Chapter Text
“You’re supposed to be takin’ it easy, Yaz,” Sammy’s voice came through the phone speaker, exasperation heightened by her drawl. “Your coach said you weren’t going to be racing this semester.”
Yasmina, stretching carefully on the side of a deserted track, smiled down confidently at Sammy’s face on the phone.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t run. It’s been weeks! Laying in that chair all day was killing me.”
Sammy’s rounded features downturned in a pout, making Yasmina laugh. “I promise to take it slow. There’s nothing here to chase me…”
The thought brought an involuntary shudder down her spine and she stood to shake it off. She couldn’t get away from it even when she slept!
And that’s why I need to run and get back to normal already.
She plastered that smile back on her face as she picked the phone up off the ground. Sammy seemed to have found a place to sit and was drinking from a glass of lemonade as they talked.
“Abuela says you should come visit again before the school year starts. Apparently, I’m not enough company for her anymore,” she chuckled, clearly trying to hide the worry Yasmina could still see on the edges of her smile.
“We’ll see if mom will let me go,” Yasmina replied half-heartedly. Her mom knew where she was, but there were currently at least three unread texts on Yasmina’s phone.
“Okay, I’m going to get started. I’ll only do a mile, I swear. Want me to call you when I’m done?”
“I have chores to be gettin’ to, so send me a text. Don’t push, y’hear?”
“Yes, Sammy,” Yasmina sighed, a soft smile on her face as she waved goodbye before hanging up. Chucking her phone onto her drawstring bag, Yasmina readied herself at the track starting line. The feeling of dropping down into a sprinter's crouch was familiar and exhilarating, even without any opponents.
It took a couple of deep breaths to remember that she wasn’t actually going out into an all-out sprint, but she thought she probably could at least a little bit.
Save it for the final stretch, finish strong.
Breathe…3…2…1…
With the fluid motion of long hours of practice, Yasmina was up and running. Well, jogging. Her first two steps had been at near full tilt, but with a twinge in her ankle and the mental reprimand that she was supposed to be going slow, she’d brought herself down to an even pace.
Still, the feeling of a light breeze against her cheeks, the sound of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart in her chest with the pounding of her feet on the track felt good. One lap down, three to go.
Her mind kept focused, picturing a runner just ahead of her. This faceless opponent was pulling away in her mind, and Yasmina picked up speed to catch them. Part of her knew she was still only going a fraction of her full speed for good reason, but the drive to push was picking at her. Second lap went by without too much change.
Feeling comfortable and warmed up, Yasmina figured she could hazard getting a little faster. Her feet hit the track with audible smacks, getting full contact heel to toe as she ran. She could picture her coach on the sidelines, calling encouragement or correcting her form.
As she rounded the final bend of the third lap and entered the fourth, her mind felt freer than it had since before she’d gone to that cursed island. Her strides lengthened, she leaned forward, putting most of her weight into the front of her feet as the run turned into a sprint.
Three strides of this and there was pain lancing up her leg, her ankle faltering under her, and she was falling with a sharp cry onto the hard track.
Rolling onto her back, Yasmina tried to breathe through the pain. Behind her closed eyes she saw flashes of trees, lush undergrowth, and teeth. Lots of teeth.
She wasn’t sure how long she laid there, hissing and groaning and getting angry with herself.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…” she grumbled, pounding the ground next to her with her fist on each word.
Her phone ringing from the other side of the track finally brought her mind back to the present. As carefully as she could manage, she rolled up onto her knees and crawled through the grass in the middle of the ringed track.
She answered the phone a moment before the final ring.
“Yasmina, where are you?? It’s been hours!” Her mothers frantic voice came through, bringing rueful tears to Yasmina’s eyes.
“I’m at the track…I…can you come get me? I don’t think I can walk home…”
Her mother didn’t press, just said she’d be there soon and to stay on the phone.
Yasmina was able to hobble to the fence by the parking lot, holding tight with one hand to her bag. She wiped her eyes before her mom could see, but her cheeks were splotchy as they drove home.