Pulse

five years off for injuries or whatever; ten years after their first games, competitors were no longer eligible. It was rare to see an athlete over thirty, because most athletes started competing in their late teens.
    When Wade entered the starting blocks for his heat of the 100, he waved once to the crowd. He was wearing a black skullcap that covered his entire head, with matching running shorts and a skintight top. The crowd went wild with enthusiasm, a reaction that surprised Liz. She’d been on the outside not that long ago, and she’d always felt like everyone inside the State thought outsiders were nobodies. There were so few people left outside, but the general idea was that being out there meant you weren’t part of the club. She was starting to realize that living in the States was like being chosen—not them choosing you, but you choosing them. When Wade and Clara Quinn stepped into the Western State for the first time, they chose these people. Nothing else mattered. The fact that they’d come from such humble beginnings and found themselves competing in the finals made them superstars. It didn’t hurt that Wade and Clara were both good-looking Amazons. Wade had started the games with a head of long, blond hair held back with a wide black bandanna. Liz thought it made him look like a girl, but she was definitely in the minority. Girls in the State ate it up, gossiping endlessly about the hot young star who had magically appeared from the outside.
    Wade went through the motions of warming up, peeling off the skullcap and setting it behind his starting block. He’d shaved his hair into an athletic cut, which produced a gasp from girls around the stadium until the cameras zoomed in and images of Wade appeared on jumbo screens. He flashed a Hollywood smile, and everyone could see that he was even better looking without the long locks that had totally entranced them. Tablets lit up with the Wade hair debate, a ridiculous spectacle that threatened to overshadow the Field Games themselves.
    Liz had to admit, the Quinns were a PR machine. They knew how to lather up a crowd. She shook her head with some dismay at the idea of the Quinns looming large over her existence in the State. She could imagine their faces plastered all over the passageways and the Tablets and inside the high-speed trains. They’d probably leave sports behind, become actors and musicians, and lodge into Liz’s life like a cancer she’d never be able to hide from.
    “Gross,” she said under her breath as the runners settled into their starting blocks.
    “You okay?” Noah asked. Liz nodded and smiled. What did it matter? Soon enough Faith would show up, and the two of them could make fun of the twins all they wanted for the rest of their lives.
    The starting gun went off, and everyone in the stands bolted to their feet for a better view. The world record for the 100-yard dash was under seven seconds, so everyone knew it would be over almost before it began. All of Wade’s competitors were like machines, uncanny in their speed and strength, as if some sort of magic had turned them into more than just humans. But this would be a race that no one would forget for another reason. It would be played and replayed, slowed down and put in reverse, forever after. Whole Tablet sites would be dedicated to what would quickly come to be known as “the Race.”
    Wade Quinn, the mysterious kid from the outside who had shown up so unexpectedly with his confident smile and good looks, pulled out in front when the gun went off. By the time the rest of the field had gone two steps out of the blocks, Wade was halfway to the finish line. It happened in a flash, like he hadn’t run there at all but had somehow been transported there. But later viewings in slow motion would prove that his legs had indeed carried him to the halfway point in under two seconds. Had he kept up that pace, Wade Quinn would have smashed the 100-meter record, cutting it nearly in half. But later evidence of his facial expressions in slow motion would show that he had seemed to force himself to slow down. He’d slowed so much that all the other runners not only caught up, they passed him, which knocked Wade out of the competition for good without a medal. Still, everyone would say from that day on that no one had ever run a 50-meter dash in double the time Wade Quinn had done it. And there was endless speculation that one day he would return and crush the world record for