Later that morning, still carrying his sweat suit, Roger stood trembling before Coach Schultz. The white-haired coach was at his desk poring over a large ledger book. Without even looking up, he addressed his visitor. "Have a seat, Roger," he said, his voice showing a friendliness he seldom revealed to his students. "I was just looking over some records from around the state. Do you realize your qualifying time was the fourth-fastest mile ever run by a high schooler?"

Roger didn't acknowledge the question. "Coach, I have something to tell you."

"Of course you realize with a little practice you can improve on that mark. When am I going to see you out there, boy?" The coach looked up, the friendliness draining from his face.

"Oh, please, Coach Schultz, you just don't understand why I can't be at practice," Roger said. "And even worse, why I won't be able to run on Saturday."

"Did you sprain your ankle? Come down with viral pneumonia? Get an excuse from the president of the United States?" The coach's typical gruffness was back in full form. "Because those are about the only excuses I'd accept from you." The coach rose, and even though he was a fairly short man, he loomed over Roger, making the boy feel about as big as an ant-and just as powerless.

"It-it's none of those, sir," Roger said haltingly. "It's tearing me apart. I know how much I'm letting you and the school down. But you see, sir, I have a job that I can't afford to lose."

Coach Schultz relaxed visibly. "Is that all?" he said. "That's no problem, my boy."

"You don't understand, Coach. My boss-"

The coach cut him off. "A fella by the name of Pendergast, right?" Coach Schultz returned to his chair and faced Roger, who looked totally confused. "Talked to him this morning, as a matter of fact. He's a little fella, isn't he? Kind of like a weasel?"

Roger chuckled. "That's one way of putting it."

The coach nodded. "Could tell from his voice. Funny how even over the phone-"

"Excuse me, sir," Roger interrupted. "Are you telling me you called my boss this morning?"

"No, he called me. Wanted to let me know he wasn't going to stand in the way of you running in the Bart. He said he was going to let you come in an hour late the rest of the week and was giving you all day Saturday off."

"I don't believe it," Roger said, shaking his head. "That doesn't sound like Mr. Pendergast at all."

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think. Did you realize he went to school with Jack Ralston? He knows how important the Bart is. When he heard you were eligible, he was surprised you hadn't gone to talk to him about it. You won't have any problems with him."

The unexpected news was slowly sinking in. "I can really run?" Roger said disbelievingly.

"I'm counting on you to," the coach warned.

Roger smiled. "Don't worry, sir. I'll be there," he said, his newfound excitement reflected in his voice. "Not only will I give Patman a run for his money-I might even break four minutes!"

"That's the spirit!"

Roger stood up. "I don't know how to thank you, sir. I'm very grateful."

"For what?"

"For explaining everything to Mr. Pendergast, of course."

"I didn't explain a thing to him. He already knew-and somehow he had a hunch you'd be coming in here today ready to back out of the race."

"Then who-?" Roger let the rest of the question hang in the air as he realized who his guardian angel was.

"I can't answer that, but someone's looking out for your interests. Now, can I expect to see you there?"

Roger's enthusiasm was boundless. "I'll be there after school," he promised. "And, Coach, I know you want to go out a winner. I intend to help you do it."

"Go out where? You putting me out to pasture, Roger?"

"Coach, we all know about it, how much pain you're in and how you're hanging in till after the race."

"What are you talking about, Roger?"

"Why, your retirement, sir. It's all over school how you're going to be leaving Sweet Valley after the race."

The coach scratched his head. "Maybe you'd better sit down and tell me about this. As far as I'm concerned, I'm going nowhere."

Roger leaned against the desk. "You mean you're not sick?"

"Never been sick a day in my life. In fact, I had a checkup just last week. The doctor said I have the body of a thirty-year-old-and at my age that's pretty good. So where'd you hear I was leaving?"

"I don't remember exactly who was the first to tell me. But I heard you'd announced your retirement at the last board meeting."

