Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Natick, Massachusetts
Stretching before a run was always the best way to ensure you didn’t get injured.
Alex slowly rolled her neck from side to side. She bent down, touched her toes, and stood up again. Leaning against the fence, she stretched her legs back, feeling her muscles pull. She repeated the routine, again and again.
She stretched her arms, wrapping them around herself, then letting them fall to her sides.
A quick run in place.
A few deep breaths.
Most runners found this part calming. It helped them prepare.
For Alex, the routine and repetition made her restless. She knew it was important for safety and success, but she always wished she could just step up and start running.
Running was a challenge for her. Each starting line was a new record to chase, another way to push herself, and a chance to clear her mind.
"Alex!"
Alex jogged over to her coach.
"Are you sure you're up to this?" Dave Evans asked.
Alex nodded. "One hundred percent."
He looked at her.
"I'm good, Coach."
"That was a pretty hard fall yesterday."
Alex took a measured breath.
She almost never missed a hurdle. She couldn't even remember the last time it happened.
Until yesterday.
Her father always managed to ruin things, even her rhythm on the track.
Dave Evans studied her. "Alex? You need to be sure. You weren't yourself yesterday."
That might have been the understatement of the century.
Alex had been excited to tell everyone she got into the summer leadership program at West Point. The academy wasn't her dream, but it was a goal—something to master, like her SATs, her schoolwork, and the hurdles on the track.
Her dream was bigger than a school.
That was what her father refused to understand.
The memory replayed in her mind like a broken record:
"You're not going," Nicolaus Toles said.
Alex stared at him across the dinner table, certain she had misheard him. Her mother went still beside him. Helen looked down at her plate. Even Nick, who usually found a way to smirk through family tension, remained quiet.
"What do you mean I'm not going?" Alex asked.
"I mean exactly what I said."
"It's a week."
"It is a week at West Point."
"Yes."
"No."
The word hit Alex before she even understood it.
No.
It wasn't concern, or a question, or even a real conversation.
It was a verdict, final and firm.
"We discussed this," Nicolaus said.
"No. You discussed it."
His gaze hardened. "Alexis."
She hated when he used her full name like that. Like he was holding her leash.
"You're likely to be valedictorian," he said. "You're one of the finest athletes in the state. Your test scores are exceptional. You could choose any school in the country."
"That's what I'm trying to do."
"No. You are limiting yourself."
Alex laughed because she couldn't help it. "Limiting myself?"
"Yes."
"By applying to West Point?"
"By confusing service with sacrifice."
Her mother shifted in her chair. "Nicolaus?—"
"No," he said, not looking away from Alex. "She needs to hear this."
Alex pushed back from the table. "I'm sitting right here."
"You're not listening."
"I heard you. You think I should go to Smith. Or Wellesley. Or Yale. Or Harvard. You think I should become a lawyer or a doctor or God forbid, a businessman like you."
Nick coughed.
Helen cast him a warning glance.
"You have no idea what you are talking about,” Nicolaus said.
"Then explain it to me."
"No."
"There's that word again."
His jaw tensed.
Alex stood. "Why is everyone else allowed to talk about service like it's noble until I want to do it?"
"This is not a debate."
"No. It's my life."
"You’re sixteen."
"I'll be seventeen in July."
"Forgive me," he said. "That changes everything."
His sarcasm hurt more than she wanted to admit, but she refused to let him see it.
"I want to do something that matters, something bigger than me," she said.
"You can do plenty of things that matter... outside the military."
"That isn't for you to decide."
She spoke before she could stop herself.
For a moment, his expression changed. Alex couldn't quite tell what it was—maybe hurt, or maybe anger hiding behind it.
Maybe it was both. Then it was gone.
"You believe military service will make you important?" he asked.
"I think service matters."
"So does law. Medicine. Public policy. Business. You have opportunities?—"
"I don't want your life."
The room fell silent.
Alex could hear the clock ticking, the quiet hum of the refrigerator, and her own uneven heartbeat.
Nicolaus took a long, measured breath.
"No," he said. "You want to live a fantasy."
"What does that mean?"
"You want a uniform because you think it will make your purpose visible.
You want applause. Respect. The kind you get at a track meet.
You want to break barriers because you think resistance is unfair.
And you want to face danger because you are too young to understand that it doesn't guarantee courage. "
"You have no idea what I want."
"I know more than you think."
"No," she said. "How could you know what I want when you don't even know who I am?"
