Why they run, p.1
Why They Run, page 1
PRAISE
Few stories are as fulfilling to the soul as this one. Zoey Wheeler delivers a powerful portrayal of the struggles faced by teenage athletes and the love that rises from competition. The enemies-to-lovers trope has never been more emotionally driven—or so beautifully crafted.
Kailey Holbrook | Author, Return of the Keepers
Told with sharp emotion and cinematically, Zoey captures the intensity of trauma, ambition, and healing with surprising maturity for a debut author. Powerful, honest, and deeply human.
MJay Ally | reviewer
The emotional intelligence in this book floored me. It’s about racing, yes—but more about daring to be seen.
Josephine Hernandez | aspiring author
Copyright © 2025 Zoey Wheeler
Published in United States
www.zoeywheelerbooks.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system – except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper – without permission in writing from the copyright holder.
All trademarks, service marks, trade names, product names, and logos appearing in this publication are the property of their respective owners.
ISBN (ebook) 978-1-970584-00-4
ISBN (pbk) 978-1-970584-01-1
ISBN (hcv) 978-1-970584-02-8
DEDICATION
To my 8th-grade English teacher, Mrs. Randall,
I wouldn’t have started writing without you
You gave me the confidence to find myself and my love for storytelling
You will always be my Miss Trefusis
This book contains depictions of domestic violence and abuse. Some scenes may be distressing or triggering. Please prioritize your well-being while reading.
You are not alone. If you or someone you know is in danger or experiencing abuse, help is available:
National Domestic Violence Hotline
Call or text 988 or 1-800-799-7233, or chat online at thehotline.org.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
1 Jason
2 Scarlett
3 Jason
4 Jason
5 Scarlett
6 Jason
7 Marcus
8 Meghan
9 Jason
10 Scarlett
11 Jason
12 Jason
13 Scarlett
14 Scarlett
15 Scarlett
16 Jason
17 Scarlett
18 Jason
19 Meghan
20 Meghan
21 Marcus
22 Jason
23 Scarlett
24 Jason
25 Scarlett
26 Scarlett
27 Jason
28 Scarlett
29 Beau
30 Marcus
31 Marcus
32 Jason
33 Scarlett
34 Scarlett
35 Jason
36 Scarlett
37 Jason
Acknowledgments
1
JASON
If I knew he was drunk, I would’ve never come home. Typical, yes, it’s like a climber saying ‘if that rock were loose I would’ve never grabbed onto it!’ But in all honesty, that’s what Jason thought. Yet despite that, he stood in the doorway, greeted by the familiar smell of alcohol and the eucalyptus candle his mom burned to hide it. He should’ve backed out of the house, hopped on his skateboard and ridden off to a friend’s house to stay the night instead. Did he do any of this? No, instead, Jason gingerly closed the door behind him and crept into the kitchen. As he stepped over the bottles and cans strewn about the house, he patted himself on the back for his stealthiness. The way he tiptoed across floorboards and made his way from the kitchen to the living room made him feel like he was in The Quiet Place or something.
Sure, Jason thought. I think I could make a good Lee Abbott.
He continued his trek through the house to his room. He was feeling pretty good about himself when a particularly worn board decided to betray him and let out an eerie scream from underneath his feet. Jason froze. He stayed still, not daring to move or breathe. 5–10–15–20. After twenty seconds, Jason allowed himself to move again, this time keeping an eye on the old wooden floors.
The entrance led straight into the kitchen. It was small, but if only one person was cooking, it was pretty sizable. Across from the kitchen sat the dining room. Not a fancy only-eat-in-on-holidays kind of space, just the simplest meaning of the area. A large rectangular wooden table surrounded by the same style of wooden chairs, lit by an old fixture in the ceiling. The same place that Jason had set the table since he could count forks. Around the corner of the dining room was a hallway. Jason felt his stomach drop at the sight. A narrow walkway with two doors on one side, and two doors on the other, which seemed to surround a final door at the end of the hall. There was no light in this hallway, but there usually wasn’t a need for one, as sunlight or light from another room usually provided enough brightness to see. Jason ran his fingers down the corner of the wall, grimacing at the goosebumps on his arms. Ignoring the feeling of nausea that ate at him, Jason turned the corner and started down the hall. He passed the first door without an issue, holding his breath the whole time. The rough floor scratched at his socks and seemed to be asking him to go no further. He moved through the hall swiftly, successfully moving past the second door, and to the end of the hallway. Gripping the copper handle, Jason cautiously pushed the door open, removing the one barrier that separated him from his sanctuary. His room was the only place in Jason’s house that actually meant home to him. He felt so relieved at his seemingly successful mission that he almost didn’t hear it.
