Page 141 of The Comeback Summer

Adam winces. “Oh.”

We both take a step forward as the line moves. This obstacle is a tough one, as evidenced by all the people who have failed and are now doing burpees around us. You have to throw the spear thirty yards, into one of the hay bales that are used as targets. Hannah said it was one of the most difficult challenges, requiring strength, accuracy, and coordination.

It’s also the only one we haven’t trained much for, given there aren’t many places with targets hanging around. And I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to throw a spear in the state of Illinois. We told ourselves we’d do our best but, if worst came to worst, we’d do our thirty burpees and move on.

But now that I’m in front of all these people, I wish we’d tried harder to prepare. I’m so nervous that I find myself stupidly saying to Adam, “Are you disappointed you never got to go out with Hannah after chatting with her?”

Adam blinks at me, confused. “I wasn’t chatting with Hannah, though.”

“Well, yeah, but you never got to meet the woman you swiped right on.”

He looks genuinely surprised. “I’m not attracted to apicture, Libby. I’m attracted to a person when I feel a connection with them.” Then he leans in close and says in my ear, “And if I didn’t make it clear that I’m very,veryattracted to you, then I was doing something really wrong that night in my apartment.”

Heat sparks through me as I flash back. No, he couldn’t fake that response. But still: it’s one thing to want me in private. In public? I’m not sure about that.

“You’re up,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

I step forward, and a race official hands me a spear. It’s heavier than I anticipated, smooth and cool in my hand. I heft it to my shoulder with a grunt and squint across the field to the hay bales, which look way too small.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach. Everyone around me is watching. Judging. Probably thinking that there’s no way I can do this.

I’m scared. But I’m not going to let that stop me.

Gritting my teeth, I take a step forward and launch that spear with every ounce of my strength. As soon as it leaves my hand I squeeze my eyes shut; I’m afraid to look, terrified to see the spear hit the ground yards before the hay bales, like so many others.

A cheer rises, and my eyes pop open. My spear is stuck in one of the bales, the end swinging in the breeze.

A man next to me whistles. “Damn.”

“Nice job,” a woman says, patting me on the arm.

“Amazing!” Adam says, and I spin around to face him.

He gives me a high five, then, to my surprise, pulls me in for a hug. We’re frozen in time, and I want to stay there, wrapped in his arms forever. But an official blows a whistle, and I reluctantly pull away to see him grinning down at me.

“I can’t believe I did that!” I say, still shocked.

“She probably threw javelin in high school or something,” someone mutters behind me.

“Or college,” someone else says.

I nearly laugh out loud; these people seriously think I was an athlete?

“That was a ten out of ten,” Adam says. Then he leans closer and says in my ear, “And really fucking hot.”

Fifty

HANNAH

I’ve run seven half-marathons and three fulls in my life, along with countless shorter races. I’ve pushed myself to the limit, gone up hills and down, run through leg cramps and side aches. I know my body, and I know how to get through the toughest parts of a race.

But this has been the hardest experience of my life.

Being around Josh is acutely painful, especially after that last video. I know what’s coming, and I’m sick about it.

Libby’s voice echoes in my mind:You won’t break without him.I want to believe her, I do, but every time I look at Josh, I feel like my heart is being wrenched out. I’m avoiding eye contact, avoiding physical contact except when absolutely necessary—like when we scaled the Ladder of Doom, I had to put my foot in his hands so he could boost me over, but I didn’t steady myself on his shoulders. I can’t handle touching him, knowing that it could be the last time.

Josh has stubbornly stuck next to me, even though I’ve hardly acknowledged him. Now we’re at the barbed-wire crawl, where there’s only three feet of space between the wire andthe ground—which is more like a muddy bog after hundreds of people have crawled through. Libby and Adam are up ahead, nearly done, and Josh is just ahead of me, crawling with surprising grace.

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