Alright, this was it. We were going to have to run to the end of the field and back right when he blows the whistle.

My classmates shuffled around, getting into that classic lunge. They wanted a head start. Fat chance. I wasn’t going to let them!

My heart beating in my chest, hairs all on end, I listened.

Somebody started when he put the whistle up to his mouth, and got herded back behind the line.

Then more waiting.

Just when I thought it’d never come, a loud blaring pierced my ears on my left side.

*The signal!* Wait, no, what?

I had been braced for a run, awkwardly pushed off, then realized it wasn’t the whistle.

No, it came from back near the school! It kept blasting deafeningly–I could practically hear it inside my *skull*. Yeah, my eardrums were done for. I shielded them with my hands– must be a fire drill or something. The coach didn’t seem too concerned.

Amid all the confusion, some people had taken off sprinting as instructed as fast as the mailman when my dad came home. “Come back!”, some people tried to yell. Others were laughing at their own surprise, palms over their ears. It was all drowned out. Most of those poor suckers seemed to realize on their own a quarter way across the field, and stopped to turn back, red-faced. Real classy. One kid, Larry, kept running until he made it out the gate off school property. The coach blew his whistle and took off running after him.

The screams of Larry’s adoring fans, kids pointing at him and snickering, and some trying to look back to see if the school was on fire (might end the school day faster) still didn’t distract me from the one goal I’d had. When would I get to win the race?!