Alexa wasn’t sure that the worst was over at all (wasn’t a big hill coming right after this very water stop?) but still she appreciated Cam’s optimism and she could tell that the runners did too. She found herself getting a little caught up in the excitement. When one man went for the cup and missed, spilling it all over Alexa, she jogged a few steps after him with a fresh cup. He was so grateful that she couldn’t help herself: she panted, “The worst is over!” She ran out of breath before she had a chance to add, “You can do it,” but she figured he got the point.

The number of runners decreased from hordes to large groups and eventually to a slow trickle. After some time the pace slowed even more and the stragglers started to pass by. Many of them stopped outright to take the water, and some walked a little before recommencing their slow jog. And then Cam said, “Isn’t that Tyler?”

“Where?” said Alexa. And, “I doubt it.” Tyler was not a distance runner. However, as the figure Cam was pointing to grew closer she did recognize something in his gait (Tyler was the tiniest bit bowlegged) and in the musculature of the shoulders.

“Ugh,” she said. “It is Tyler.” Instinctively she held out a cup of water. She wasn’t going to shirk her duties because of a personal issue.

When Tyler got to her, he stopped. It was almost as if he knew Alexa would be here, as if he’d run five miles just to get to her.

“Hey,” she said uncertainly. “Good job?” She smiled.

Tyler did not smile back, nor did he take the water Alexa held out. Alexa was getting a bad vibe. An angry vibe, the vibe Tyler gave off when the lacrosse team lost a big game; the vibe that appeared when it took him three tries to pass the test for his learner’s permit. (He twice got stuck on the question about how far ahead high beams and low beams let you see.)

“I didn’t know you were running,” Alexa said.

“I just jumped in with some of the guys at mile three. I didn’t want to pay the entry fee. How would you know if I was running or not? And who’s that?” He nodded his head toward Cam. Cam was busy refilling water cups from gallon jugs at the far end of the table.

“Nobody,” said Alexa. “Don’t you want to keep running? To finish the race?”

“I know who he is,” said Tyler. “Don’t worry, I know exactly who he is.” And then he turned his head away, and then back toward her, and if she hadn’t actually been there she never would have believed it, because Tyler spit on her. Like, actually spit. On Alexa’s arm. There was a gob of spit on Alexa’s arm.