The small office began to vibrate with the coach's laughter. "Is that what the kids are saying?" he asked, still laughing. "Someone out there's got a vivid imagination."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not sick, and I'm not leaving, Roger. I threw one of my usual tantrums at the board, threatening to quit if they didn't cough up funds for redoing the football field. I put on a show like that about once a year-and as usual it worked. I got the money I requested, and the board got to keep me on. Someone must have heard about the meeting and taken it too seriously." He began to chuckle again. "But how it got twisted into my impending demise sure beats me."

Roger smiled. "I'm so glad you're all right, sir," he said, rising. "And if it's OK with you, I'd still like to dedicate this race to you."

"If that's what it takes to make you run faster, it's fine with me," the coach said.

Roger walked out of the coach's office ready to believe in Santa Claus coming down the chimney-and in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, too. True, he had his work cut out for him, but he felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He now had the race and his job and even time to go to the dance afterward. He might not stand a chance of going with Lila, but somehow that didn't seem so important anymore.

Quickening his pace, he ran down the hall to the cafeteria. He had some unfinished business to attend to.

Ten.

Too excited to eat, Roger bypassed the cafeteria line and headed out to the patio. Scanning the crowded tables, he spotted the person he wanted to see, the person he felt was most responsible for enabling him to run.

He ran up to Elizabeth Wakefield and gave her a big kiss. "Thanks a million, Liz," he said.

Todd Wilkins, sitting next to Elizabeth, gave him a funny look. "Hey buddy, that's my girl." He didn't seem really angry, though.

"Todd, that was merely a kiss of gratitude. Because of your girlfriend, I'm going to be able to run on Saturday."

"I never thought there was any question of that," Todd said.

"I'll explain later," Elizabeth told him. "Roger, how did you find out?"

"I just came from Coach Schultz's office." Roger took a seat opposite her. "He said someone spoke to Mr. Pendergast, and I figured it had to have been you."

"You're partially right. Actually, my father was the one who convinced him to give you the time off."

"It's funny," Roger continued. "I never figured him to be such a sports fan."

Elizabeth looked stunned. "Sports fan, hah. Did you know, Roger, that there's a state law that requires Mr. Pendergast to give you vacation time? Not to mention sick days. He had to give you the time off, as I'm sure Dad pointed out to him. Sometimes it pays to be a lawyer."

"I don't know how I'm going to thank your father," Roger said. "He really put himself on the line for me."

"Don't worry about it. He doesn't like Mr. Pendergast any more than you do. But if you want to do something for him, you can win on Saturday. My dad is a sports fan, and he's rooting for you all the way."

"We're all rooting for you, Roger," Todd said.

"But there's someone else you should be thanking," Elizabeth hastened to point out. "I wouldn't have known about your problem if it weren't for a certain somebody."

"Olivia." Roger whispered her name as he scanned the area around them. He spotted her sitting a few yards away, under a spruce tree, reading a book of poetry.

"I have a feeling she really cares about you," Elizabeth hinted.

"I'm beginning to realize it more and more," Roger said softly. "Uh, if you'll excuse me, Liz..."

"I understand, Roger," Elizabeth said. But almost before the words were out, Roger was heading toward the spruce.

When he got there he knelt down and lifted the book from Olivia's hands. "Any room for a dumb jock down here?"

"I don't see one around," she said.

"You're looking at him. Oh, Liv, I've been so stupid not to realize what's been staring me in the face for so long."

"What are you talking about?"

"You, Liv, and how much you really care about me. I mean, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be able to run in the Bart. I don't know how to thank you."

"You're really going to be able to run? Oh, Roger, that's wonderful!" Olivia's smile brought out her loveliness. "I'm so glad for you, Roger," she said happily. "I hope you win."

"Will you be rooting for me?"

"Of course I will," she announced. "You don't think I'd root for anyone else, do you?"

"No," Roger said, throwing Elizabeth a yes-I-see-you're-right look. "How could I have missed it?" he asked.

