“I am ready to kick your ass,” William boasted.
“You may think that, Will. But I am a champion sprinter. I have won several
trophies and awards,” she taunted.
“I don’t recall you ever being on any of the teams,” William said, doubting her
claim.
“It’s true. But full transparency. I was the only one in the races, and I made the
trophies myself,” Casey informed him, chuckling.
William smiled. “If I win, will I get one of those trophies?”
“Your prize will be much better than a trophy,” Casey responded, giving him a sly
smile.
They walked down to the end zone, hand in hand. There were no yard lines since
football season ended last fall, but the grass in the end zone was a different
shade than the rest of the field. Even under the moonlight, they could make out
where the starting line would be.
“Are we running across the whole field?” William asked. He wasn’t sure if he could
make it the full hundred yards.
“We’ll try,” Casey said. She stretched her legs for a moment while William stood.
She positioned herself at the starting line, placing one leg forward, bending her
knee, and resting her hands on it. William remained upright, unbothered by
stretching.
“We will go on the count of three,” Casey informed him.
He remained rigid. “Three. I can manage that.”
“One.”
“Two,” Casey said, pausing for a beat too long.
“Thr—” Casey bolted. “—ee!”