a level in weighted vest, yeah? Okay, enough standing around, everyone get to your lanes."

Neil made his way forward, hesitantly, arriving at the painted number twelve and running his shoe over it. He glanced around at the others, unsure what to do, then finally pushed back, making his way through the thinning crowd towards Harrison. "Hey," he said, trying not to let the lack of confidence show in his voice. "My partner's not here."

Harrison eyed him for a second, then stepped back, turning his megaphone back on and addressing the crowd. "Just to be clear, if at any point in your training here, one of you shows up without a partner for whatever reason, you'll do both parts of the exercise. Listen very closely, because if there's one thing you should take away from this tonight, it's this: your partner is. Everything." He lowered his megaphone, looking at Neil. "Clear?"

Neil nodded, stomach already in knots, and hurried back over to his lane, crouching to tie his shoes. He straightened up, looking around at the other pairs of students, dread eating at his fingertips. And then, before he could even take a breath, Harrison blew his whistle sharply, and Neil's legs took off running almost before he even knew they were going to.

The first down and back wasn't bad; he was used to running, and if it weren't for the way his stomach was twisting, the way his lungs were behind before he even began because of the anxiety, everything would have been fine. He was the first one back, and he struggled to pull on the first vest, losing several seconds that other pairs avoided by the second partner being ready and waiting when the first one returned. He made up for it though, passing the three people who'd overtaken him, feet speeding over the gray, the breeze ruffling his hair. He made it back, wrenching the vest off and pulling the next one on, and took off again, behind only one person. He tried to regulate his breathing, taking a deep inhale, and weighed his options; he considered pushing himself harder, but realistically, there was no way he could come in first. There were still so many vests, so much time. Before he could decide what to do, someone else pulled in front of him a few lanes to his left, and his legs sped up without meaning to. He was third back to the beginning, lungs screaming for air as he dropped the vest on top of one of the others and grabbed the next one, taking off again. His feet were impossibly heavy, and the weight against his chest felt like a panic attack. He reached the far end and turned around, beginning back, as the edges of his vision began to blur. He forced himself to take a deep breath, eyes on his feet as they became all he could see, and tugged at the front of his necklace, which now felt impossibly tight around his throat.