I go back to the first stone and hoist it up, almost glad I saved the lightest for last.
Task complete, Tristan jogs off.
I should leave too. I linger, wondering if Nix will be able to lift the fifth stone. It took her several tries to get the fourth.
August manages to muscle the last and heaviest stone onto the stand, knocks it off, and sprints after Tristan.
Nix braces herself, breathing heavily, staring at that damned stone like it’s her mortal enemy. She hugs it to her chest, driving her heels into the dirt, the muscles standing out on her quads against the tight legs of her shorts.
I can’t stand and watch. My team is waiting somewhere along this course, hoping to see me in the lead, expecting me to win.
I start running again, praying for Nix’s sake she can do it, even though I’m supposed to be beating her along with everyone else.
The next obstacle is a long crawl under a low-slung net, in which we receive a thick coating of dust and pine needles, and August and I pass Tristan once more.
Then we come to a pool with chain-link stapled over top.
August stares in confusion.
“How the fuck are we supposed to cross that?” he says.
The pool is essentially a shallow wooden coffin, a hundred yards long, filled with water. The only break in the chain-link is at the front of the pool, and then again at the end.
“You’ve got to swim across,” I say.
I’m already dropping through the narrow opening in the chain-link. As far as I can tell, the point of this particular challenge is to battle your claustrophobia. The water is barely deep enough to actually swim. You can come up for air, but just barely—you’ve got to lay on your back, your face pressed against the metal mesh, with barely enough space for your mouth to open without water rushing in.
It doesn’t bother me much—I used to swim in the ocean all summer long when we stayed at our house in Poseidonia. Ares and I even swam through the narrow sea caves on the south end of the island. So I’m able to cross the pool with only two breaks to breathe.
August lingers at the entrance of the pool, a greenish cast falling over his face. He’s obviously dreading dropping in. He only does so when a large group of Juniors swarm along the edge of the course, shouting encouragement.
I climb out of the pool, sopping wet, wishing I’d thought to take off my sneakers before I got in. Now they squish with every step.
I’m smiling a little, thinking that if Nix does manage to lift that fucking rock, she’ll sail through the next obstacle. She could swim the whole thing without taking a breath.
We must be getting close to the end now. Almost the whole course is lined with students who took the shortcut to the end, some walking back along the route to see who’s in the lead. They shout a mix of encouragement and jeers, depending which team they’re rooting for.
I check behind me to see how Tristan and August are faring—I can see them jogging along, both soaking wet. Tristan is plodding with the same steady determination as ever. August is the one who seems to be flagging. He made it through the pool, but at the cost of the last of his willpower. As I guessed, his stamina is shot and he seems to be running slower and slower.
I cross the next obstacle—a tightrope—which I have to repeat twice when I slip off two feet from the end.
Tristan falls on practically his very first step across the slack rope, then tumbles off again on his second attempt.
Seeing this, August picks up speed. He manages to cross first try, and now I’m sprinting again, sensing that we’re nearing the end. August races after me, catching a second wind.
The thickets of spectators are three deep on either side of the course. They’re screaming at me to “RUN! RUN! RUN!”.
Up ahead, I spot two twenty-foot towers erected at the base of a short cliff. At the top of that hill . . . a hundred-yard dash to the finish line.
I race to the wooden tower, August grunting and gasping right behind me.
When we arrive, neither one of us knows what the fuck to do.
The towers are hollow, like we’re supposed to climb up inside to reach the top of the cliff. But the sides are smooth, with nothing to grip. Reaching out with both hands, I can barely touch each wall.
August spreads his legs as wide as he can, almost in the splits. He tries to wedge himself in place so he can shimmy up like it’s a chimney. His legs are so widespread that he can’t scoot his feet without falling.
I hear his curses, echoing in the empty tower.
I’m racking my brains, trying to discover the trick.
I know there’s a way to get up. I just have to be smart enough to think of it.
Nix comes sprinting out of the woods, her elastic split again, her hair bouncing wildly behind her.
She catches sight of August and me, still trapped in the towers, and her face alights with fresh hope. She’s running harder than ever, her gaze darting back and forth between the towers, strategizing before she’s even reached us.
She stops in front of me, breathing hard.
“Back-to-back!” she gasps.
“What do you—”
All at once, I understand.
I turn so I’m facing the side wall, letting Nix slip in behind me. With our backs pressed together, we can wedge our feet against the wall. She pushes against me, and I push against her. In coordination, we begin to climb.
“Left leg. Right leg. Left leg,” Nix grunts, as we inch our way upward, knowing that if either of us slips, we’ll plunge all the way down.
“Ready . . .” I say, when we’re almost at the top.
In sync, we each grab the upper ledge of the tower, our legs dropping away beneath us. We haul ourselves up and over.
As soon as our feet hit the ground, we’re sprinting for the finish line.
It’s between me and her; August and Tristan are far behind us.
Though I can’t spare a second to look at any of the Seniors crowded around us, I can hear them all screaming, “ARES! RUN! FUCKING RUN, YOU’RE ALMOST THERE!”
The finish line is right ahead of us.
Nix and I are sprinting flat out, side by side, running harder than we ever have in our lives.
And I’m trying to beat her, really trying.
Until I edge just the tiniest bit ahead.
I’m taller. My legs are longer. I know in that split-second that if I truly run as hard as I can, I’m going to win.
Nix is trying so fucking hard. She’s racing against three boys, all bigger than her. Somehow she lifted that stone overhead when it weighed more than she does. She figured out how to get us up that tower. She wants this so badly—to prove herself to every kid at this school who hates her on sight. She wants to be their champion.
I don’t need it. She does.
All it takes is one slow step—a slackening of pace that no one could notice.
Nix pulls ahead. She whips across the finish line, inches in front of me, immediately enveloped by the screaming, cheering Freshmen.
I let Leo pound me on the back in a congratulations I don’t entirely deserve.
“Well fucking done!” he hollers, thrilled that we’ll be moving on to the second round.
Anna, Chay, Dean, Cat, and Hedeon all swarm around me, along with the rest of the Seniors. The mild disappointment at the second-place finish is flushed away in the amusement that August is still trapped at the bottom of his tower, furiously listening to the celebration on the top of the cliff while he waits for Tristan to complete the tightrope.