Her father stood then. Slowly.
He did not need to raise his voice. He almost never did.
"You will not attend."
Alex looked at her mother.
Her mother looked pained, but she didn't contradict him.
That hurt almost as much.
Almost.
Alex looked back at her father. "You can't forbid me forever."
"No," Nicolaus said. "But I can as long as you live in this house."
She left the table before he could say anything else.
The next day, she missed the third hurdle in the four hundred.
Not clipped it. Not brushed it. Missed it completely.
Her lead leg caught the hurdle, and she hit the track hard enough to scrape skin from her knee, elbow, and palm. The fall had stolen her breath. Worse, it had stolen her rhythm. She had finished the run because quitting was not something she did, but everyone had seen it.
Her coach. Her teammates. Her mother.
Not her father. He wasn't there.
Now Dave Evans stood in front of her, wearing the same look her mother had at the dinner table. He wanted to say something that would help, something to ease the pain, but he didn't know what to say.
"Alex," he said, "one meet isn't worth getting hurt."
"I'm not hurt."
"You're limping."
"I'm aware."
"That's not the answer I was hoping for."
She looked toward the track.
The hurdles waited in their lanes, still and indifferent.
That's what she loved about hurdles. They didn't care who her father was, what school she went to, what her grades were, what adults expected, or if she'd cried the night before.
They were just like everything else—something in her way.
She either cleared it or she didn't. And she intended to clear them all.
"I need to run," she said.
Dave followed her gaze. "Need?"
"Yes."
He sighed. "You know most people say they want to run."
"I'm not most people."
"No," he said. "You're not."
Alex looked back at him.
He sighed. "Whatever happened yesterday, don't bring it into the lane with you."
She almost laughed. If only it really were that simple.
"I won't," she said.
He clearly didn't believe her.
"Alex—"
"I can do this."
"I know you can."
She blinked, surprised. That wasn't what she thought he'd say.
Dave crossed his arms. "The question is whether doing it right now helps you or just proves you're willing to risk injuring yourself to make a point."
Alex looked down at the scrape on her palm.
"I'm not trying to make a point."
He nodded.
She held his gaze firmly.
He let out a small groan. "One run."
She nodded.
"And if your stride is off, you stop."
"Coach—"
"You stop," he repeated.
Alex held his gaze.
Then she nodded again.
She walked back to the line.
Her knee ached and her palm stung, but her father's words hurt even more.
"You want a uniform because you think it will make your purpose visible."
Maybe he was right. Maybe part of her did want people to see what she could achieve, to see who she could become.
But he was wrong about the rest. She wasn't looking for danger. She wasn’t looking to live a fantasy. She wanted to be challenged. She wanted discipline. She wanted West Point.
He said she was wasting her potential, but he was wrong about that too. She wanted to test herself against something tougher than anyone thought she could handle.
Alex braced herself.
The track lay ahead, bright red under the late spring sun. The hurdles lined up in her lane, like questions she couldn't avoid. That was the truth about them. You couldn't pretend they weren't there, couldn't argue or charm your way past them, and they wouldn't lower themselves for anyone.
You just had to keep moving, trust your rhythm, and jump at the right time.
"Ready?" Dave called.
Alex drew in a breath.
For one second, she saw her father at the table, certain he knew what she was meant to be, or at least that he could prevent her from reaching for who she wanted to become.
Then she saw nothing but the first hurdle.
"Ready," she said.
She ran.
The first hurdle came quickly.
Lift.
Clear.
Land.
The second.
Lift.
Clear.
Land.
By the third hurdle, her body remembered what her emotions had blocked the day before. Her breathing steadied, her stride found its rhythm, and the pain in her knee became just another obstacle to get past.
She cleared the fourth, fifth, then the sixth hurdle.
The noise in her mind faded, and her father's voice grew quieter.
She didn't check the clock as she finished. Speed didn't matter today.
She bent over with her hands on her knees, breathing hard. Sweat ran down her face. Her scraped palm burned and her knee throbbed.
But she'd cleared every hurdle.
Dave approached slowly. "Better."
Alex laughed between breaths. "That's all I get?"
"For now."
She straightened.
He glanced at the hurdles, then at her. "You can't outrun your problems, Alex."
"I don't need to outrun anything."
"You know, some hurdles can't just be jumped over, Alex. Sometimes you have to knock them down."
She nodded. "I just need to know what's in front of me so I can put it behind me," she said. "I'm going to stretch and get changed."