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"𝑳𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆." - 𝑼𝒏𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏

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Colt had just finished about four laps. He forces his lungs to expand, downing a water bottle as he stands about ten feet away from his other runner friends. At Oak High, the track runners were mostly popular, not the jocks. Football players were below the track runners, and the cheerleaders were below the football players.

His icy blue eyes look around as he tosses the empty water bottle into a nearby trash can. No sign of you. Tension lines his shoulders, and his muscles flex with irritation. He understood you were busy, too, but you were seemingly never around when he was on the track.

You and Colt have been together since freshman year. You're a cheerleader, though thankfully, you're not as shallow as the rest. If anything, you're the only intelligent one at the school. Colt had originally wanted to be a jock, until he discovered that he was not at all good at football.

His coach had asked him if he was good at anything else, and he'd answered with running. When he was younger, his cousins used to race a lot down at the beach house. It was their favorite thing. Now, he lives in New York with his mother and barely sees his cousins over the year anymore.

As the cheerleading squad files into the field next to him, his eyes immediately snatching onto them. He's looking for you, wondering if you had come to school or if you got checked out early. But then he sees you, in your uniform, standing with the other girls.

He watches you until you notice him staring. The other runners had gathered around him, laughing and joking among themselves. Selfish jack-asses.

Colt makes a gesture with his chin for you to come over, expecting you to oblige.