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Jake moved slightly to the right to get out of the spray of sand Sam was kicking up. Just ahead were the pylons marking the entrance to the trail through the trees. He'd be out of the wind and back on firm ground. Jake felt a charge of energy. Just a little bit farther to the trees. He followed as Sam kicked in with a quick burst of speed to pass two runners just ahead of the pylons. Three left in the lead.

The change to being out of the wind was so sudden, Jake almost fell over. After all that fighting, he felt like he was floating.
Switch gears. Short strides up the hills, longer steps down. The hills, the field, the trough, the finish. The hills, the field, the trough, the finish. Keep going. Keep going. One foot in front of the other. Breathe in. Breathe out
. Jake stayed focused on the silver jersey in front of him.
Steady. Steady
. Then Sam caught a root and stumbled. He threw his hands out in front of him and was up again in an instant. Behind him, Jake jumped the root and pulled even.

“Keep going, Jake,” said Sam.

Jake looked over at him. Sam waved him on as he tried to find his rhythm again. There was a flicker of pain in his eyes. Should I stop? thought Jake. I should wait, make sure Sam is all right.

“I'm okay,” Sam panted. “Keep going, Jake. Go for it.” Sam nodded. Jake hesitated for a split second, then nodded back. “Go Diamond,” called Sam as Jake took off.

He sprinted up behind a small kid in a yellow jersey. For a short time they were matched stride for stride, but Jake's stride was longer and he soon moved in front. A white shirt and a red one were all that remained.
Up, down, up, down. In, out, in, out. Focus. Focus
. Jake pulled up behind the runner in white. He had a good rhythm going, but his breathing was pretty ragged. Looking to his right, Jake saw sunlight streaming through the trees and realized they were coming up along the field already.
The field, the turn, the trough, the finish. Dig. Dig deep
. He launched himself off his toes and pulled past the white shirt. One more.

This guy was a great runner. No wonder he was out front. His movements were smooth and fluid. His stride was even and his breathing controlled. Over a black long-sleeved shirt, he wore a red jersey with some type of logo on the back that Jake couldn't make out, and he had a black knit hat on his head. Step it up, Jake told himself. Step it up just a little. They were in the field now, coming up on the turn into the tape. Dave leaned in from where he stood along the side. “Let it all out now, Jake. It's time. Let it go!”

Jake's legs felt like logs. His lungs were on fire. Bulldogs, he thought. That's what it said on the back of that guy's jersey:
Bulldogs
. He could read it now! He was that close.
The turn, the trough, the finish. The turn, the trough, the finish. Dig, dig, dig, dig
. Jake found another gear and started to sprint. They were in the trough now, tape flapping on either side. He pulled up next to the red runner. Their arms were pumping, their legs were churning.
Run. Run. Run to run. Run to run
. Jake felt like a weight was slowly lifting off him. He looked up at the blue sky and sucked in the cold air and found himself grinning. He didn't think about the other guy. He didn't think about his legs. He didn't think about his lungs. He didn't feel the ache in his shoulders. He didn't feel anything but free. And fast.
Run. Run. Don't stop running until you cross the line. Don't stop running. Don't stop. Don't
. Jake summoned every little bit of energy he could find left inside and flew across the finish line. First. First place. Jake Jarvis.

Chapter Seventeen

Jake walked around a bit behind the finish line to get his wind back. He wasn't tired at all. He felt light, excited. He made his way over to the big tree they had made home base. He did some stretches and a quick little happy dance and reached into the tent for his jacket and some water. He heard his name and saw someone jogging toward him. Simon.

“Jake, that was awesome!”

“Simon, what are you doing here?”

“Watching the race.”

“Yeah, but…” Jake reddened a little. He hadn't told Simon about the race today. He hadn't even told him about running with the Diamond Club.

“I read about it in the paper. I saw your name. I wanted to go, and my mom said she wouldn't mind shopping in Deep Rapids for an afternoon. She'll pick me up later.”

“You wanted to come all the way out here for a race you're not even in?”

Simon stared at Jake for an instant and smiled. “We're friends, aren't we?”

Then Dave and Sam came up, with Shawn between them. Paul was behind them. Shawn's left leg, elbow, shoulder, chin and cheekbone were all scraped up. “Shawn! Are you all right?”

“Looks worse than it feels, I think, although it doesn't feel so great either.”

“What happened?”

“Colossal wipeout.”

“Was it a root?” asked Sam.

“No.”

“Rock?” asked Paul.

“No.”

“Foot?” asked Jake.

“No.”

“Branch?” asked Simon.

“Negative, dudes. It happened way back by the pond. I slipped on some gooey duck guck and took a major dive.”

“Gross!”

“Awesome!”

“Whoa.”

“But he didn't quit,” said Dave. “Took all that scuffing and still came in at fifty-four. Well done, Shawn.”

The whole team crowded in to pat Shawn on the back.

“Ouch,” he bellowed. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!”

“Sorry, man.”

Shawn looked at Paul and Sam and Jake. “How'd you guys do?

“Or doo-doo, maybe?” offered Simon. Jake winced. Not the jokes! He hadn't even had a chance to introduce Simon to the guys yet. The rest of the boys laughed.

“Twenty-nine,” said Paul.

“Solid.”

“Fifth,” said Sam.

Shawn's eyebrows shot up. “Nice.” He turned to Jake. “You?”

Jake wasn't sure what to do. The superhero pose didn't feel right this time. Before he could say anything, someone else did.

“Numero uno,” piped up Simon. “My friend Jake here was the first across the line.”

Everyone stood silently for a moment. Then they all cheered wildly.

“No way!” shouted Paul.

“Awesome,” said Sam, nodding.

“My man!” echoed Shawn.

