The lunch bell rang, and after a bit more chatter, the group began to drift off in their own directions. Westly hesitated before getting up, stealing one more glance at Layla's pigtails as she turned away, the golden-brown strands bouncing with each step. She glanced back and gave him a smile so soft it made his face flush.
'That smile should be illegal,' Westly thought, clutching his tray tighter before heading to toss it.
The rest of the day blurred by. Westly could barely focus on his classes. His thoughts kept circling around practice—Coach Emerson, the training ahead, and whether he'd be able to survive it without passing out or throwing up. Maybe both.
Eventually, the final bell rang, and Westly hustled out of the building, backpack bouncing against his wide back as he waddled down the hallway, breath already short just from the anticipation.
The field was already lively when he got there. Jaylen, tall and cocky with his dyed red hair spiked in wild directions, was showing Liam and Lia some kind of drill. Layla was stretching her legs near the bleachers, her soft green eyes squinting in the sun. Ethan, as usual, stood alone on the side, doing some light toe touches, his auburn hair flopping into his long hawk-like nose.
Westly jogged up—okay, more like huffed and stumbled—and took his spot near the back of the field. He barely had time to catch his breath before—
BWEEEEEP.
The sharp screech of Coach Emerson's whistle split the air like a gunshot. The old man, grizzled and limping slightly from his bad knees, was already barking orders.
"Line up, you soft-footed chickens!" he yelled, his voice gravelly like a truck starting on a cold morning. "You ain't here to twiddle your thumbs! We're building trackstars not flower pickers!"
The team scrambled to form a loose line. Coach Emerson's clipboard looked like it had seen the Korean War, but he held it like it was sacred scripture.
"Today's focus is strength, speed, and pain," he growled. "You quit? You don't come back. You stop moving? We ALL suffer."
Jaylen chuckled, "What else is new?"
Coach Emerson shot him a look. "Boy, don't make me strap ankle weights to your ears."
They began with eccentric running drills. Westly, panting heavily already, tried his best to mimic everyone else—sprinting ten meters, then slowing to a near stop in exaggerated slow motion.
"This helps build control and power!" Coach bellowed. "If you run like a chicken with its head cut off, you'll finish last every time!"
Westly wobbled into a slow deceleration, his belly jiggling like a water balloon with every step. Jaylen was doing it with a cocky ease, Liam with a wide grin like it was a game, Lia intensely focused, Ethan precise and mechanical, and Layla? Layla looked like she floated across the grass.
'Is she even human?' Westly thought, nearly tripping on his own foot.
Then came the weighted speed work. Coach brought out ankle weights and light weighted vests.
"Put these on! Time to make your legs hate you!"
Westly could barely breathe with just his own weight. When he clipped the ankle weights on, it felt like someone taped bricks to his soul. Still, he ran. Or more accurately, he tried.
Jaylen jogged by and said, "Try not to pass out, man. You're the first in the relay—you go down, we all go down."
"Encouraging," Westly gasped.
They continued onto terrain work—sprints across the sand pit, then hill climbs by the parking lot.
By the third climb, Westly felt like he was going to die.
"THE SECOND YOU STOP, THE MORE WE DO!" Coach thundered like a storm cloud.
Westly didn't stop. His shirt clung to him, soaked with sweat, and his legs burned like bonfires. But he kept going.
Then came muscle group work.
"Core first!" Coach yelled. "Planks! Russian Twists! Lay flat and give me 30 leg lifts!"
Westly collapsed into a puddle on his mat.
"Then glutes! Bridges, hip thrusts, squats! I wanna see power! No jelly legs!"
By the time they hit hamstring exercises, Coach had them doing Romanian deadlifts.
"Feet shoulder-width apart! Slight bend in the knee! Keep your back straight and hinge at the hips—feel the stretch!"
Westly was too tired to even be embarrassed that his sweat was forming a puddle. At one point during glute bridges, Liam rolled over, looked at Westly and whispered, "Hey, if I don't make it out of this alive, tell my cat I love her."
Westly snorted. "What kind of cat?"
"A judgmental one. She would never forgive me for dying during squats."
They pushed through to the end of practice, groaning and laughing and cursing under their breath.
Finally, Coach blew the whistle. "That's it! You're all still standing, so I guess I didn't push hard enough. Get outta here."
Layla wiped her forehead and turned to Westly, her smile bright even through the sweat.
"Hey, want to come hang out with us for a bit?" she asked, already leading the way. "We usually just chill at the park."
Westly blinked. "Y-Yeah. Sure."
'Did she just invite me? Like, ME me?' he thought as he followed, every muscle in his body on fire.
The group found a quiet spot near a fountain at the park down the street. They collapsed into the grass in a circle, exhausted but content.
Jaylen pulled out a bag of gummy worms. "These are sacred. Touch them, and you lose a finger."
Liam immediately grabbed one.
"Bro," Jaylen said. "I WILL end you."
Lia laughed, tossing her water bottle at her twin. "He deserves it. He stole my charger this morning."
Ethan looked up from a book he somehow had in his backpack. "You shouldn't even be on your phone that much. It weakens attention span."
Jaylen rolled his eyes. "Nerd."
Layla giggled. "Be nice. He's got a point. And besides, he's smarter than all of us combined."
They all turned to Westly.
He froze.
"What about you?" Layla asked, tilting her head. "You okay?"
Westly smiled nervously. "I'm great. Tired... but great."
He looked around at the group, the way they laughed with each other, how they included him without hesitation.
'I hope this lasts,' he thought. 'I hope this isn't a dream.'
As the sun began to set, casting golden light over their little circle, Westly felt something he hadn't in a long, long time.
Belonging.