The stadium is loud, roaring with fans that fill every seat, so much that Oliver Hendrix can barely hear himself as he recites the lyrics to his favourite rap. His fingers are numb, but they usually were before every race. It was the speed that brought them to life. The electrifying surge of adrenaline made blood pump through him, hot and driving. In those moments, his fingers had life.

As other competitors line up, he keeps his eyes on the path ahead. He could look into the crowd to see her face. His Abigail. He knows she'll be there. Sitting as close to him as she can manage, on her feet, chanting and screaming at the top of her lungs even though she knows he can't make out a single thing she said. But looking is for after. After he wins. After he runs the race, and tears through that finish line. Then he would find her face. Not before.

He goes on his knees, feeling the roughness of the synthetic surface on his skin. His hand spreads out to his side as he presses his finger into the track. One year. It took one year to finally get here. The Bridelton Champion Scholar Race. He always thought the name was a bit too much, but here he was. He didn't need the money they offered but the prestige that followed winning one of their tournaments.

The command comes, and he lifts his body. His muscles contract in response and preparation for the blast of the starter pistol. Once it came, he had seconds to make it to that finish line. Not only win—that would be too easy—but beat the record. Wouldn't that be something? He'll make the game his. All it takes is focus.

Bang!

He is off, his legs pumping back and forth as they carry his body forward. He keeps his back straight, remembering to strike out with his feet directly beneath his hip at every stride. 100 metres; that is all he has to run. What was only a matter of seconds always had a way of feeling like an eternity? But he doesn't look back or to the side to identify the pair of legs he spots through in his peripheral vision. He keeps his eyes on the track, watching the white lines streak by as he starts to pump his legs faster and faster, increasing his speed steadily until finally... he cuts through the tape.

He isn't sure how the crowd manages to get louder, but they do. He slams his right foot into the ground and launches into the air, pumping his fist in celebration as he screams in victory. His coach is the first to crash against him, yelling praises as he slaps his back heartily. One after the other, his teammates follow. But his eyes turn to the crowd, searching for the face he wants to see.

There she is. His girl. He finds her immediately as if he knew where she was all along. She is gorgeous. Honestly, was there a day when she wasn't. She had her hair in one of her weird styles again, but she makes it look good. She makes everything look good.

Oliver takes the first opportunity he has to sprint towards the fence. Without effort, he leaps over it, ignoring the chanting crowd of fans as they try to reach out to him. He makes a beeline for where she stands and is relieved when she opens her arms to him. He hugs her heartily, lifting her off her feet and laughing as she clings to him.

"I knew you'd win." She says.

"I hoped you'd watch." He replies as he holds her tighter, burrowing his nose in her neck. She smells like butterscotch and vanilla.

They pull away, and he looks into her stunning, deep brown eyes, so dark they are almost black. She always has a way of looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time. There is a softness to her glance today and adoration that makes his heartbeat faster in his chest. His fingers lightly graze the bottom of her chin as he tips her face to his. Even with her body plastered against him and her racing heart drumming a beat against his own, he searches her eyes for assurance. Her fingers feather under his chin, and her breath fans his face as she inches closer.

A month and two weeks. That's how long they were apart, but at this moment, it felt like he hadn't touched her in ages. Hadn't kissed her in ages. He grasps her head in his hands, and she grabs his shoulders as their lips crash against each other.

"Cut!"

Mathew pulled away and sucked in his bottom lip. Summer slid down his body as she adjusted her hair and sunglasses. The crowd took a while to quiet down, and soon, the stadium fell semi-quiet. This was the third time they had halted what should have been a two-minute scene, and he was about to lose his mind. Yet, he smiled at the director when he climbed the stairs to them. Elijah Dickens was a perfectionist. The man needed and wanted everything to hit a mark, his mark. It served as both comfort and torment for Mathew.

Something told him that their ten-episode season was going to be an experience. To put things mildly.

