Run of Her Life (eBook)

Talia B. Smith (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
332 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-9683-8 (ISBN)

Infos

The Run of Her Life is a gripping coming-of-age novel that follows Michaela, a gifted track sprinter, as she navigates the pressures of success, love, and betrayal. Just when she thinks she has her future mapped out, a shocking revelation shatters her world-forcing her to confront painful truths about the people she trusts and the dreams she's chasing. As Michaela struggles to find her footing, she's faced with impossible choices that test her resilience and redefine her sense of self. Will she outrun the past, or will it catch up to her before she reaches the finish line? Raw, emotional, and deeply personal, The Run of Her Life is a story of ambition, heartbreak, and the fight to reclaim one's power.

Talia B. Smith is a storyteller with a gift for crafting narratives that linger long after the final page. As a first-time author, she draws inspiration from the raw truths of her own journey, exploring the intersections of family, identity, and resilience with unflinching honesty. Born with a deep curiosity for human connection, Talia channels her experiences with family trauma and the complexities of undiagnosed mental health challenges into her writing. Her debut novel, The Run of Her Life, masterfully blends fiction and reality, following the turbulent coming-of-age journey of a gifted track sprinter as she navigates the highs and lows of growing into herself. Talia's work is an ode to the overthinkers, the dreamers, and anyone who has ever struggled to find their place in the world. With a keen eye for detail and a voice that is both raw and poetic, she invites readers into stories that feel deeply personal yet universally relatable. When she's not writing, Talia finds solace in life's simple joys-family, introspection, and the ever-evolving journey of self-discovery. Through her storytelling, she hopes to inspire young women and lovers of coming-of-age tales to embrace their complexities and find beauty in their imperfections.

---

The Run of Her Life is a heart-wrenching, powerful coming-of-age novel about ambition, betrayal, and the fight to reclaim one's worth. Michaela has always been defined by speed on the track and in life. As a gifted sprinter with dreams of making it big, she's determined to outrun the struggles of her past and carve out a future on her own terms. But when a devastating betrayal shakes the foundation of her world, she is forced to confront painful truths about love, loyalty, and the price of trusting the wrong person. Blindsided by heartbreak and grappling with a shocking revelation that threatens her health and self-worth, Michaela finds herself at a crossroads. The people she once counted on have let her down, and the finish line she once saw so clearly is now blurred by self-doubt and emotional turmoil. As she struggles to reclaim her confidence, she must decide whether to let her circumstances define her or fight for the future she deserves. Raw, emotional, and deeply personal, The Run of Her Life is a story of resilience, self-discovery, and the strength it takes to rise after being knocked down. Perfect for readers who love powerful, character-driven narratives about overcoming adversity, this debut novel will stay with you long after the final page.

Textauszug

 

Chapter 1: Sprinting Through Shadows

Seven years earlier…

The Georgia sun beat down on the red clay track, its heat sticking to my skin like a second layer. Sweat slicked my palms as I crouched at the starting block, my pulse thrumming in my ears. The air was thick with the scent of fresh-cut grass and the distant hum of the crowd. Nervous energy crackled around me.

Running had always been my escape. Since I was a skinny, barefoot seven-year-old racing down dirt roads, the track had been the one place where I felt weightless, untouchable. But standing here at the state championship, my nerves felt like a swarm of angry bees trapped beneath my skin.

I took a deep breath and went through my ritual—a quick sign of the cross, a kiss to the sky. “On your mark.” My heart slammed against my ribs. Head down. “Set.” Muscles tight, ready to launch.

Then—nothing.

No pistol. No explosion of motion. Just a gasp rolling through the crowd like a wave. Someone had jumped the gun. The moment shattered like glass. But for once, it wasn’t me. The queen of false starts. Coach’s walking headache.

The official reset the race, but I didn’t bother looking for familiar faces in the stands. My family wasn’t here. Never was. That ache? Familiar. Almost routine. But then—there it was. Mahogany’s voice, steady and sure, cutting through the noise like a lighthouse in a storm. She never missed a race.

The starter pistol fired again. This time, we were off.

I stood at the edge of the track, every muscle coiled as my teammates surged forward. The baton was getting closer, my moment inching near. Here, I wasn’t invisible. I wasn’t just another girl in worn-out sneakers. Here, I was motion. Speed. Power. A blur waiting to happen.

I’d been Buena Vista High’s fastest sprinter since ninth grade, my trophy shelf sagging under the weight of medals. But this was different. This was state—a stage where dreams were made and names were remembered.

Off the track, I was easy to overlook. A crack in the sidewalk. A layer of paint faded under brighter colors. Mahogany was nothing like me. She stood out—bold, sharp-edged, unafraid. A freedom fighter with a gothic streak, blasting Amy Winehouse and AC/DC. She worked late shifts to help Mama keep the lights on, carried burdens I couldn’t even name. She was my anchor when my restless spirit threatened to pull me away.

Then it happened. The baton smacked into my palm, snapping me into focus. I exploded forward, legs hammering the track, adrenaline surging like a live wire. The world blurred around me—cheers, color, motion—fusing into one roaring wave. For those few seconds, I was untouchable. Unstoppable.

The finish line rushed toward me, arms wide open. I crossed it with a final burst, lungs burning, chest heaving. Before the crowd could fully erupt, I lifted a finger to my lips—a silent, cocky challenge to anyone who had ever thought about underestimating me.

