Monday: 3:40 p.m.

Lionel pressed his back against the school wall and closed his eyes.

“Do it,” he said to himself for the hundredth time.

Every time he tried to go to track practise, something held him back. He looked around the corner again. A few kids were sitting beside the track, stretching. He rolled his neck. He was being such a wuss. He’d told Kiana that he would come, and she made him tell Whellan after English. Whellan looked a bit surprised, but he said Lionel was welcome to come out for a run. Kiana had gone on about how fast he was, which was embarrassing. Some of the other kids had snickered, and he could only imagine the fat jokes once they were out of earshot.

He ran a hand over his stomach. It didn’t hang over his belt anymore. He could even feel his ribs. He obviously wasn’t thin, but maybe fat was a bit harsh.

He’d eaten lunch with Kiana and Rashmi in the cafeteria. It was the first time he’d eaten lunch with people. It was fun, and they’d joked around. Rashmi was nice. He’d never spoken to her until yesterday at the café, and they got along like old friends. She was funny too, in a dry sort of way.

A few more kids showed up at the track. He needed to do this. It hadn’t been a bad day, surprisingly. Nick and Bryan didn’t pay him much attention.

“Hey, Lionel, how’s it going?”

Stephane had snuck up on him.

“Hi, Stephane. It’s going okay, I guess. What about you? Um … like … What are you up to? Going home?”

“No, I want to do some homework. I like watching track practise while I’m working. Gives me something to do every once in a while.” Stephane smiled and nodded at the track. “You should run with the team. I watched you race Bryan. Jaime and I couldn’t believe how fast you are. You have a lot of natural talent.”

“Thanks. I lost my temper. Went a bit mental.”

“I think it’s more that you’re a fast runner,” Stephane said.

Lionel figured he should compliment him back. “You did pretty good playing basketball in gym. You guys won.”

“Ach, I’m useless,” Stephane said. “I just pass the ball to Nick, and he scores. I’m completely uncoordinated. He takes it so seriously I have to laugh.”

That awkward moment had come. It always did when he talked to someone — other than Kiana and the Marketeers.

“I probably should get going … and you have your homework,” Lionel said.

“Sure. Have a good day. See you tomorrow,” Stephane said. He pulled on the strap of his backpack and nodded. “I’ll get to it.”

He took a few steps towards the track. Lionel could tell he still wanted to talk. They did have one thing in common — Nick. May as well ask the obvious question.

“Does Nick bug you a lot?” Lionel said.

Stephane stopped. “I guess. I’m used to it.”

“You should talk to a teacher … or Ryder,” Lionel said.

Not like he’d ever do that. All of a sudden Lionel couldn’t understand why he’d put up with Nick, put up with all the bullying all these years. Why not talk to a teacher or the principal? Was it better to get picked on every day?

“Like I said, I’m used to it,” Stephane said. “It doesn’t bug me so much. Maybe a little, like when he’s throwing things or snapping his towel or … I get that he doesn’t like guys like me.”

“I’m not one to give advice on this, and Nick gets after me too, but I don’t think we should take it because he thinks he has the right to chirp at guys,” Lionel said.

This was most definitely the new Lionel talking.

“All I’m saying is … I’ve had it with him,” Lionel said, “and Bryan and Mohamed, although those two aren’t nearly so bad. Maybe … we should see Ryder together … or with Jaime, too. We could talk to Whellan …”

Stephane got very quiet.

Lionel was still afraid of Nick. He always would be. He was still afraid of Brent and the Hombres — and his dad. He just liked the new Lionel more than the old one — a lot more.

“I was thinking about it last night,” Lionel said. “How we get bullied by guys and we never say anything. What if we did?”

Stephane tugged on his backpack straps again. “I’d like that,” he said. “I’ll speak to Jaime. I know he’s tired of it. We can talk tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

Stephane smiled, gratefully. He nodded and turned to leave, then stopped. “Thanks, Lionel. I feel a lot better. Nice to know someone cares.” He gave Lionel another friendly nod and walked off.

Lionel felt a nasty rumble in his stomach. There weren’t that many people at the track yet. Kiana said practise didn’t really get going until four o’clock. Better go to the washroom in case his stomach needed … relief. And at the back of his head, down at the bottom, he sensed a headache coming on. Was he getting sick right before the practise? Brutal. He was the unluckiest person in the world.

No time to think about that. He needed a toilet.

Lionel went back inside the school. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and went into the washroom and slipped into his usual stall. He sat and waited. Sometimes it took a long time.

Not this time. Gross. Like diarrhea. Yuck.

His stomach wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easy, either. At least he hadn’t gone straight to the track. The kids would call him Poopy Pants Lionel if he had to race off to the toilet.

The washroom door opened. He heard talking, which meant more than one person. No one used this washroom after school. He cursed his bad luck. Now he’d have to stay until they left.

“I pull a muscle and he keeps chirping at me. He should race the guy if he’s so fast.”

Bryan! Great. He prayed they wouldn’t notice him.

“You know what he’s like. I feel sorry for that Lionel guy, though. I told Nick to chill, but he wants to kill him.”

Mohamed!

And Nick wanted to kill him!

“How freaky is it that Kiana’s going out with the guy?” Bryan said. “I’m like … okay … you’re not into Nick, but Lionel?”