"We are going to redo that shot again." Elijah sighed. "Keep in mind your characters are not together. I want to feel that through the screen. Don't act like you are hugging your girlfriend. Or you, like you are happy for your boyfriend. In this scene, you are silently reconciling. I want to feel that."

"Okay." Summer voiced, and Mathew nodded.

"Summer, I need more from you, okay?" Summer nodded again and smiled, too. "When you meet his eyes as he looks up from the track, I want you to show me some hesitant longing mixed with your happiness. You wonder what he is thinking. If he will come to you. If he is happy you are here."

He motioned the makeup team forward, and they did some touch-ups while he gave them a bit more direction. Mathew felt the spasm in his left leg, but he kept his face a mask of calm. He needed to push his discomfort aside to ensure he was putting out his best.

Lord knows this production needed it; he thought as his eyes cut through to Summer. She was chatting with the makeup artist, laughing as they spoke, and her nose was powdered.

She fit the bill for her role. He couldn't take that from her. She was a beautiful woman with an hourglass body, slender neck and lustrous long hair. The script might have as well been written for her. She had natural charisma and allure. But the doe-eyed Bambi had been an unwelcome surprise when he first arrived at the script reading. She had arrived in baggy cargo pants and a fitted crop top, bouncing around the room and making quick friends with the rest of the cast. Mathew had been slightly entertained by her gregarious exuberance until he learned she was meant to be the female lead.

"Mathew." The director called, snapping him back. "Get to the finish line. We will reshoot from there."

"You got it."

He jogged down the stairs and swung over the barricade to return to the track. He slammed his fist into his palm, counting down in his head as he fell back into character. Mathew straightened and stood on his mark, staring down Summer as the crowd slowly moved back into place. As soon as the clapperboard clacked, he fell into character. Thankfully, when Elijah called cut again, it was to mark the end of the scene with a gleeful clap instead of another rerun.

After a few handshakes and conversations with some of the extras around him, Mathew caught a gregarious Summer, giggling and chatting with a few people. The girl was excited about everything. He had spotted her from his car when he arrived, and she was posing in front of the school's large yard stone to take pictures. She had been just as animated about the tour of the school that happened earlier.

"Hey man, we are about to go for something to eat and play a game or two." One of his colleagues said as he came over. "We have a break for the next hour while they prepare the halls."

"Yeah. Sure thing. What are we getting?"

"Picky?"

"Not really."

"Then you won't mind that we don't know yet. We'll figure it out before we get to Dean's van. Come on."

Mathew packed his bag, but, seeing that most of the room had cleared out, he sat on one of the benches to tend to his leg. It didn't bother him often, but the constant running, coupled with his exercise in preparation the days before, had left his leg strained. As he soaked in the cool sun rays on his face, he decided to take the time to call his parents and check how things were at home.

He picked up his phone and switched it out of airplane mode. His hands hovered above his father's number as his phone began to vibrate incessantly. One after the other, comments from his Instagram appeared in his notifications.

Hey, I know this guy.

That looks like a restaurant near where I live. That's so cool.

Good to see you, still looking handsome.

Talk about resurrecting from the dead. Where have you been, bro?

Still handsome.

He swallowed nervously, shutting the phone off and shoving it in his bag. He knew what he had been doing, posting the picture earlier in the morning before shooting began. But, as the messages flooded in, a part of him couldn't bear to see them yet. He knew the game. It was all, encouragement and goodwill at the top. A few scrolls lower would reveal the other side of the coin. He still had hours of shooting left. He needed his head in the scripts, not the comments.

Later, he counselled himself, sucking in lungs full of air. He would see what they had to say later.

"What were you still doing here."

Venice, one of his co-stars for the race met him on his way out of the stadium. While it was the first time, he and Venice were on a set together, they had met when Mathew was seventeen and he was nineteen. They weren't close friends, but they kept in touch since then and it was a relief to have him around for the series.

"Thought about calling my parents. My dad's not in the best health and I wanted to check in while I was alone."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that man. Hope he gets better."

"Thanks."

