Story 27/1001

• distance
• theorist
• track

Samuel clicked the stopwatch. Andres put his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

“Two seconds slower than last time. You need rest.”

“There is no time. The competition is in a week.” Andres shook his head.

“What would your coach say? You need rest as much as practice. Your body needs to recover.”

“What would you know? If you want to help, just start and stop that stopwatch.” Andres scoffed, and Samuel put his hands up.

“Hey, what is going on? I know I’m not a runner, but I do see myself as somewhat of a theorist.”

“Theoretician.”

“Yes, that’s the same thing.”

“No, you meant to say “theoretician”.”

“No, you can also say theorist.” Andres got up, walking towards Samuel. For a moment, they looked right at each other, without blinking.

“Whatever, man.” Andres smiled. “Let’s get something to eat. I’ll take you up on that ‘resting’ offer. But, you’re paying.”

“That’s how it’s gonna be? I come all the way here, drive the distance, pay for gas, and then I have to pay for your dinner?” Samuel smiled.

“What are you talking about? You just came for mom’s food and to wash clothes.”

“College is hard. I deserve a vacation.” Samuel was still smiling, but Andres’ eyes grew dark.

“I have to win, Sam. I don’t get into college other way. I don’t have your brains.”

“Who needs brains, when you have brawls?”

“You don’t understand. This was always easy for you. Mom never worried about you.”

“Yea, ’cause I’m the perfect son. Never partied, never got into trouble.”

“You are.”

“Andres, I may be the ‘perfect’ son, but you were always the favorite. I never got smooth potato mash.”

“What?”

“She hates making it. She always complains how troublesome it is. But whenever you want some, she smiles while making it.”

Andres smiled.

“You’ll do great, Andres. You don’t need to know about theorists on theoreticians. Running is your thing. Sports is your thing. And you’ll own that track next week.”

“At least get me dinner first, if you’ll continue with speeches like this.”

Samuel patted Andres’s shoulder and rolled his eyes, muttering ‘fine’.