Chapter 1

The scoreboard flashed the final times for the 100-meter dash. My lane showed 12.11 seconds, a new personal best. I felt a brief surge of pride, the burn in my lungs a welcome feeling.

Then I saw the time for lane five. Molly' s lane. 12.01 seconds.

A low murmur went through the crowd. I stared at the numbers, my mind refusing to process them. Molly, my younger sister, who trained maybe once a week and spent most practices scrolling on her phone, had just beaten me. By one-tenth of a second.

She jogged over, not even out of breath, a bright, fake smile plastered on her face.

"Wow, Sabs, you really pushed me there," she said, loud enough for our teammates and Coach Hughes to hear.

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I guess I was just holding back before. Didn' t want to hurt your feelings, you know? But with college scouts watching, I have to get serious."

Coach Hughes walked up, clapping Molly on the back. "Incredible, Molly! Where has that speed been hiding?"

Molly just shrugged, giving him that innocent, wide-eyed look she had perfected. "Just feeling good today, Coach."

He turned to me, his expression shifting from impressed to disappointed. "Sabrina, good effort. But you can' t let a little family competition get in your head. Shake it off."

He walked away, leaving me standing there as Molly soaked up the congratulations from everyone. It wasn' t a competition. It was an execution. And I didn' t understand how she' d done it.

That night, the car ride home was silent, but the tension was thick enough to choke on. My parents sat in the front, my dad gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

The moment we walked through the door, it started.

"I cannot believe you let your younger sister beat you, Sabrina," my mother said, not even bothering to take her coat off. "All that money on camps, all that time you spend at the track… for what?"

My father chimed in, his voice dripping with disappointment. "Molly is a natural. She barely tries and she wins. You' re just too intense, you put too much pressure on yourself."

Molly, who had been quiet in the car, suddenly burst into tears. "It' s my fault. I shouldn' t have run so fast. I knew she' d be mad at me."

My parents immediately rushed to her side.

"Oh, sweetie, no, it' s not your fault," my mother cooed, stroking her hair. "You have a gift."

"Your sister is just jealous," my father said, glaring at me. "She' s a sore loser."

I couldn' t listen to any more of it. The accusations felt like physical blows.

"I' m not jealous," I said, my voice shaking. "I' m just… tired."

I turned and walked to my room, the sound of their comforting words to Molly following me down the hall. I shut the door, the click of the latch feeling like the final lock on a cage. Leaning against it, I slid down to the floor. This was my life. A constant, losing battle against a ghost.

My scholarship wasn' t just about running. It was about running away. From them. From this house. And I knew, sitting there on the cold floor, that I had to train harder than ever. I had to be so good they couldn' t deny me. I had to escape.