“Jason, get your ass in here this damn minute!” A scratchy voice slurred.
The feeling Jason got next was something that couldn’t be described as anything other than pure dread. A knot instantly formed in his stomach, and his limbs felt like they’d suddenly been draped in ankle weights as he trudged towards the second door, which was opened just a crack. Light flooded through the slit, painting a thin line of light. Jason gathered his bearings and trudged in the direction of the voice, cursing himself for being too loud. He was so close. Jason peered through the crack into the room from which the voice had come. Inside sat a large, old mahogany desk, with a matching set of library shelves for storage. Storage for what, Jason didn’t know, because there certainly wasn’t any reading going on in there. At the desk stood a black leather swivel chair, like the kind in offices. Sprawled in it sat an older man with disgusting gray stubble, a beer belly, and a thin white scar making its way down his cheek. His face was contorted with anger and irritation. He seemed to want Jason in the room but was simultaneously disgusted by his presence.
Jason opened his mouth to speak, but cursed his scratchy voice. He cleared his throat before trying again.
“What, Dad?”
Jason’s dad looked up and saw his son standing in the doorway.
“Did I say stand in the door there like an idiot? No, I said, get your ass in here!”
Jason had no choice but to comply, so he stepped into the room, and instantly the air got cooler as if a ghost had just flown by. “OK, now what?” he asked.
The man stood up from his chair angrily, but swayed a little. “Did you get my Miller Lite from the store this morning?” he asked. “I left you money on the counter and told your mom to tell you. I swear if that dingbat didn’t ask you—”
Jason felt himself tense up the way he did every time his dad said something bad about his mother. She hadn’t asked me, he realized. Shit.
“Er, yeah, she asked me, I just. . . forgot.” The man raised an eyebrow, questioning the simplicity of his excuse, so Jason decided to add on. “Practice ran late today, so I had to come home. I didn’t have time.”
“And why the hell did you not buy it on the way home?” He growled.
Jason was getting irritated. “It’s a two-mile walk from the school, Dad. If you wanted me to go to practice and then get your beer, I wouldn’t have made curfew, and then you’d be mad anyway.”
Jason hated the number of times he’d walked the far distance just to supply his dad’s alcohol supply. Beer was a vile thing. Jason made a promise to himself that even after he turned 21, he would never drink it. Just the smell of it made his stomach churn with disgust. Not for the drink, but disgust for his father.
Who, it seemed, was getting pretty ticked off at Jason’s argument. He stepped towards his son and, without warning, struck him across the face. Jason staggered back in shock. His heart stopped, and he froze as the memory of his strike rang against his cheek. His dad took advantage of this pause and grabbed the collar of Jason’s shirt, pulling him forward. Jason had to physically stop himself from gagging at the rancid smell of alcohol and poor hygiene coming from his dad. He held his breath as his father growled in his ear.
“I don’t give a damn about how far you have to walk; you don’t disobey me. You don’t wanna miss curfew? Walk faster. And screw practice, because the next time you don’t show up here with it, you’re gonna get a lot more than that. Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna give you an hour to get the beer, right now, my buddy’s waiting outside the store, you just give him the money and he’ll buy the stuff. Do it or I will beat the shit out of you, Jason.”
