Chapter 7 - The Westfield Relay
Three months later, the California sun shone brightly over the Westfield Academy athletic field. It was the annual Spring Relay Race.
The crowd of parents cheered loudly, but no one was louder than Richard Wilson and Martha Carter, who sat side-by-side in the front row. Martha looked radiant, free from the crushing weight of three jobs, her medical bills fully paid by the Wilson family trust.
Down on the track, the anchor leg of the relay was about to begin.
Maxwell stood at the starting line. His new prosthetics gleamed in the sunlight. They weren't covered in fake skin to hide what they were; they were painted bright superhero red and gold, a design he and Lily had picked out together.
Lily stood fifty yards away, holding the baton, waiting for the whistle. She was wearing brand new, top-of-the-line running shoes, though she had insisted on a simple, inexpensive brand.
The whistle blew. Lily took off like a rocket. She was a blur of motion, her face set in pure determination. She passed the runners from the other teams with ease, leaving them in the dust.
As she approached the transition zone, she locked eyes with Maxwell. She didn't slow down. She thrust the baton forward.
"Fly!" she yelled.
Maxwell grabbed the baton. He didn't think about his legs. He didn't think about the metal, the accident, or the fear. He remembered the feeling of the grass. He remembered his mother's laughter on the beach.
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He pushed the earth away.
Maxwell ran. He wasn't the fastest, but his stride was powerful, rhythmic, and unbroken. The crowd went completely silent in awe, and then erupted into a deafening roar.
