Personal Best E-Book

Tami Veldura

• Herausgeber: Story Prism Studios
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Personal Best

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Title Page

Personal Best

About The Author

Copyright

Personal Best

By Tami Veldura

Sam frowned out the window of his Dad's living room, slouched on the couch, as he watched the empty street outside. He'd rather be running. At least that would keep his body busy, if not his mind, but the pandemic had forced everyone inside for over a month, now, and if he were caught out of the house without a mask, he'd be fined.

But he couldn't run with a mask.

And it didn't feel like Friday, anyway. Sam had been out of school for almost two weeks and, just yesterday, the district had declared the rest of the school year to be canceled. It was almost the best summer ever: school canceled two months early, no finals at the end of the year, even the weather was beautiful. Cool in the mornings and perfect for runs.

Except he was stuck indoors.

He rolled away from the window onto his back and scrolled absently through his phone. Dad came into the house from the sliding door in the back, today's mail in his hand. He began sorting it on the counter and asked, "Have you thought about what you want for dinner?"

Sam sat up. "You mean we can order take out?"

Dad's expression shifted as he picked a piece of mail out of the stack, a formal letter of some kind, not a personal one. "Sure," Dad said. "Take out is fine."

"Awesome." Sam tabbed over to the delivery app and started considering sushi options.

Dad tore open his mail and, in between Sam’s consideration of either unagi or yellowtail, suddenly grabbed Sam by his upper arm and dragged him toward his bedroom. Dad’s face was red, creased with anger lines, and he held the letter crumpled in his other hand.

"Dad?" Sam stumbled beside him, alarmed and afraid. "Dad, what's wrong?"

"Get your shit packed. We're leaving." He shoved Sam roughly toward his bedroom, peeling off to slam open his own door.

"Dad, what on earth?" Sam followed him to the door of his bedroom and stalled at the threshold.

Dad had shoved the letter into a small spiral notebook he always carried around with him to put notes in. Sam had never thought it was odd, until now. What kind of notes did Dad need?

Then Dad pulled a duffel bag out from under the bed, and the way it landed heavily on the mattress told Sam it was already packed. A second packed bag came to rest beside the first, and Sam took a step back into the hallway.

Why did Dad have go-bags? He'd never heard of people having bags packed like this in real life.

"Dad?" His own voice was so quiet, Sam almost didn't recognize it.

Dad whirled on him, looming in a way he'd never seen before, eyes blazing with rage. "Get. Your. Bag. Now!"

Sam turned and ran. He scrambled mindlessly into his closet, dug out his school backpack, and dumped the contents onto the floor. He shoved two sets of clothes into the bottom of the bag, and an extra set of socks and underwear.

What was supposed to go in a bag like this? What the hell was going on?

Sweater. Jacket. What else?

Sam shoved his feet into his Toms and, in his rush, his running shoes fell off the low shelf. He froze. The Toms were comfortable, but some warning deep in his gut said the running shoes were a better choice. He swapped for the sneakers.

Just in time. Dad towered over him in the closet doorway, his face dark, since he blocked out the light from the room. "Let's go," he said quietly. Harsh. No questions, that voice said.