The goat is back. Don't know if I'll continue with the same rate of uploads:
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Miles's phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
From the moment he'd woken up Sunday morning, notifications had been flooding in at a rate that made him consider throwing the device out his bedroom window. MileSplit tags. Instagram mentions. Twitter alerts. Text messages from numbers he didn't recognize.
He scrolled through the chaos, catching snippets of headlines and comments:
"Carter edges King in Henderson showdown: 20.67 to 20.73"
"Freshman phenom continues to impress with Henderson victory"
"Track's new power couple? Carter and Fisher embrace after 200m final"
That last one made Miles pause. Someone had snapped a photo of him and Kayla right after his race—his arms around her, both of them oblivious to the cameras and crowd. The image had spread across track social media overnight, spawning a wave of comments ranging from supportive to intrusive.
"They're so cute together!" wrote one account.
"Rival schools' track stars dating? Drama incoming" predicted another.
"Carter's running even faster with Fisher motivation" analyzed a track forum poster.
Miles groaned, dropping his phone onto his bed. He'd known there would be some reaction to their public moment, but this was beyond what he'd expected. Their relationship had gone from private secret to public spectacle in the span of twenty-four hours.
His phone buzzed again. This time it was Kayla.
so we're famous now i guess 😂
Miles smiled despite his discomfort. sorry about that. didn't exactly plan to announce things that way
i'm not sorry. your face when trey started whistling tho 💀
traumatized for life
worth it. call me later?
definitely
Miles set his phone down and stared at the ceiling. Yesterday had been a whirlwind—defeating King in their much-anticipated showdown, setting a new PR, and then impulsively revealing his relationship with Kayla to... well, apparently everyone who followed high school track.
"Mom wants to know if you're actually getting up today or just texting your girlfriend all morning," Zoe announced, appearing in his doorway without knocking.
Miles threw a pillow in her direction, which she easily dodged.
"Tell her I'll be down in five."
"She also wants to know when she gets to meet Kayla formally who's all over your Instagram tags," Zoe added with obvious delight. "I told her I've been asking the same question."
"It's been less than a day," Miles groaned. "Can we not make this a whole thing?"
"Too late," Zoe grinned. "It's definitely a whole thing."
In the kitchen, his mom was making Sunday pancakes, her one consistent day off from the hospital. She glanced up as Miles entered, her expression carefully neutral despite the knowing glint in her eyes.
"Good morning, track star," she said, sliding a plate toward him. "Sleep well?"
"Fine," Miles replied cautiously, waiting for the inevitable questions.
She maintained the casual facade as she poured more batter onto the griddle. "So, Kayla seems nice from what I can see in the photos."
Miles nearly choked on his orange juice. "You've been looking at the photos?"
"Of course I have," his mom replied matter-of-factly. "My son wins a big race and the internet explodes with pictures of him hugging a pretty girl. What mother wouldn't look?"
Miles slumped in his chair, heat rising to his face. "It's not... we're just..."
"Dating?" his mom supplied helpfully. "That's generally what they call it when two people like each other and spend time together."
"Mom," Miles pleaded.
She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Relax, Miles. I'm happy for you. Just surprised you kept it quiet for so long."
"We wanted to figure things out without everyone making it a big deal," Miles explained, poking at his pancakes. "So much for that plan."
His mom sat across from him, her expression turning more serious. "First relationships are special, but they can also be complicated. Especially when you're both athletes with a lot of attention on you."
"Tell me about it," Miles muttered. "My phone hasn't stopped since yesterday."
"Just remember to keep your priorities straight," she advised. "School, track, family, relationship—in that order."
"Yes, Mom."
"And I'd like to meet her properly sometime," she added. "Not just through social media photos where you're all sweaty from racing."
Miles nodded, relieved that the conversation hadn't been as mortifying as he'd feared. "She'd like that. She's cool, Mom. You'll like her."
"I'm sure I will," his mom smiled. "Now eat your pancakes before they get cold."
Monday morning at Westridge brought a new level of attention that made Miles wish for the relative anonymity of his pre-national championship days. As he walked the hallways, conversations paused, heads turned, and whispers followed in his wake.
"There he is," Trey announced dramatically as Miles approached their usual spot before first period. "The man, the myth, the one half of track's new power couple."
"Can you not?" Miles pleaded, adjusting his backpack.
"Absolutely not," Trey grinned. "This is the most exciting thing to happen to our team since Andre broke the school record in the four hundred. My boy is officially off the market and taking down Florida transfers in the same weekend."
Andre, leaning against the lockers with his usual calm demeanor, offered Miles a sympathetic look. "It'll die down," he assured him. "Eventually."
"When?" Miles asked desperately.
"Graduation, probably," Trey answered before Andre could. "Your graduation, not ours."
