The Silver Track

Routine

"Seal's intact. You can verify that yourself."

The woman in the navy polo held the cup out at arm's length, like she was daring me to argue. Her name tag said RENA. Her face said she'd rather be anywhere else.

"I'm not questioning the cup." My hands were still shaking from the race, and I hated that she could probably see it. "I'm questioning why I'm in here four minutes after crossing the line."

"Standard procedure."

"For a record? Sure. This fast?"

Rena didn't answer that. She just gestured toward the narrow bathroom door behind her, arms crossed, waiting.

A second staffer stood by the counter, younger, clipboard hugged to his chest like a shield. He kept glancing at Rena. Not at me. At her.

Like he was waiting for a signal.

I caught it and let it go. Post-race adrenaline made everyone look suspicious. I'd learned that after my first junior title, when I accused a photographer of stalking me for three days straight before realizing he just really liked track.

"Can my coach wait outside?" I asked.

"He already is."

I stepped into the bathroom, did what I needed to do behind a door that didn't lock all the way, and came back out holding the sealed sample like it might bite me.

Rena logged it without looking at me. "Sign here. And here."

I signed.

Through the thin wall, I could hear my coach's voice, low and fast, talking to someone on the phone.

"No — no, tell them she'll do the interview after. She's in testing right now, it's routine—"

I pressed closer to the door without meaning to.

"Routine," he said again, like he was convincing himself as much as whoever was on the other end.

I stepped back out into the hallway the second Rena waved me through, and my coach spun around so fast his phone nearly slipped out of his hand.

"There she is." He grabbed my shoulder like he needed to confirm I was real. "Sponsors are already calling. Three of them. You broke an eleven-year record, Maya, they're throwing numbers around I can't even—"

"Coach."

"What?"

"The water bottle." I said it before I could stop myself. "Right before call time. Raven handed it to me."

His face didn't change fast enough. That half-second delay told me he already knew exactly what I was talking about.

"Everyone shares bottles," he said. "It's a meet. People grab whatever's closest."

"She specifically handed it to me."

"Maya." He rubbed a hand down his face. "Don't do this. Not today. You just had the best race of your life. Don't spiral because your rival was being friendly for once."

Friendly.

Raven had never once in six years of racing against me done anything that could be called friendly.

I wanted to say that out loud. I wanted to push harder. But there were two federation staff members ten feet away, and a hallway full of press waiting just past the doors, and I hadn't even celebrated yet. I hadn't let myself feel it.

"You're right," I said instead. "I'm being paranoid."

He softened immediately, relieved, and pulled me into a hug that smelled like stadium coffee and cheap cologne. "You should be feeling on top of the world right now. Let yourself feel that. This is your moment."

Down the hall, a door opened. Someone shouted my name from the press area, and a wall of noise rolled toward us — camera clicks, overlapping questions, someone's assistant already shoving a media release form at my coach's chest.

"Two minutes," Rena said, appearing at my elbow again, clipboard now tucked under her arm. "We need you to initial the chain-of-custody form before you head out."

I signed the last form standing up, using her clipboard as a table, my signature coming out messier than it should have because my hand still hadn't fully settled.

"That's it," Rena said. "You're free to go."

I turned to leave, already bracing for the wall of cameras waiting on the other side of the door.

That's when I heard her.

Low. Meant for the younger staffer only. Not meant for me.

"If this comes back like the last one—"

I stopped walking.

Rena's head snapped up. Her eyes met mine, and whatever she'd been about to say died in her throat.

The younger staffer suddenly found something fascinating to look at on his clipboard.

"Like the last one?" I said. "Whose?"

"Congratulations on your race," Rena said, voice gone smooth and professional again, like a door slamming shut. "Someone will contact you with your results within the standard window."

She turned and walked back into the testing room without another word, leaving me standing in the hallway with my coach already pulling me toward the press doors, and a sentence I couldn't stop replaying in my head.