“Nick’s lost it,” Mohamed said. “He’s in love with Kiana.”

They moved to the sink.

“You know the freakiest thing?” Bryan said. “Lionel is super fast.”

“Who? Lionel?”

“I’m telling you. The dude can run. It’s insane. He’s kinda fat, but not as fat as he used to be. He must be on a huge diet. I’m just saying, I had a lead on the guy and he caught up to me. I had a pulled muscle and couldn’t run my fastest, but … it doesn’t matter, and anyway, I gotta get to practise.”

“What about your leg?”

“I’ll go easy. I gotta be careful. The sectional meet is in three days.”

The door opened. They were gone.

Lionel opened the stall door a crack and peeked out. Coast was clear. He went to the sink, washed his hands, and looked in the mirror. This two Lionels thing was stupid. He wasn’t two people. Only one face looked back — one him.

Did he really want to hide in a washroom stall?

Kiana thought he was fast, and so did the Marketeers, and now Bryan.

He’d thought life was a lot easier in the shadows, where no one could see him. But it wasn’t. The shadows made him sick and fat — and lonely. The shadows had him taking pills so he wouldn’t freak out.

He knew what he had to do.

He looked into the mirror again. “Time for track practise, Mr. Fatso,” he told himself.

He left and ran to the field before he could change his mind. There were about thirty kids huddled around Whellan. He slowed ten yards away. A few kids noticed him, including Bryan.

“Lionel! Hey! Over here. Told you he was coming, Mr. Whellan,” Kiana said quickly.

Bryan watched him closely.

“Fantastic,” Whellan said. “Have you thought about what race? This morning you said you liked long distance.”

“He’d be perfect for the fifteen hundred,” Kiana said.

Whellan laughed.

“The fifteen hundred sounds good,” Lionel said. “I haven’t thought about it. Kiana said I … Maybe I should’ve asked you first.”

He almost apologized, but caught himself. Kiana gave him an encouraging smile.

“No worries,” Whellan said. “We only have Bryan in the senior fifteen hundred, and we’re allowed two runners. Why don’t you join in with the others? We’re just going to jog around the track?”

“Sounds good,” Lionel said.

“Give me two laps, everyone,” Whellan called out.

A few kids groaned.

“Even the field athletes need some cardio,” Whellan chuckled. “And give me a good pace, please. We’re hosting the sectional meet this Thursday. I want to qualify the entire team for the regionals, so we need good results from everyone.”

They left in a big pack and headed into the first corner. Lionel followed along, but found the pace a little slow. By the back straightaway, he was in the middle of the pack. By the second turn, he was in front.

“It’s two laps,” he heard someone say sarcastically.

“Try keeping up with him,” Lionel heard Kiana say.

“No one can keep that pace up,” another kid said.

No choice now. He had to keep his pace up or they’d start chirping him — and Kiana. He didn’t feel tired, so he pumped his hands harder and drove his knees up, pushing off with every stride. He felt a bit silly. The other kids would think he was showing off.

He wasn’t going to disappoint Kiana, though.

“Go for it, Lionel,” Whellan said. “I’m timing this lap. Go!”

Lionel glanced at his watch and put it in high gear. Dumb move not staying with the pack. Whellan had called it a warm up, not a sprint. That’s why they were going slow. He was killing himself like an idiot. Up the back straightaway he went, then the corner, and then the front straightaway. Whellan held his stopwatch high overhead and brought it down when he passed.

“Lionel! That was awesome,” Whellan said. “You took that lap in … sixty-four seconds. Kiana was right. I think the fifteen hundred might be the perfect race for you.”

Kiana and five of the older kids arrived together.

“Told ya,” Kiana said jubilantly to Whellan.

“I’m impressed. Nice, easy stride,” Whellan said. “Okay, come on guys,” he yelled to the stragglers.

They waited for everyone to bring it in.

“Give me the field athletes in the middle of the field, please,” Whellan said. “Sprinters, go down to the starting line and do your striding exercises. High knees first for a hundred meters and back with right and left shuffle steps. Do that twice. Distance runners, stay with me.”

A hand touched Lionel’s shoulder.

“I knew you’d come,” Kiana said smugly.

Lionel flushed deeply.

“Don’t be so serious, Lionel,” she pouted. “Have fun. We’ll talk after practise, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I want to work on our pacing,” Whellan said.

“Do you remember your one-lap target?” Whellan said. Lionel felt stupid being the only kid without a hand up. “Good. I want everyone to run two laps. I’ll call out the time when you run by for the first lap. Keep to that target pace. You need to train your body to know when it’s going the right speed.” Whellan pointed at Lionel. “Lionel, let’s shoot for a sixty-five second lap, and we’ll go from there. Line it up,” Whellan said.

A few kids hustled to take the inside lane. Lionel took a spot on the outside.

“My pulled muscle is still bugging me,” Bryan said to Whellan.

“Can you run at all?” Whellan said.

“Yeah. It’s not that bad. I just wanted to tell you … that I can’t run my fastest,” Bryan said.

“That guy always has an excuse for being slow,” a boy next to Lionel said.

His friend laughed.

Lionel looked over at Bryan. He had that look on his face, the same look he had during their race, the look that said, “I’m scared.”

Lionel readied himself. He wasn’t scared.