Miles groaned, turning to his locker. As he dialed the combination, he noticed a small group of sophomore girls watching him from across the hall, whispering behind their hands.
"Your fan club's disappointed," Trey observed, following Miles's gaze. "Broken hearts all over Westridge today."
"I didn't even know most of these people before," Miles said, genuinely confused by the attention.
"That's the thing about high school," Andre said wisely. "Everyone wants to know the story, be part of the drama. Yesterday you became a story."
"Two stories, actually," Trey corrected. "Sports page: 'Freshman Phenom Defeats Trash-Talking Transfer.' Gossip column: 'Track Star Dates Rival School's Quarter-Miler.'"
"You're enjoying this way too much," Miles told him.
"Obviously," Trey agreed without shame.
The warning bell rang, saving Miles from further teasing. As they separated for their first classes, Andre hung back briefly.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "you seem happier lately. Even with all this." He gestured vaguely to the hallway where people were still stealing glances at Miles. "That's what matters."
Miles nodded, grateful for his team captain's perspective. "Thanks."
"Just don't let it distract you from training," Andre added with a small smile. "Championships are coming."
In Global Studies, Mr. Dormer maintained his usual professional demeanor, though Miles caught him looking up once when Trey made a not-so-subtle comment about "track relationships" during group work. After class, as Miles was gathering his books, Mr. Dormer called him over.
"Carter."
"Yes, Coach?" Miles approached the desk cautiously.
"Good race Saturday," he said, shuffling papers without looking up. "Your finish was exactly what we've been working on."
"Thanks, Coach."
Mr. Dormer finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "The attention you're getting—athletic and otherwise—can be a distraction if you let it."
Miles nodded, waiting for a lecture about focus and priorities.
"But," Mr. Dormer continued, surprising him, "it can also be motivation. Channel it properly."
"I will, Coach."
Mr. Dormer returned to his papers, effectively dismissing him. "New workout plan this afternoon. King showed your acceleration still needs work."
Miles smiled slightly as he left the classroom. Some things, at least, weren't changing.
By lunchtime, Miles had received three more social media follow requests from track accounts, two notes passed in class from girls he barely knew, and one surprisingly supportive fist bump from a senior basketball player who whispered, "Respect, man. Fisher's fast as hell."
His phone buzzed with a text from Kayla as he sat down at his usual table.
surviving the attention?
barely. you?
amara's made "track power couple" t-shirts. not even joking 😭
please tell me you're not wearing one
absolutely not. but she's taking pre-orders if you want one 😂
i hate everything
no you don't. you like me, remember?
Miles couldn't help smiling at that. true. worth the drama
better be. gotta go, torres wants to talk race strategy. call tonight?
definitely
"That smile confirms it," Trey announced, dropping into the seat across from Miles. "You are completely whipped, my friend."
Miles locked his phone quickly. "Don't you have anyone else to annoy?"
"Plenty of people," Trey agreed cheerfully. "But none as entertaining as you right now."
Shelly and Dami joined them, both wearing expressions that told Miles they'd been fully briefed on the weekend's developments.
"So," Shelly began, "when were you going to tell us about your secret romance with the enemy?"
"She's not the enemy," Miles protested. "And it wasn't... we were just..."
"Sneaking around for weeks?" Dami supplied. "Meeting at the public library for 'study sessions'?"
Miles stared at him. "How did you—"
"My cousin works there," Dami shrugged. "Said you two were there every week, looking at each other instead of your books."
"Is nothing private anymore?" Miles groaned.
"Welcome to high school," Shelly patted his arm sympathetically. "But for real, we're happy for you. Kayla seems cool."
"She is," Miles said, relaxing slightly now that the teasing had subsided. "She really is."
"And she pushed you to beat King," Dami added. "That's relationship goals right there."
Miles thought about that moment after his race—Kayla's proud smile, the natural way he'd gravitated toward her without thinking about who might be watching. Maybe going public wasn't the worst thing after all.
After school, Miles changed quickly for practice, eager to escape the constant attention of the hallways. The track felt like sanctuary—a place where performance mattered more than gossip.
The Velocity System vibrated in his bag as he laced up his spikes. He pulled it out discreetly, checking the screen.
PERFORMANCE ANALYSIS: HENDERSON INVITATIONAL
200M FINAL: 20.67 (PERSONAL RECORD)
VICTORY MARGIN: 0.06 SECONDS
TECHNICAL ASSESSMENT: START PHASE 87% EFFICIENT, CURVE RUNNING 92% EFFICIENT, FINISH PHASE 96% EFFICIENT
COMPETITOR ANALYSIS: KING, DAVION - DEMONSTRATES SUPERIOR ACCELERATION BUT INFERIOR ENDURANCE
RECOMMENDED FOCUS: MAINTAIN ENDURANCE ADVANTAGE WHILE IMPROVING FIRST 50M
CHAMPIONSHIP SEASON PREPARATION: 58% COMPLETE
Miles absorbed the information, nodding to himself. The System's analysis matched his own feelings about the race—he'd won with his finishing strength, but King's start had given him an early advantage that Miles had barely overcome.