"Missed what?" Olivia countered.

"The love in your eyes." Tentatively he reached for her hand, which she gave him willingly, and was pleasantly surprised by how good it felt. He squeezed it tenderly.

"If this is what jocks are like, I should have taken up an interest in sports a long time ago," she said.

Seeing that as a signal, Roger brushed his lips against her hand. "I've been so dumb, Liv. We're both pretty unconventional, and I guess I used to think we were friends more out of self-protection than anything else. But how could I have asked for someone more loyal to me than you? You've always been around to talk to whenever I needed it. You were there to cheer me up when I'd overhear someone making fun of me. You did it expecting nothing in return-except maybe a little friendship. Well, I'm ready to tell you that even though I may not have shown it until now, there's always been a little part of my heart that belonged to you. I'm ready to give you all of it if you're willing to accept it."

"You were never very good at poetry, Roger, but I accept," Olivia said. But she couldn't help adding, "What about Lila?"

Roger winced at the sound of the name. "All she wanted was to bask in my glory. She never cared for me at all."

"It must hurt," Olivia said, though greatly relieved Lila was no longer a threat. "When did you realize what she was doing?"

"This morning when I told her I wasn't running. Which reminds me-I want to catch Bruce before lunch is over and tell him he's got competition after all. I'm sure Lila's already told him about my dropping out of the race."

Olivia was suddenly struck with a thought. "Don't tell him, Roger."

"I've got to. The coach expects me to practice with him after school."

"Can you practice without him?" Olivia wondered, an idea brewing in her head even as she spoke.

Roger thought about it a moment. "I suppose I could," he told her, "but why should I?"

Olivia laid out her reasoning. "Lila thinks you're not running, correct?" Roger nodded. "By the end of the afternoon, the news will be all over school. Quite likely the other schools will hear about it, too. Talk it over with the coach. I'm sure he'll agree that pretending to keep you out of the race is good strategy. It'll catch the other schools off guard."

"But if I'm not supposed to be running, how can I show up on Saturday?"

"You'll still be officially entered. It'll only be a rumor that you're not. Then, right before the race, you can make a grand entrance, sort of like out-Bruce-ing Bruce Patman."

Roger appeared intrigued with the idea, but even more amazed by its source. "I never figured you to have an ounce of deception in you."

Olivia smiled, anticipating the look of shock on Lila's face when she saw Roger take the field on Saturday. "Let me just say that even the most honest person in the world feels the need for revenge every once in a while."

"I know what you mean," he said, recalling the derisive look on Bruce's face after the race trials. "I know exactly what you mean."

Sharing their secret, the two strode hand in hand across the campus lawn, counting the days until the race was set to start.

Jessica, too, was counting the days-with increasing dread. She had dropped all sorts of hints, but she still hadn't gotten Dennis to commit himself to taking her to the Bart dance-or anyplace else for that matter outside the immediate vicinity of the office. Lila's cancellation of her party hadn't helped matters, either. For one of the few times in her life, Jessica was at a total loss to explain a boy's behavior. It was almost as if Dennis were embarrassed to be seen in public with her.

Time having run out, she was forced to take a more direct approach. The night before the race, she got her chance, after she and Dennis had spent yet another evening alone in her father's office. "This is wonderful, Dennis," she whispered into his ear, her heart still pounding from his kisses.

"You really are terrific, Jess," he murmured, returning the compliment. "I've never known anyone like you."

Still nestled in the crook of his arm, she purred in her most tempting voice, "It sure is a shame to have to wait until Monday to do this again."

Dennis sighed uneasily. "Yeah," he agreed.

Jessica's voice hardened just a bit. "It doesn't have to be that way, Dennis."

"What do you mean?" he replied, a little too defensively. "I'm perfectly happy about the way things are going. Aren't you?"

"No, I'm not, Dennis, which is why I'm bringing this up. I get the feeling you're not being entirely straightforward with me."