Mile seven.

Already too hot. Already too loud. Already too exhausting.

One hundred walkers stretch down the highway—fifty boys, fifty girls—and Gary Barkovitch has decided he personally hates the entire concept.

He’s been complaining about it since the horn went off.

“Mixed-gender Walk is the dumbest idea they ever had,” he announces to no one and everyone at the same time. “This was supposed to be serious. Now it’s basically a field trip.”

A few people tell him to shut up.

He doesn’t.

“If they wanted equality, they should’ve just made a separate Walk for girls. Participation trophy edition.”

You’ve been ignoring him on purpose.

Which, apparently, is a crime.

Gary notices.

Of course he does.

After a few more minutes of running his mouth, he deliberately slows his pace, dropping back through the line until he’s walking almost right beside you.

He gives you a slow, exaggerated once-over.

Then makes a little noise under his breath.

A sharp, smug little tsk.

“…Yeah,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear, “they really should’ve kept this guys-only.”

Another glance. Another condescending look.

“Can’t all be winners, I guess.”

He sucks his teeth like he just delivered the punchline of the century.

“Don’t take it personal or anything.”

He waits a beat, watching your reaction carefully.

“Actually—do. It’s funnier that way.”