"Carter!" Coach Dormer's voice cut through his thoughts. "Warm-up lap, then hurdle mobility drills."
Miles tucked the System away and jogged to the track, joining Andre and the others for their warm-up. As they circled the oval, Andre fell into step beside him.
"King posted about your race," he said without preamble.
"What'd he say?" Miles asked, surprised. King hadn't struck him as the type to comment publicly after a loss.
"Just 'good race, rematch at states.' Actually pretty respectful."
Miles nodded, appreciating the sportsmanship. "He wasn't what I expected."
"How so?"
"I don't know," Miles considered. "After all the trash talk online, I thought he'd be... different. But after the race, he was just another competitor."
Andre nodded approvingly. "That's the thing about real racers versus social media personalities. When it counts, it's about what happens on the track."
They completed their warm-up and gathered around Coach Dormer for the day's workout plan. As Coach explained their circuit training approach, Miles found himself watching his teammates with new appreciation. Through all the drama and attention, this was his constant—the simple pursuit of speed, the camaraderie of shared suffering through tough workouts.
The session was brutal, as Miles had expected. Coach clearly saw Henderson not as a culmination but as a stepping stone toward championships. By the final interval, Miles's legs burned with familiar fire, his lungs heaving as he pushed through the pain.
"Good," Coach nodded as Miles crossed the line on his last repeat. "Your recovery between efforts is improving. That's what made the difference against King."
Miles bent over, hands on knees, catching his breath. "Thanks, Coach."
"Don't thank me yet," Coach replied. "We're adding hill sprints tomorrow."
As they finished their cooldown, Miles felt his phone vibrate in his bag. Probably Kayla, he thought, smiling to himself. The simple anticipation of her message created a warmth that had nothing to do with his workout.
Later, showered and changed, Miles checked his phone to find not just Kayla's text but also an email notification that made him pause.
From: Marcus Johnson Subject: Henderson Performance
Miles opened it immediately.
Miles,
Caught your race against King online. Excellent execution in the final 100m. Your patience and race management showed real maturity.
The technical adjustments we worked on are clearly paying off. Your arm carriage through the curve was much improved from what I saw at nationals.
If you're interested, I'll be back in NY next month for a coaching clinic. Could arrange another session.
Keep pushing,MJ
Miles read the email twice, a strange feeling of pride washing over him. Marcus Johnson—Olympic medalist, professional athlete, someone whose opinion actually mattered in the track world—had taken the time to watch his race and offer feedback.
He showed the email to Andre as they walked toward the parking lot.
"That's huge," Andre said, clearly impressed. "Johnson doesn't waste time on athletes without potential."
"I guess," Miles said, still processing. "Should I take him up on the training offer?"
"Is that a real question?" Andre looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Yes. Absolutely yes."
Miles nodded, typing a quick reply accepting the offer before he could overthink it.
As Andre's car pulled away, Miles began his walk home, the spring afternoon pleasant around him. His phone buzzed with Kayla's expected text.
survived practice. barely. torres is EVIL. call tonight?
Miles smiled, typing back: definitely. i've got news
He slipped his phone into his pocket and continued walking, aware of how much had changed in just a few days. The victory over King. His relationship with Kayla now public. Marcus Johnson's continued interest in his development. It was a lot to process.
Yet somehow, despite the increased attention and expectations, Miles felt more centered than he had in months. The path ahead was challenging—championship season, potentially nationals again, balancing athletics with his first serious relationship—but for once, he wasn't dreading it or running from it.
He was running toward something now. Something that felt increasingly like his own future, not his father's abandoned legacy.
As he turned onto his street, Miles realized he hadn't thought about his father once all day—not during the race analysis, not during practice, not even when reading Johnson's email. For the first time in years, his father's absence felt less like a defining wound and more like simply a fact of his life—important but no longer all-consuming.
Maybe that's what growth feels like, Miles thought as he climbed the steps to his front door. A new normal, where he defined himself by his own achievements and relationships, not by who had left or what was missing.
His phone buzzed again in his pocket.
p.s. my dad wants to meet you. be afraid 😈
Miles laughed out loud, shaking his head as he typed back.
now i'm terrified. worth it though
And it was. All of it. The attention, the pressure, the expectations—all worth it for the journey he was on. A journey that, despite its challenges, finally felt like his own.