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The gravel under Jonathan's feet crunch loudly with each step as he runs around the high school track, like teeth shoving their way through a store bought snow cone. He thinks about that, keeping his mind off of the pounding, and the heat. Crunch-crunch, no pain for this second mile. Crunch-crunch, no heat to worry about. Crunch-crunch, "I'll make the cut. I will."

Fear of losing the team is always on his mind. Running saves him. It is the most important thing for Jonathan - everything else is too 'out of his realm.' When an issue pops up that is too overwhelming, he runs. He does not like to think that he is actually running away from any problems, but some problems are more adult and not for minors. His problems are the team, grades, and society. These problems are for kids, for his peers too.

The crunching is good. The pain in his toes and heels is good. The sweat is good. It is hot, even in his track suit, "You'll need new ones!" On the side of the track is his coach, sitting in his chair, just arriving to the track, and hovering in the grass.

Jonathan finishes running the 100 feet to his coach, and then stops, stooping over, dripping with sweat and breathing hard, "What, coach?"

His coach, in his fifties, was of normal height, and filling up the chair. Jonathan thinks the chair strains under the weight, whining slightly in its electronic humming. The coach chuckles, "You'll have to get a new suit. New year, and all. Last year's sweat stains aren't gonna look too good, on the winner's stand, you know."

Jonathan laughs a little between breaths, "Eh, yeah, Coach Hendricks, sure thing. I've got some time."

"School starts in three weeks." He smirks a little, "What's your time like?"

Jonathan stands up, feeling better now, and looks at his watch quickly. "Ugh, pretty good. I've beat my best by ten seconds in the mile."

Coach Hendricks' torso jolts as he gives Jonathan a big chortle, "That's great! We could use a Mile Award."

"Yeah. And my relay has dropped five, six seconds." Jonathan smiles.

A surprising frown cracks the coach's face, "Sorry Jonathan, the relay won't be in the program this year."

Jonathan feels despondent over the news, "No relay?"

"Yeah." The coach looks around at the empty track, "We lost Jones, and Williams has elected."

"Terry?" He lets out a big gasp and mounts his hands on his hips.

"Yeah! And Cheavers is considering, but might do the put." The coach sees the disappointment in his students eyes, and knows that this was inevitable.

"What..." Jonathan is not sure what to say; it is another moment that might be over his head. His head starts to think of the crunching. "What about Track?"

"Hm, is getting thin, huh?" The coach looks down to where his lap used to be. "We knew this would happen, didn't we? Last year, we had seniors drop out, just like the before. And before." He wants to spin some happiness but there is nothing that can ice the reality of this cake. "Hell, a few years ago we didn't have a team. It was sad."

Jonathan does not feel better, "Is there going to be a team this year, Coach?" He looks down at his teacher like a wounded puppy.

Coach Hendricks moves the control stick of his chair, swinging himself around slowly, "You're here, and the track is here. As long as it's oval, we've got a team." He slowly drifts away toward the school. "See you this fall!"

Jonathan watches him float on, the humming fading away, being replaced by the taunting echoes of 'crunch-crunch.' He drops his arms, gets his feet moving, and lets the problem fall under his feet.

'Crunch-crunch.'
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"Mom!?" A 13 year-old girl begs for her Mother's attention.

"Sara, I swear, if you don't shut up, I'll sew your lips shut." The young girl puts her cereal spoon down hard and huffs. Her Mother, Jessica Lane, hovers around the kitchen getting dinner started. A bowl she needs is up on the top shelf of the cabinets, so she hovers higher to reach, manipulating the controls on her chair. "I swear, we need a new kitchen!"

"What's that?" floating into the kitchen is her husband, Barry, "I think I hear swearing!" He laughs.

Jessica spins around, "Yeah, you know what I was swearing about. We need a new kitchen, one with everything down below!"

Barry shakes his head, "Don't know what your fussing about, having a new kitchen. There's nothing wrong with this one." He moves toward Sara who is sitting at the bar on a stool, "How's it going, Pip?"