Ninety-seven.
A drop of sweat rolled off my nose as I straightened my arms, completing a push-up.
Ninety-eight.
My arms felt like jell-o. I was losing form, and my lower back was starting to ache.
Ninety-nine.
I collapsed down on the ground. The grass felt cool on my hot cheek.
It hadn’t taken that long to finish the laps around the gym with the pace Mr. Dawson set. He wasn’t done with our torture by any means. As soon as we were done running, he took us outside next to the Cazadores track. I’d already done more sit-ups than I’d done in my entire life, a cool 124 and a half before I gave up. I was counting that half. I’d earned it. But the rest had done over 500. They were beasts. No wonder they all had amazing bodies.
Everyone was still trucking along, like there was nothing to 200