“Leavin' 'em in the Diamond dust,” said Paul.

Dave laughed. “It was quite some finish, Jake. What was that all about?”

“I was just running.”

“Yeah?”

“I had somewhere to go.”

“And it seemed the fastest way to get there?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, buddy, I'd say you definitely got there!” They all grinned ridiculously. There were high fives all around. Even for Simon.

“Sit for a bit, Shawn,” advised Dave. “Then we'll get you cleaned up. We're just waiting for Tony to come in.”

Dave jogged off toward the finish line. Paul ran over to the score sheets plastered to the fence. Sam explained how it worked. Because it was a team event, all the runners' results counted toward the total. The team with the lowest total score would win. Paul jogged back waving a napkin excitedly in his hand.

“Guys,” he panted. “I think we have a shot at top three. Look, I wrote the numbers down. The guys from Fletcher—they're the ones in yellow—are all in: 4, 22, 23, 67, and 71.”

Sam added the numbers in his head. “That's 187 points.”

“Whoa. How do you do that?” asked Shawn. “What do we have?”

“Eighty-nine, so far.”

“But wait,” said Paul. “Red—that's the Bulldogs—they look good too. They have runners at 2, 10, 17, and 62.”

“Ninety-one,” whispered Sam. “And we both have one more runner coming in.”

“What does it mean?” asked the others.

“It means it's going to be close!”

“Tony!” They all rushed over to the tape.

“Wait for me,” hollered Shawn, hobbling along behind them. “I don't want to miss this!”

Runners were finishing in groups of two and three, racing each other through the trough. The display board read
75
as a runner in a black jersey crossed the line. White. Purple. Where was Tony? There! A group of five had turned into the trough. Two green shirts, a red shirt, a silver and a blue.

“C'mon, Tony!” they all yelled. “C'mon!”

Five runners hurtled through the trough, legs flying, arms pumping. Red was ahead. Then green. Now blue.

“C'mon, Tony!”

Face flushed, he pushed across the line. The board flashed
81
. Would it be enough?

The Diamond team surrounded Tony at the finish and clapped him on the back.

“Paul,” called Sam. “Go find out how the Bulldog runner finished.”

They waited anxiously as Paul scurried off toward the sheets. Runners were still finishing, but yellow was all in: 4, 22, 23, 67, 71. Silver, all in: 1, 5, 29, 54, 81. Red. What about red? 2, 10, 17, 62 and what?

“We've got 1 and 5,” said Shawn. “That's got to be enough to take their 2 and 10, don't you think?”

“I don't know. I don't know,” replied Sam.

“Seventy-eight,” yelled Paul, coming across the field. “He came in at 78.”

Everyone looked at Sam.

“2, 10, 17, 62, 78…Guys—we did it. We did it!”

A loud cheer went up from the circle of boys in silver shirts. Sam grinned. Paul jumped. Shawn whooped. Tony grabbed Jake's wrist and pulled Jake's arm up with his.

“I can't believe it!” shouted Sam. “Top three! Yellow has 187 points. We have 170. Red has 169. We've got second place!”

Jake froze. Second? Second? He hated second. He thought he was done being second. No way. He had finished first. First.

Jake pulled his arm down. Just then Dave jogged over. “Unbelievable! Do you guys know…?”

“We know! Second place!” hollered Paul. “Sam figured it out for us.”

Dave laughed. He winked at Sam. “Unbelievable,” he said again. “Well done, boys! Well done! I need to talk to you about a few things, and I think there's some hardware coming your way, but first I want you to do a bit of a cool-down. Shawn, you come with me to the first-aid tent. The rest of you guys, take an easy jog away from the course. Meet you by our tent in, say, twenty minutes.”

Jake jogged away toward the lake. He figured no one else would head that way, and he wanted to be by himself. He faced into the wind and tried to clear his head. His chest felt tight, and he had a hard lump in his throat. The team had missed first place by one point. One. If any one of the guys had run just a little bit faster and passed one more runner, they could have tied for first or had it all on their own. He was the only one who couldn't have done that. There was no one left for him to pass. Yet everyone seemed so happy. Didn't the rest of these guys want to win? Jake remembered Dave's pre-race pep talk about doing their best. Their best did not seem to be good enough. Maybe they didn't want it enough. What happened to
winning will take care of itself
? Sure, Dave.

As he stood in the cold wind, Jake thought about all the times Dave had popped up along the course, offering advice, encouraging him to give it his all. He knew Dave had done that for all five of them. He thought about Sam running hard to the finish. He thought about Paul starting out way too fast but then pulling it back and running smart. He thought about Shawn crashing but not quitting. He thought about Tony powering his way through the pressure at the end. He thought about the way he had felt running today. And he knew something then. They
had
given it their all. They had run a good race. It wasn't first, but it was their best. And maybe that was okay.

Simon came up behind him. “Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“The rest of the guys are waiting for you.”

“Okay, I'm coming.” He paused. It occurred to him that Simon had given his all too. In more ways than one. Jake turned. “Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for making the trip out here.”

“It's cool, and I'm not talking temperature. I like running.”

Jake smiled. “Me too.”

The boys walked up just as the convenor began calling out the names of the top three teams. Dave met them at the tent. “Hustle now, Jake. Go join your team.”

Jake moved in quietly beside Sam. For a moment he held on to the silver medal the big man in the red jacket handed him. Then he took a deep breath and slipped it over his head. It felt good.

They took down the tent, picked up their water bottles, said goodbye to Simon, who had to go meet up with his mom, and piled into Dave's van. “Hey, guys, look at this,” called Shawn. He lifted a box from the front seat.
BEN'S BAKERY
, it said in big letters on top. Inside were a dozen donuts.

“Awesome!”

“Ben is the best!”