Gus curses at him some more.

"I'm tired of watching you hurt people that don't need hurting, and I'm not going to watch anymore. This time I'm not going home feeling guilty that I should've done something."

"You put that thing down-"

"Or what? Huh? No more."

"That's right, it's no more. I'm done with you."

Oli nods as if that's fine with him. "You can leave, Chris."

"Okay," I say. "But after you."

He drops the tool on the floor. "You try and do anything to me, Gus, and I'll kill you," he says.

"Not if I do it first."

It doesn't look like either of them is joking around. Oli leaves, and I follow him into the hallway.

84. Happy Accidents "Oli-dude-"

"Look, it's fine."

"What just happened in there?"

We're walking down the hall, and I keep looking around, hoping to see Kelsey.

"It's about doing what's right," he says.

"Okay. But-"

I spot Kelsey waiting for me.

"I'll explain another time. Go talk to her."

"You can come with me."

"She doesn't want to talk to me."

I nod and am about to say thanks, but he's gone.

I reach Kelsey, and she starts crying. All I can do is hug her. For a few moments, it feels like we're the only two people here. And that feels fine with me.

It's amazing how accidents seem to happen at the strangest times.

Kelsey and I are walking to our next classes after the few moments I've spent trying to calm her down. We're already late, but that's okay. It's not a big deal to be late to history class with Mr. Meiners. And I'm sure Kelsey is such a good student she could take a couple days off without getting in trouble.

I stand in front of the closed door to her class and look down at her to make sure she's okay.

"Why'd he do that?" she asks. The big, blue eyes behind the glasses are looking at me with confusion and relief.

"I have no idea."

"What'd he say to you?"

"That he'll explain later."

"It's good to know you have people looking out for you."

I laugh. "Yeah. I guess that is good. I can use it."

"I'd better go in."

Before she does, I lean closer to her and slip my hands over hers.

"Listen, Kelsey. I'm sorry, okay. I don't want-I don't want any stuff like that to come back and hurt you."

"It won't."

Even though she's shaken, she still somehow looks strong.

"It almost did."

"It's worth it." She squeezes my hands, then opens her door to her classroom and goes inside.

I'm standing there for a minute, once again surprised, not just at this girl but at my feelings for her and at how quickly they're developing when I strictly said they couldn't.

I turn to go toward Mr. Meiners' room when I face that happy accident.

Poe is standing at the side of the hallway, watching me.

"Hey," I say, actually glad to see her.

But she turns and heads the other way.

She's like a Halloween trick-or-treater in all black.

I call out her name, but she's gone.

85. Purpose For the first time in a long time, I have purpose.

I don't know if I've ever felt like I had so much purpose as I do right now.

Coach Brinks is nearby on the sideline along with the rest of our team. Ray is there; so are the others. Normally they don't all pay attention, but right now they are.

I always feel stupid before races because I don't have some ritual. The guys next to me, two big guys from Hendersonville High, are stretching and jogging fast and looking up at the sky and doing whatever else they need to. One is a white guy with not an ounce of body fat on him. The other is a black guy who looks like he could bench-press me.

It's great that I'm stuck in between these two.

There's another school here, but everybody knows that the race is ultimately among the three of us.

The starter prompts us to get ready. I'm getting better coming out of the blocks, but that's the beauty of the 300-meter hurdles. You don't have to shoot out of them like you do with the 100 high hurdles. This race is part sprint, part endurance, part timing.

And in your case, part luck.

"Runners, take your mark."

I can feel my heart beating.

But it's a good kind of beating. It's not the kind that you get when someone is laughing at you in the mysterious passage below your house. It's not the kind you get from seeing some undead grandpa in some weird tunnel in the middle of nowhere. It's not the kind you get when pimply bully-boy pulls out a knife.

And it's not the kind you get when you're running to save someone who is already dead.

"Get set."

I know one thing.

If I could have run faster, I would have. If I could have hurdled more logs and bushes, I would have. If I could have been stronger and tougher, then maybe.

Just maybe.

The shot rings out, and I'm no longer thinking about the guys from Hendersonville. I'm not thinking about the coach who calls me Chicago or about Mr. Popular who thinks I can win this one.

I'm not thinking about this school or this place or my place in this school.

I'm running to Jocelyn.

I'm running for her.

I catch the first hurdle fine, with all the right strides.

But the right strides don't mean anything in this life. It's all random, all meaningless, all complete luck.

The big guys are ahead of me, but I don't care.

I take the second hurdle fine.

There are eight hurdles, and I'm making my way around the corner, running fine.

Then something happens.

I don't know what it is. Maybe it's just my stupid stubbornness.

But I see big guy one and big guy two start pulling away, and it makes me angry. Really angry.

Like the kind of anger that's been inside, deep inside, like a giant river flowing into an ocean, ever since leaving Libertyville.

I never wanted to move to this hellhole.

Next hurdle.

I never wanted to see your stupid marriage implode and then explode.

Next hurdle.

I never wanted to meet someone new and fall in whatever version of love I could fall into only to get slapped and beaten and thrown out of the car and left for dead myself.

Next hurdle.

I never wanted to know that evil is real and darkness is thorough and that the weird, spooky stuff of life might really be out there.

Next hurdle.

I might be sucking in air, but I can't tell. Someone somewhere might be cheering for me, but I can't hear anything. I'm just running faster now than I was at the start of the race.

I've never had this much energy while closing in on the final hurdles.

In some movies or stories I might reach the final hurdle and trip over it. But I already did that the last time I was running this fast and this steady and this hectic. I tripped over something big and discovered that she was already long gone.

Not this time not this time you soul-sucking town.

And even though I'm beginning to see little dots of stars in my vision and my lungs have been tossed over some mountain ledge like a grenade as I pass the finish line, I don't slow down. Not until I'm all the way around the track and see Coach Brinks and the others rushing toward me.

I can't breathe or even really see when Coach Brinks puts his arms around me.

"You ran like someone was chasing you there, Chicago! That was incredible."

They tell me the results, but I don't really care.

All I know is that, for a moment, I wasn't in some prison, running around in circles.

I was free and running away. I was running toward something. I was running for a reason and a purpose.

They keep telling me over and over about the results, but I just nod and try to catch my breath.

As I do, I look up in the stands, which are mostly empty.

But I see a figure in black.

I guess Poe saw me win the race.

86. Black Leopard "Good thing I didn't know you were watching." I sit down next to Poe.

"You won the race. You were awesome."

"Yeah, but I would've probably tripped if I'd seen you."

"Shocked that I'm at a sporting event?"