Week two at Westfield High and I'd already figured out the important stuff.
The cafeteria pizza was actually decent on Tuesdays. Mr. Davenport gave pop quizzes every Friday. The second floor water fountain near the library was the only one that didn't taste like metal.
And everyone here was slow.
Not just physically. Though yeah, that too. But slow to pick up on things. Slow to notice patterns. Slow to realize I wasn't just another freshman trying to find his place.
My parents would've called it poor situational awareness. They started drilling that into me when I was ten. Every morning before school, every evening after homework. Reaction drills, sprint work, agility ladders in our backyard.
"The world moves fast, Darius," Mom used to say. "You need to move faster."
They died three years ago. Drunk driver ran a red light, killed them instantly. I kept training anyway. What else was I supposed to do? Stop?
The guardian the state assigned me didn't care what I did as long as I stayed out of trouble. So every morning I still woke up at five. Still did the drills. Still pushed myself the way they taught me.
Some kids inherit money. I inherited speed.
"Mr. Swift, care to join us?"
I looked up. Mrs. Kowalski was staring at me from the front of the English classroom. The whole class had turned around.
"Sorry. What was the question?"
"Page forty-seven. Nick's observations about Gatsby's smile."
I flipped to the page, scanned it quick.
"He's saying Gatsby's smile makes you feel like you're the only person in the world who matters. But Nick knows it's an act. He just doesn't care because the act feels better than most people's honesty."
Mrs. Kowalski nodded slowly.
"Interesting interpretation. Anyone want to expand on that?"
The class moved on. Girl next to me gave me a look that said she knew I hadn't been paying attention. I shrugged. Sometimes you get lucky.
Math was better. Mr. Nguyen just had us work through problem sets while he graded papers at his desk. I finished mine in twenty minutes, spent the rest of the time watching kids out the window running laps in PE.
They looked like they were moving through water.
Third period PE was when things got interesting.
The locker room was already half full when I got there. Same smell as always. Teenage boy sweat mixed with whatever that industrial cleaner was.
"Yo, Darius!"
Zephyr was already dressed, doing some kind of weird stretching thing with his arms.
We'd talked a couple times this week. Kid sat next to me at lunch on Wednesday, spent the whole time explaining why chocolate milk was better than regular milk for muscle recovery. Yesterday he'd cornered me after PE to demonstrate proper running form.
"Today's the day, man." He bounced on his toes. "Pacer test day."
"The what?"
"You know, the beep test thing. Running back and forth across the gym. Tests your cardiovascular endurance."
Some kid pulling on his shirt laughed.
"Turbo's been talking about this all week. Says he's gonna hit level twelve."
"I am gonna hit level twelve," Zephyr said. "Been training specifically for this. Interval runs, breath control exercises. You know most people fail the pacer test because they don't pace themselves properly? They go too hard early, burn out by level six."
The kid rolled his eyes and walked away. Zephyr didn't seem to notice.
"What's your cardio like?" he asked me.
"It's okay."
"Cool, cool. Just remember, steady pace early. Save your energy for the later levels when the beeps get faster."
We filed out to the gym. Coach Brennan had already set up the cones twenty meters apart. The old stereo system sat on the bleachers.
"Alright, listen up!" Coach Brennan's voice bounced off the walls. "Pacer test today. For those who forgot, you run from one line to the other before the beep. Each minute the beeps get faster. You're out when you can't make it twice in a row."
People groaned. A few kids suddenly remembered injuries they had.
"No excuses. Everyone participates. Line up."
I stood near the middle. Zephyr positioned himself right at the front, doing little hops to stay loose.
"The test will begin in thirty seconds," the recorded voice said through the speakers.
Last time I did one of these was fifth grade. I'd made it to level seven before my teacher pulled me aside. Told me to let other kids shine sometimes.
I wasn't in fifth grade anymore.
"Begin."
The first beep was slow. Walking pace almost. Everyone made it across easy.
Level two, three. Still basically jogging. Zephyr was already putting on a show, pumping his arms like he was in the Olympics.
Level four. A couple kids dropped out, heading to the bleachers.
Level five. The bigger kids started struggling.
Level six. Half the class was sitting down now.
Level seven. More kids dropped. Maybe eight of us left.
"Level eight," the recording announced.
Zephyr's form was starting to break. His breathing got louder.
Five of us now.
"Level nine."
Zephyr barely made the line. On the way back he stumbled, missed the second beep.
"Damn it!" He kicked the floor, walked off to the side.
Just me and two others.
"Level ten."
One kid dropped.
"Level eleven."
The last kid besides me missed her mark. Collapsed on the bleachers breathing hard.
I kept running.
The gym had gone quiet except for the beeps and my footsteps. Everyone was watching now. Coach Brennan had put down his clipboard.
"Level twelve."
Turn. Run. Turn. Run.
"Level thirteen."
My breathing was still controlled. This was nothing compared to the interval training I did every morning. Nothing compared to the sprints up the hill behind our old house.
"Level fourteen."
"Okay, Swift, that's enough," Coach Brennan called out.
I jogged to a stop. Walked over to where everyone was sitting.
The whole class was staring at me. Zephyr's mouth was hanging open.
"Dude." He grabbed my arm. "Dude, what was that?"
"Just running."
"Just running? Bro, you weren't even sweating. You weren't even trying!"
Coach Brennan walked over.
"Swift, you run track at your old school?"
"A little."
"A little." He shook his head. "Indoor track tryouts are next week. You should come out."
"We're both trying out," Zephyr said immediately. "Me and him. We're gonna be training partners."
I looked at Zephyr. His face was still red from stopping at level nine, but his eyes were bright. Like Christmas came early.
"Yeah," I said. "Sure."
"This is perfect!" Zephyr was practically vibrating. "With my speed theories and your... whatever that was... we're gonna destroy every school in the district."
Coach Brennan walked away shaking his head. The rest of the class started getting up, heading back to the locker room.
Zephyr didn't stop talking the whole way.
"Okay so first thing, we need to establish a training schedule. Every day after school. I've got this whole program mapped out..."
I let him talk. Let him make his plans.
He had no idea what he was getting into.
But then again, neither did I.