"If you need anything, you can ask."

"I appreciate it. For now, I just need today to end."

"In a hurry to be back in bed."

"Nah, man. First days always set the precedent for me when I am in doubt. Still have some hours to go to get a feel of things."

"Guess your mind doesn't factor in unplanned disasters."

"Only if it happens on the first day. Think of it like an average. It's not definite."

"Okay. How's your average looking so far?"

"Sceptical." He scratched the back of his head and looked at Venice. "What do you think of the girl...Summer?"

"She is alright. Very enthusiastic, and you need that kind of person on your side. A bit fresh to scene, I heard, but she has skill."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"What?"

"How little she knows about acting?"

"It's her first role. Everyone has to start somewhere."

"No school, no background in theatres, no short films, no commercials, no footprint in the acting world. They quite literally plucked her from some town somewhere and decided to make her the face of this project."

"It happens."

"Maybe with a small role, like a best friend or a recurring character, but they put her as the face of our show. Come on, think about it. If there are problems, they wouldn't be easy to mask. You of all people know how difficult it was our first times on the big screen."

"Which is why we should handle her with care. Guidance and encouragement go a long way. So far she has been doing great."

"So far all she has done is look at me from the bleachers and kiss me." It was Venice's turn to nervously scratch the back of his neck, but Mathew continued. "I thought they would get someone with at least a social media background. Not a complete nobody."

"Yeah, Elijah is weird like that but have some faith in him. Besides," Venice slapped his shoulder with a grin. "Your shoulders should be big enough to hold this up while she finds her feet."

Venice wagged his brows before jogging off, and Mathew paused, looking down at his bag. He could still feel the phone vibrating. His free hand trembled and he cursed, steeling himself to keep his mind on the game. He squeezed his hand until the trembling stopped. He shook his head and marched out into the parking lot.

Again, most of the cars were gone.

"Hey!"

He jumped, throwing the bag over his shoulder as he turned. Summer had screamed from the exit of the stadium. She was still dressed in her outfit of heels, a tennis skirt and an oversized black top. She matched towards him with such intent, that he couldn't mistake that it was him she wanted.

"What's up?"

"You have no right to look down on me. Do you hear me?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean I saw it at the table reading, but I couldn't put a finger on what was wrong with you. Now, I know."

"Again..."

"What gives you the right?"

"What are you talking about?" He tried not to raise his voice, but she was spiraling.

"I heard you! With Venice. You think I don't deserve this role."

"That's not what I said."

"Oh please. As well as a terrible choice, do you also think I am an idiot?"

He shook his head, frustrated. He could deny what she heard, but she heard it. The fact that she was staring up at him with flames in her eyes, he knew she wouldn't let him have some peace. Peace was the only reason he had kept quiet about his thoughts. It was barely their first day and he wanted to keep the harmony.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to speak when he wasn't sure who was around. Whatever peace there had been, was going to hell, now,

Ten toes down it was.

"Fine. I didn't say you don't deserve the role; I said you are not a good fit."

"How do you know?"

"You have never acted a day in your life. What were you doing before this?"

"That has nothing to do with now. Right now, I am your co-star." Her finger poked into his chest. "I won't have you thinking less of me when I have done nothing to deserve it. I don't care about my background in acting. I care what I can and cannot do. Until you see it, keep your opinions to yourself."

"So, I have to wait for you to crash under pressure, throw this whole project for a loop, to tell the truth?"

"How can it be the truth when you are judging my capabilities from your own prejudices. You didn't even give me a chance. From the moment you learnt my role, you acted like I wasn't worth it."

"Okay, listen. Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down." She brushed his hand off and hissed the words through clenched teeth.

She scoffed and her eyes dragged demeaningly over him. He could almost taste her disgust from seeing the scowl on her face. She licked her lips and stepped back. After a solid, long inhale, she straightened.

"I have a scene to prepare for. Hopefully, between now and then, you can dig far up your ass to find whatever stick was shoved in there."