<b>Chapter </b><b>401 </b>


    When York Tate spotted him, Tammie Quincy happened to nce over at the same moment. Their eyes met–sparks flew in the air.


    York smirked. He almost flipped Tammie the finger, but Alessia Morton’s words echoed in his mind. He held himself back, feeling a little deted, and looked away with a disinterested shrug before stretching out his arms and legs.


    Some people just couldn’t help themselves–they always had to stir up


    trouble.


    “Don’t go thinking you’re all that just because your team took the ry,” Tammie sneered, swaggering up to York for all to see. “Without your lead runner, you’re nothing special.”


    “Yeah? At least we’ve got someone we can count on,” York shot back, unable to hide his disdain. “Unlike you guys—losing by nearly half ap and still shameless enough to make excuses.”


    York had never liked Tammie, and he certainly wasn’t about to let him walk all over him now. If someone came looking for a fight, they couldn’t me York for giving them one.


    Letting Tammie walk away feeling smug would have been York’s own failing.


    “Some people can barely make it through a hundred meters without falling apart,” York taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just don’t start whining about being tired when you lose.”


    “Yeah, and I’d be worried if someone can’t even keep up with the slowest runner on the track. What excuse do you have then?” Max chimed in, standing nearby.


    Growing up with Max and Alessia, York had learned a thing or two about the art of verbal sparring. He might not have surpassed his mentors, but he certainly held his own.


    <b>11:00 </b>


    Sure enough, Tammie’s face darkened. Someone from his team called his name, and Tammie stormed off, but not before tossing a parting shot over his shoulder.


    “Just you wait! Don’te crying when you lose!”


    York rolled his eyes. So much for talking tough–Tammie barelysted two exchanges before scampering away.


    The teacher started calling out names for the lineup. York ignored Tammie and followed the teacher to get his number. Fate, however, seemed to have a twisted sense of humor: his spot was right <i>next </i>to


    Tammie.


    “Good luck out there,” Tammie sniped, voiceced with <i>mock </i>sweetness. “Try not to lose to someone who just ran ap.”


    York only grinned, unfazed, and looked straight ahead. The cocky grin melted away, reced by fierce determination.


    As soon as the starting pistol fired, York sprang from the blocks like he’d been shot out of a cannon. Tammie blinked in surprise, then gritted his


    teeth and tore after him.


    They were neck–and–neck–the best their school had to offer, neither willing <i>to </i>give an inch.


    York tuned out everything and everyone. He didn’t care where Tammie was; all he saw was the finish line, and he was determined to cross it


    first.


    Tammie pushed himself to the limit, trying desperately to pull ahead. With the finish line looming, he panicked, stretching out a hand, but York was just out of reach.


    Oblivious to the danger behind him, York poured on every ounce of speed. He was so close–onest burst and victory would be his.


    But in the next instant, everything spun out of control. Tammie shoved him from behind. York tumbled forward, hitting the ground hard–rolling head over heels as momentum hurled him across the track.


    213


    11:00


    The other runners froze in shock, staring at York curled up on the ground, face twisted in pain. No one dared approach. The ident had left everyone stunned.


    Meanwhile, the culprit didn’t miss a beat. Tammie used the chaos to surge ahead, darting across the finish line and iming first ce.


    Alessia shot to her feet in outrage; Max and Cole Whitley’s faces turned


    stormy.


    No one cheered. The stadium was dead silent.


    Everyone had seen Tammie’s shove. The first time could’ve been an ident, but the second–there was no mistaking the intent.


    Tammie didn’t care. He crossed the line, immediately searching the stands for his grandfather. He threw his arms up, shouting, “I did it! I won!“–but his voice echoed in a vacuum. Not a single cheer, not a single


    p.


    His so–called victory meant nothing to anyone.


    The realization hit Tammie hard. His triumphant smile vanished. He clenched his fists, seething, wishing he’d shoved York even harder.