Running well ahead of the pack, I began to relish the thought of becoming champion of the 113th Semi-Annual Semi-Rugged All-Terrain Half Marathon; I should have known better. As I was rounding the final curve, absorbing the beauty of the forested hills on the right and the marshy nature preserve on the left, I suddenly heard the chilling cries of distress - “Help! Help!” - floating from somewhere to my left. I stopped running and turned my head from side-to-side to scour the acres of rolling swampland. Behind a thicket of wetland shrubs, I spied pesky Hero Bratnow, caked in mud with arms flailing and head bobbing, sinking in a mossy morass that would surely swallow him whole in a matter of minutes.

I’ve known Hero and Kermit, his smaller, smarter, and smarmier twin, for all my life, being in the same class at school. They’ve had it in for me ever since kindergarten when Mrs. Beeba picked my macaroni and yarn self-portrait instead of their life-sized papier-mâché self-replicas to display on art night. There isn’t a month that doesn’t go by without some drama created by those two. Their successful machinations in and out of school fill my life with dread, anxiety, and, at times, self-doubt. In orchestra alone, the histrionics are so intense, I could write a book. I even asked my mom if we could move to get away from them. She said sympathetically that it wouldn’t matter because, wherever we went, there would be kids just like them - successful, yet jealous and insecure.

You know the types; they’re not your stereotypic bullies. Hero and Kermit (as you may have guessed are not their real names, but that’s another story) are always polite, the best students, pretty good athletes, and, most importantly, know how to charm their way out of any sticky situation. Yet, surprisingly, they’re not happy being at the top, unless they’re the only ones at the top. My mom tells me to be magnanimous in the face of their gossip, hurtful innuendos, and flagrant mendacity because the teachers will see through their ludicrous schemes. It hasn’t happened to date, and that makes me think she’s part of the cabal, lead by all the dense adults who hope the situation will defuse itself. What roils me most is that those two and their ilk always get away with it, the unfairness of it. Despite being frustrated by this injustice, I respectively listen to my mom, and force myself to be cordial to them as best as any fourteen-year-old can be.

Naturally, I was suspicious that Hero’s antic was another devious stunt, but, this time, he actually sounded and looked like he was in distress. Well, I thought, this could be payback time. I could keep running, pretend I didn’t hear anything, and win. Then, if I’m feeling magnanimous, I’d let the officials know that someone needed help. No one would get hurt, Hero would be okay, and the Bratnows, finally, wouldn’t be able to get away with it. Catching the twinkle of the gilded trophy basking at the finish line, taunting me to continue, I bit my lip, I really wanted that trophy, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him drown.

As I bent down on my knees and extended my hand, Hero grabbed it so hard that he yanked me head first into the muddy hole. Gasping to catch a breath of air, I lifted my head out of the greenish-brown muck to see Kermit hand Hero a clean towel as they both chortled, “The idiot fell for it again!” Slapping each other on the back for a job well done, the scheming twins gloated in their accomplishment. With that, the anger began to churn inside me.

The same thing happened a year ago. As the instigator of these harebrained escapades, Kermit got Hero to string an invisible wire across a gravel footpath in last year’s race that caused me to trip and roll down a hill like a bouncing bowling ball, knocking out two contestants and landing in a pasture with several astonished cows and one irritated bull! You would think that cheating would make them ineligible to compete this year, but Kermit is a smooth talker; he told them I stumbled on a rock, slipped, and tumbled over a log. Now, with lots of time having been lost, should I give up? Hell, no! I pulled my bedraggled, slimy body out, stomped a few times to shake off the muck, and sprinted as fast as I could, passing five flabbergasted competitors, which gave me hope that I could make it.

          Just as that thought crossed my mind, I saw Hero ten feet from the finish line with arms extended above his head as if in victory. The fear that he would win fueled my burning leg muscles to run faster, but it was useless; he was too far ahead. Suddenly, he stopped and started jerking his body. His knees fell to the ground, and, in a flash, he was on his back writhing in the dirt. Seeing me, Kermit stormed to the edge of the finish line, his arms violently moving up and down like a bulldozer gone wild, and sputtered at Hero, “Get up! Get up!” By now, I was getting so close to the finish line, I could taste it. Apoplectic, Kermit’s eyes were popping out of his crimson face, saliva flying, his voice more desperate and high-pitched. At the same time as Hero was trying to stand up, I crossed the finish line, winning the race. Kermit, spewing spit, stomped toward me with his fists clenched. I thought he was going to punch me, but Hero suddenly shrieked, making a really strange sound. We all turned to look. Hero’s confused and contorted face changed to one of shock as a beefy bullfrog popped out of his shorts and hopped confidently across the finish line, bellowing “Ribbit! Ribbit!”