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Just past the seventeen-mile marker, where the course turns east on Commonwealth Avenue for the final push into Boston, Jillian spots the new girl for the first time. She closes the quarter mile between them with surprising speed. That was too easy, she thinks. The new girl must have gone out too fast, too hard. And now she's paying for it, big time. Slowing her pace, Jillian falls in line behind her competition and sizes her up. Average height, maybe a tad short for a triathlete. A little on the stocky side, but muscular rather than fat; her calves bunch impressively with every stride. She sports a pair of beat-up sneakers, washed-out cut-offs, and a pale-blue T-shirt, soaked nearly transparent with sweat. An unruly mass of thick, carrot-red hair lies in matted clumps on her neck and back, half-heartedly restrained by a faded red bandanna. The examination complete, Jillian pulls up along side her quarry. The new girl is running with her mouth wide open, sucking in air with a series of deep gasps, panting more than breathing. Rivulets of sweat line her face, cascading down from her soaked hair, overwhelming her headband. Dull green eyes gaze hollowly down the road ahead, blinking spasmodically, as if from a nervous tic. She plods forward like an automaton, mechanically placing one foot in front of the other. Jillian clears her throat. "Hi, there," she says, as cheerfully as she can. "Great day for a race, don't you think?" No response. Uh-oh, Jillian thinks, this girl's out on her feet. At the next aid station, I need to tell someone to get a medic to check her out... But slowly, with enormous effort, the weary head swivels to the side, and a dim light kindles in the glazed eyes. A hint of a smile creases the cakes of grime that appear to be plastered on the washed-out face. She tries to speak; her lips move, but nothing comes out. Trying again, she manages a weak "Hi"; then she turns slowly back to stare at the road ahead. Jesus, Jillian thinks, I'm running with the living dead. What's keeping her going? Whatever it is, it looks to me like she's just about to run smack out of it. And Jillian is just about to speed up and leave the new girl in her dust when she remembers Kristin's plaintive plea. Jillian frowns. Why should she help Kristin? She doesn't owe Kristin anything. And Britte is such a pain in the ass – she doesn't owe Britte a damn thing, that's for sure. And she really shouldn't be playing this stupid game anyway, she has a race to run... But then she starts to wonder just what she would do if she did want to make the new girl slow down. And as various schemes run through her head, her thoughts start to drift from wondering if she could do it to deciding how. What the hell, Jillian thinks, it's for her own good. She'll hurt herself if she keeps going like this. So, actually, if I can make her slow down – or, better yet, drop out – I'll be doing her a favor. "I'm Jill Kendal." Jillian smiles as brightly as possible. "Sure am surprised to run into you all the way up here." "Hi, Jill." The voice is a little stronger, a little clearer, and the eyes that briefly glance at Jillian have picked up just the tiniest spark of life. The new girl clears her throat and shakes her head, as if she's trying to awaken from a deep sleep. "I'm Sunshine." "Sunshine?" The new girl only nods in response, as if the effort of speaking even those few words has been too great a strain. "How are you holding up, Sunshine?" Jillian tries to sound concerned. "You don't look so good." "Tired," Sunshine admits. She speaks in short bursts, the words exploding between gasps for air. "But I'm... okay." "I think maybe you ought to slow down. We've still got a long ways to go. You'll never make it to the finish line if you don't slow down a little." Sunshine shakes her head. "Doesn't... matter." "It doesn't..." Struggling for breath, Sunshine holds up a hand; she has more to say. "Nathan says... not important... win or lose... or even... finish... doesn't matter... Nathan says... do your best... that's all... do your best... all the time." "Nathan?" Sunshine just nods, as if that answers the question. Must be her coach, Jillian guesses. But he can't be much of a coach if he let her go out so strong. If Sunshine had paced herself better, she'd be in much better shape right now. Maybe she's some kind of local swim champ, figured she'd blaze her way through the swim leg and then coast the rest of the way home... "You must be one hell of a swimmer to have strung out such a big lead," Jillian says. "You must have been one of the first women out of the water." Sunshine shakes her head. "First," she insists. "First? You were the first woman out of the water?" But Sunshine shakes her head again. "Not... first... woman." She waves a hand back and forth, erasing the thought from the air. What does that mean, she couldn't mean... "You were the first person out of the water?" Sunshine nods. "You were the first swimmer out of the water? Period? Are