The Front Runner

of his profits he built this school. This campus used to be his estate."
    "He's some kind of straight liberal, huh?" said Jacques.
    We walked and walked. I pointed out everything to them. "There are no regular courses. Each student chooses his area of interest, and fills a portfolio full of projects. If you want to learn carpentry, we have a damn good vocational department. If you want to learn political or environmental activism, you go out and do it. A faculty advisor keeps track of your portfolio of projects, and it's graded pass or fail."
    "Sounds easy," said Vince cheerfully.
    "It isn't," I said. "That's what I thought when I came here. No sir. Students without self-discipline wash out pretty fast."
    All the time I was trying not to look at them too hard. Three class runners. And beautiful. Especially Billy Sive.
    I showed them the plush athletic facilities.
    "Joe's a big nut on fitness," I said. "He thinks the American body is going to the dogs too. I happen to agree with that. Physical education is the only required course here. We've got a broad fitness program. It's all aerobic sports. No ping-pong or golf. Only handicapped students are excused."
    We were walking along the trail toward the track, our breath blowing white on the sunny air.
    "Then, on a level above the fitness program, we have a few competitive sports," I said. "Swimming, field hockey, cycling. But the big emphasis is on track."
    We stood looking across the quarter-mile cinder track. It lay in a great open field surrounded by woods. The school's little snowplow had almost finished clearing the track, though the bleachers along it remained buried. The girls' team, about twenty-five of them, were all over the track, striding, doing bursts.
    "I've made track a big thing at this school," I said. My heart pained me at the thought of the four happy years I'd spent here, and how these three boys were maybe going to mess it up. "We have the same kind of enthusiasm for track that you had at Oregon, only on a smaller scale. The students and the faculty really get worked up about track. They run, or they jog, and they go to meets. Last year I even fielded that girls' team." I pointed at the girls. "The girls demanded it. They gave me a lot of crap about women's equal rights in sports, so I had to."
    The boys all laughed.
    "Foxes," said Billy, "will be foxes."
    "Of course," I said, "we aren't big-time here. We don't have athletic scholarships. But even if we did, I couldn't go out and sign burners like you guys, because you all want to run for Oregon. We think more in terms of fitness and having a good time. We go to the local meets, and we do very well, and that's about it."
    "What you're saying is," said Vince, "if you take us, it'll be a whole new ball game here."
    "It will be," I said. "But it's no problem ... we have the facilities, and the money, as you can see. We don't have an indoor track, but we're breaking ground for one this spring. And we're also going to install a Tartan track." The old-time cinder tracks are not as fast as the new synthetic tracks.
    All three were looking hungrily at the track. Probably they hadn't had a good workout for several days, and they were feeling withdrawal symptoms. Vince had his arm over Jacques' shoulders. They were being quite natural around me—what could Billy's father have told them?
    Billy couldn't stand it. He took off and ran gently around the track alone. He passed the chugging snow-plow in the turn. He passed among the girl runners like a thoroughbred among a lot of ponies. He loped easily along, with perfect form. I noticed some of the girls turn to look at him, but he ignored them.
    Perhaps it was the sight of his lonely, graceful figure among the girls, against the snowy landscape, that decided me. They were like three young birds driven
    away from the flock. Four years ago, Joe Prescott had sheltered me, an older storm-driven bird. It would be a sin not to pass on his Christian kindness.
    Billy 'rounded the turn and came back to us, breathing easily, grinning.
    "Ready to go, huh?" I said, smiling myself for the first time.
    "Yeah," he said.
    "All right, you're on," I said. "Go register, and get your rooms assigned. You'll probably lose a semester's credit, but we can work something out. Then report back to me, and I'll issue you your gear."
    They all grinned happily, and Vince slapped Billy gently on the back.
    "We really appreciate it, Harlan," said Billy.
    "It's Mr. Brown," I said.
    Their faces