He let go of Jason with a shove and threw himsel f back down in the leather chair. Jason started back towards the doorway, hands shaking. His heart burned with hatred so strong, like a bonfire, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t put it out, so it just burned inside of him for eternity. Not if he wanted to jeopardize himself and his mom, and he would never do anything to hurt his mom. Even if that meant being forced to calm the waves of anger that flared to life inside him. Even if that meant living with his dad and living with Brian. He looked up and saw that his dad was asleep now, passed out in the armchair. He stepped into the room, so he stood over Brian, facing him. Jason couldn’t help the tears that filled his eyes as he stared at this man. He could live without him. He could get a second job, or live with a friend, or anything but this. Jason turned his back on Brian and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. As his shoes slipped on, the tears fell out of his eyes, and he numbly reached for the money left out on the counter. Above the kitchen cabinets, in a glass case, was a rifle that his dad kept for ‘safety reasons.’ Jason eyed it anxiously. He thought about Brian in the other room. His father. He was asleep, alone, defenseless. He turned back to the gun and stared for what he thought to be at least two minutes. It was shiny and sleek. Jason knew where he kept the bullets— in the drawer below where they kept their utensils. He also knew that Brian never had time for stupid shit like that, and so the gun was already loaded. It was loaded. Ready for use, itching to be fired. And his dad sat in the other room. What if? No. Jason snapped out of the daze, grabbed his bag, and headed out the door, typing ‘BevMo’ into his Google Maps.
2
SCARLETT
Scarlett Artega stood on the number 4 lane on the wide, orange track, the fastest lane for the fastest runner. She tugged her dirty blonde hair tighter in its ponytail and scanned her surroundings. She would be running with seven other people, two from her own school, New Wellis, three from the all-girls academy, St. Coleman’s, and two from Camden High. Scarlett already knew she could outrun any girl from her own school, so she pushed that thought out of her head. Now it was just the private school snobs and the Camden girls. She knew Camden—had run with them and trained with them. They weren’t contenders; they only had one good sprinter, Kacey Tillman. Scarlett would watch out for her. The private school girls were new to her. Scarlett didn’t know how they ran. She didn’t like not knowing. She wanted records, times, anything she could get from these girls, but so far, all she knew was that they were good enough to compete against her. That’s all she needed to know to motivate her.
That’s only four girls out of seven runners. Four girls that she could possibly be beaten by, she only needed to outrun four girls. Hell yeah, I can do that. A loud screech blared in the distance, and a short, chubby man blew a large silver whistle in his mouth. His face was red from blowing so hard to create this noise, but he looked satisfied with himself.
Once he had the attention o f the crowd, he took out a comically large megaphone and began speaking into it with a shrill voice.
“Girls’ 200m sprint is about to begin, please find your seats and stay seated during the race. In lane 1, we have Charlotte Williams from Camden High, lane 2, Audrey Pike from St. Coleman’s, lane 3, Kacey Tillman from Camden High, lane 4, Scarlett Artega from New Wellis, lane 5, Meghan Truth from New Wellis, lane 6, Peyton Randall from St. Coleman’s, lane 7, Zoe Boyer from New Wellis, and lane 8, Trudy Hill from St. Coleman’s. Ladies, line up in your lanes, and we will begin in just a moment.” He gasped, clearly winded from listing every girl.
Scarlett brought her left arm over her shoulder and stretched, trying to appear as intimidating as possible. She turned her head and saw her parents in the bleachers, cheering with dark green face paint smeared on their cheeks. She smiled and waved. Her mother blew her a kiss, as her dad did a terrible fake running rendition with his fingers. Scarlett couldn’t help but laugh, which would make her appear weaker. She couldn’t have that, so she turned away from them and instead looked at her coach. He was a tall, bulky man, and almost everyone in the school was afraid of him. They nicknamed him ‘Hulk’ because everyone thought he looked like a more muscular Fred Tatasciore. Scarlett raised her eyebrows in a ‘what’s the strategy?’ kind of way. He took his fingers and pointed them to his eyes, and then at the finish line.
“Run like Hell,” he mouthed to her.
She chuckled at the Pink Floyd reference, but she understood what he meant. Run fast, don’t think about anything else, and keep your eyes on the finish line. Scarlett took a deep breath and stared ahead into the distance. She could already see the finish; to the right stood a podium, and she thought about standing there. She wanted to stand there, taking in the world from a few feet higher. So I will, she thought.
“OK, girls, we’re all ready here.” The short referee announced. Scarlett stiffened and hardened her face to her competition expression. Determined, poker face, prepared, greedy.
“On your marks.” She slid her foot back into the starting blocks. And put her fingers out in front of her on the hot, synthetic rubber.