you telling me that you beat all the men in the swim leg?" Sunshine keeps nodding. Her head bobs up and down like it's on a spring. Jillian's mouth actually hangs open in shock. She's heard of a woman being third or fourth out of the water, but... first? Ahead of all the men? Even the pros? But she has no time to think about that, she has to pick up the pace. If she plays games with Sunshine any longer, the twins just might catch up to her. But just as she's about to kick on the afterburners, an idea springs into her head. And instead of speeding off down the road, she begins to run just the tiniest bit faster. Without realizing it, Sunshine adjusts her pace to match. "You from around here?" Jillian asks, solicitously. Sunshine starts to shake her head, then seems to change her mind. "Sort of," she says. "This your first triathlon?" Sunshine nods. "You in college?" Sunshine shakes her head. "High school?" Sunshine shakes her head. "Live with your folks?" Sunshine shakes her head again, and this time she speaks a single word: "Nathan." "You live with your coach?" Sunshine shakes her head. "Nathan's your boyfriend?" Sunshine shakes her head. She's so young, but... "Your husband?" Sunshine shakes her head one last time. "Too fast," she says. She looks at Jillian apologetically, as if she's sorry that she's not going to be able to keep up with her. "Aw, c'mon," Jillian pleads, "stay with me just a little bit longer. Keep me company." Sunshine looks doubtful. "Look, I'll tell you a secret. You can run right through the pain and you'll get to a place where it doesn't hurt anymore." Sunshine stares dubiously at her. "Really, if you push yourself as hard as you can, after a while you just sort of... well, you sort of break through the pain, and then it... it's kind of like getting your second wind, you know what I mean?" Sunshine considers the new information, but without much apparent enthusiasm. "That's what I do," Jillian explains, earnestly. "It always works for me. C'mon, I'll show you." And with a burst of speed, she pulls a few yards ahead of Sunshine, then slows and looks back over her shoulder. "Stay with me," she insists. "You can do it!" Sunshine shakes her head. "I don't... think I can." "Sure you can." Jillian beckons with her hand, waving an invitation. Sunshine shakes her head again, weakly. "I won't... make it." "You won't make it if you speed up?" Sunshine nods. "You mean if you run any faster you won't finish the race?" Sunshine doesn't respond. Her eyes flick nervously as she considers the implications of Jillian's words. "But you said that you don't care whether you finish or not, didn't you? And if you're not going to finish anyway, you might as well stretch it out a little, just to see what you can do. C'mon, Sunshine," Jillian beckons again, with more urgency. "You just might surprise yourself." "I don't know," Sunshine whispers, almost a low moan. In her eyes, Jillian can read the fervent plea: Don't make me do this; please don't make me do this. "Well, okay." Jillian tries to sound disappointed. "I just thought that maybe I could help you do your best. You know, like Nathan wants you to do." And just as Jillian utters the name "Nathan," the strangest look flashes in Sunshine's eyes, just for an instant, and then it passes. What was that about? Jillian wonders. I swear, she looked a little scared there for a second... "OK, look..." Jillian points down the road to where a small group of volunteers mill around a table that stands on the sidewalk in front of a church parking lot. "I'll race you to the aid station, OK? Can't be more than half a mile. Just to the aid station, then you can ease off." Picking up her pace just enough to start slowly pulling away, Jillian turns to survey the course ahead of her, resisting the temptation to glance back to see if Sunshine has taken the bait. She smiles as she hears Sunshine's footsteps closing in behind her. She slows her pace just a little to give Sunshine a chance to catch up. In her peripheral vision, she spots a blur of motion as Sunshine begins to pull up beside her, and she eases up just a little more so that Sunshine will be able pass her. And sure enough, Sunshine comes flying past, her legs and arms churning furiously. Shifting into passing gear, Jillian takes up the chase. But the strangest thing happens: The distance between Sunshine and herself refuses to shrink. In fact, if anything, Jillian seems to be falling a little farther behind. It's like a nightmare. She's running as fast as she can. She's concentrating on her form. She's doing all the right things. But she's not going anywhere. And then it hits her: Sunshine is running faster than she is! Sunshine is actually pulling away. And then, in a flash, Jillian is angry. There's no way in hell this girl's going to beat me to the aid station, she thinks. No fucking way. This two-bit, small-time scuzzball doesn't even belong on the same course with me. Looks like it's time to teach her a lesson...
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