He wanted to look back and see where the others were, but he resisted the temptation.
It would seem conceited to look back. He concentrated on the line ahead. It was nearing with every step.
“Oh, Miss Bessie, if you could see me now.” He felt it before he saw it.
Someone was moving up. He automatically pumped harder. Then the shape was there in his sideways vision.
Then suddenly pulling ahead. He forced himself now. His breath was choking him, and the sweat was in his eyes.
But he saw the figure anyhow. The faded cutoffs crossed the line a full three feet ahead of him.
Leslie turned to face him with a wide smile on her tanned face.
He stumbled and without a word began half walking, half trotting over to the starting line.
This was the day he was going to be champion—the best runner of the fourth and fifth grades, and he hadn't even won his heat.
There was no cheering at either end of the field. The rest of the boys seemed as stunned as he.
The teasing would come later, he felt sure, but at least for the moment none of them were talking.
“OK.” Fulcher took over. He tried to appear very much in charge. “OK, you guys. You can line up for the finals.”
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