“Set.” Scarlett and the seven other girls took their final positions, which consisted of their asses sticking straight up like in downward dog. I’ll bet a man came up with that one, Scarlett thought. The next few seconds were pure anxiousness, excitement, and agony waiting for the gunshot. The referee took out a tiny gun and fired one shot into the air.
‘BANG’. Scarlett took off like a rocket. She sprinted as fast as she could, past the parents in the bleachers, past the girls from New Wellis and St. Coleman’s, and past all of the Camden girls. Well, except for Kacey Tillman. She ran not more than two inches in front of Scarlett, her platinum blonde ponytail swinging back and forth rhythmically like a grandfather clock pendulum. Scarlett pushed even harder and knew that she only had a few seconds to pass her or it was all over. She pushed harder and gave everything she had into her speed. Her eyes were trained on the finish line just like the coach had told her, and she had one thing on her mind—winning. Being on that podium, but she didn’t want to be on that podium unless she was first. How do you get first, Artega? Her coach’s voice rang in her ears. You run like hell. Scarlett sped past Kacey like a bullet train and took a three-foot lead as she neared the finish. One last push of adrenaline sent her over the line, and a loud cheer erupted from the sidelines, where the rest of her teammates were sitting.
“And in first place, from New Wellis, Scarlett Artega with a time of 23.45 seconds!” Scarlett slowed to a stop and put her hands on her head to let more air in her lungs. She beamed with joy and saw that same joy in her father’s face when she looked up into the stands. He grinned down at her, clapping his hands and shouting like a maniac. Her mother smiled and nodded at her approvingly. Someone handed her a water bottle, and Scarlett thanked them before effectively draining the entire thing. Kacey Tillman ended up taking second, followed by Audrey Pike, Meghan Truth, Peyton Randall, Zoe Boyer, Charlotte Williams, and lastly, Trudy Hill.
Scarlett pulled Meghan and Zoe into a hug and congratulated them on their race. She may have beaten them, but her team was the most important thing in the world to her, and she’d be proud of them no matter what. She walked over to coach ‘Hulk’ Allen and felt an elated sense of relief when he smiled at her. No matter how many races she won, having her coach’s approval would always make the victory sweeter.
“Great race today, Artega. You’ll make a new record if you keep this up!” This took Scarlett by surprise.
“Seriously?”
“Yup, the record in our district, and the country for girls 200m is 22.11 seconds. You could beat that, Artega.”
“Wow.” She thought about having a record added to her list of accomplishments. Even better, she added to her college applications. That would be something. “Thanks, coach. Do we have any more events today?” Coach Allen took a look at his clipboard, which never seemed to leave his grip.
“Nope, I think that’s it for today. Now, you go on that podium and when you get on the first-place stand, give the Camden coach a stink eye for me.” He winked. Scarlett smiled, deviously.
“Gladly.” She loved feeding the rivalry that New Wellis and Camden had, especially between the coaches. Last year, the Camden team beat New Wellis at the finals, and Coach Allen had vowed to beat them in every race this year. So far, they had. And with every race, the victory felt just as good. Scarlett made her way to the podium, where the other two girls were standing. Kacey turned to her with a glare. She held out her hand for a shake. Why the hell is this girl trying to shake my hand, Scarlett thought. Then she saw the camera pointed at the two of them and realized Kacey was just ‘putting on a show’ for them. She hesitantly gripped Kacey’s hand and repressed a wince as Kacey virtually crushed her hand in a vice grip. The second the picture was taken, Scarlett ripped her hand away and smiled sweetly at her. The blonde snapped and stormed away before even receiving her medal. The short ref announced that the school board would be handing out medals, and that they had the great honor of congratulating the students and all that. Scarlett found this funny. It was the one exciting thing board members got to do, though, so she let them feel proud of it. ‘Here, you want to feel special? How about putting five-dollar medals on a bunch of sweaty teenagers?’ She thought it was ridiculous, but that didn’t keep her from bowing when a random old dude placed the award over her neck, and thanking him as he turned away. Scarlett faced a camera facing towards her and smiled. She felt good, but not as good as she thought she would. Before the race, she wanted nothing more than to be in the limelight, but now, she kind of just wanted to go home. Be away from the people, the crowds. She took a few more pictures and stepped down from the podium before finding her coach.