Coach Walsh welcoming arms flew open, but my body locked up. The warmth of his embrace threatened to crack the carefully constructed shell I wore. A wave of conflicting emotions – relief, exhaustion, a sliver of longing for connection – battled within me. My arms remained glued to my sides, a physical manifestation of the emotional barrier I couldn’t break. Coach, a white guy no taller than 5‘7”, sports thick brown plastic frames with large lenses and a band attached to the temple tips. His complete lack of awareness is accentuated by his bald head, with a swoop of hair from the left side combed over to the front. Does he notice that we notice? It’s such a distraction. Whenever he talks, I obsess over the swoop. When he catches me looking, I quickly switch my fixation back to his bifocals.

“Did the family make it out today?” Coach squinted through those damn thick frames, oblivious to my internal struggle.

The question was a familiar needle, scraping at the raw spot of my family’s absence. “Um, mama’s working and, um, daddy said he would try to make the next one,” I stammered, the practiced lie leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Mahogany’s voice, a burst of sunshine through the awkward silence, echoed from the stands. “Headed to the plantation!” she announced, sending a wave of laughter through the crowd. Coach’s smile faltered, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. His discomfort at her comment hung heavy in the air. I couldn’t help but smirk – Mahogany always had a knack for exposing unspoken tensions.

“Mahogany is a character, isn’t she?” Coach offered, scratching the back of his head.

“Yep, that’s Mahogany,” I replied, my gaze drawn to her again.

“Well Michaela, the team came in first place, and you shattered the previous record! You are a State Champion,” Coach says, beaming. “You should be proud of yourself. This is the first time that Buena Vista High has ever went to state and won at that.”

“I am, Coach. I didn’t know state was that big of a deal.”

 “Michaela, this is the State Championship! The best in the state of Georgia. What world are you living in, girl?” I know that you’ve been in some academic trouble, and you disqualified yourself from real competition the last two years, but redemption is oh so sweet, young lady. I can see how proud he is, his cheeks are plum red, and he’s full of joy and radiance. He shakes the hands of other coaches as they congratulate him, beaming with confidence, awaiting long-overdue recognition.

“You know, kid, this is definitely a cliché, but you really do have a promising future. Running in the State Championship just gave the school nice publicity and put you in a good position to get into a division 1 college. I can recall when I first saw you sprint, you were running like somebody was about to rob you.”

“Rob me? No other analogy?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no, Michaela, I didn’t mean it like that. You were just fast with no training. The smile that I had on my face. This is a runner with no skill set that’s five seconds off an Olympian time. I had to keep you focused. It’s like you’re physically here, but sometimes your mind could be all over the place.”

 Coach knew that if I continued to break records, it would bring attention to the school and, more importantly, his coaching career. I wouldn’t say that he didn’t care; I just didn’t know how to care back. When he bought me my first pair of spikes, I was heading to the locker room after practice. He told me to hold steady while everybody else left to shower. He looked around as if he was about to make an illegal transaction. Grinning, he grabbed a Sports Academy bag from behind the orange Gatorade cooler, put it in my hands, and asked me to open it. Inside the brown box was a pair of yellow and black cleats.

 I asked Coach, “Why are you giving me baseball shoes?”

 He briefly snickers. “Michaela, these are sprint spikes. You are a sprinter, girl! We are going to hone in on your short-distance running, and these are going to help you run better in any condition.”

 I nonchalantly thanked him, slightly offended, while looking down at my white Converse that I scrubbed spotless daily with soap and a toothbrush. No offense to him, but I didn’t need fancy shoes to prove I was fast—I’d been outrunning everyone in my ratty old sneakers since elementary school. My feet and willpower were all I needed.

But as I clutched the spikes in my hand, my mind drifted back to a few years ago, when Mama used to watch me run laps around our neighborhood. “You run like the wind, baby girl,” she’d say, wiping sweat from her brow after a long day at work, her eyes tired but full of pride.

She hadn’t been to a single meet since high school started, though. I told myself it didn’t bother me—she’s busy, I’d remind myself—but deep down, I missed her in the stands. I knew she cared, even if her work hours didn’t allow her to show it. Every now and then, I’d find a note tucked into my backpack before a race: “Run fast, my girl. Make me proud.” Those words were all I needed to keep pushing.

The school bell rings at 3:30 p.m., and a wave of teenagers with raging hormones, uncontrollable blackheads, and botched facial hair surges toward the school buses. The Vice Principal, Mr. Blount—a tall, slender black man with a thick milk mustache and a perfectly tight box toupee—stands at the entrance. His voice booms through the amplifier, “Walk to the left of the hall in a straight line!” It’s as if he doesn’t realize that high schoolers have mastered the art of selective hearing.

I weave through the chaos, navigating the crowd like it’s second nature, and find my usual seat in the middle of the bus—neither too timid for the front nor too rebellious for the back. The middle, my sanctuary of impartiality. It’s where I blend in, just enough to watch the world around me without being sucked into it.

As I settle into my spot, Corey, with his boyish good looks and perpetually tousled hair, appears out of nowhere, breathless from whatever chaos he’d just stirred up. Probably something involving wads of notebook paper and his endless flirting. He collapses into the seat next to me, his face flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yo, Michaela!” he laughs, giving my arm a playful punch. His energy is infectious, and even though I roll my eyes at his antics, I can’t help but grin back.

He’s been like this since middle school—always a whirlwind of energy, darting from one joke or prank to the next. And somehow, he’s made me part of his...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 7.4.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Kinder- / Jugendbuch
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-9683-8 / 9798350996838