Slow-Poke Duckling's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

After the loss, Slow-Poke did not hide. He dragged a sleek black running belt out behind the barn and set it up under the open sky. Every morning before the sun was full, he climbed onto the moving strip and ran. His small feet slapped the belt. His chest burned. He counted to one hundred, then two hundred, then more. He was done waiting for flaws in other birds. He would build his own speed. Word spread that a second race was called. The whole barnyard came. They packed into the tall tiered wooden stand by the track, leaning over the carved railings, ducks and chicks and the goose who had laughed loudest all squeezed in together. At Freddy's end of the lane stood a huge black-and-white checkered flag, tall and proud, snapping in the wind like it already knew the winner. Freddy stretched in his bright flower boots, honking his counts. "One, two. One, two. Hi, Slow-Poke. Hi, hi." Slow-Poke nodded once. No grudge today. No pebble. Just feet. The starting flag lifted. The starting flag dropped. They flew. Freddy's clean boots punched the dirt. Slow-Poke's small feet blurred. He did not look at the stand. He did not look at the goose who had laughed. He looked only at the line. Halfway down, Freddy was a wing ahead. Three-quarters down, only a beak. Slow-Poke's lungs screamed. He pushed harder than the treadmill, harder than the cold mornings, harder than every laugh he had ever filed away. The line came. He stretched his neck. He crossed first. By a feather. The barnyard went silent, then exploded. Freddy skidded to a stop, panting, eyes wide and shining. "You won. You won, you won. I saw. I saw it." He pressed his forehead to Slow-Poke's for one quiet second before honking again. Slow-Poke stood on the line and turned slowly. He looked up at the tall wooden stand. He found the big loud goose in the third row. He held her eyes until she looked away. Then he looked at his mother, who was smiling small and proud. The grudge inside him went quiet at last. He was seen. He was fast. He was, finally, the quickest little duckling in the barnyard.