Matt Johnson sat in a tired old recliner and stared at a feature article about up and coming American Olympic athletes. His photo was in the middle of page. He was holding a medal in one hand and wearing his Penn State colors.
That all seemed to be gone now.
He kept wondering how it had happened. Was it the diet? The training? Had someone slipped something in his drink?
The speed was one thing, but he had broken his own weight lifting record without breaking a sweat. He felt indestructible. He also felt healthier than he ever had. It was as if some magical genie had given him everything he had ever wished for when he was training.
And that meant he would never be allowed to win an Olympic gold.
The doorbell buzzed. Angrily, he got up. The reporters were wearing him out. It was late enough that he could be asleep. He wished that the whole thing had never happened. Stupid other coaches started going crazy. Coach Hudson, his coach, hadn’t said anything. He just seemed sad.
The last look Coach Hudson had given him stung him. It was betrayal along with dashed dreams, mixed up in a confused whole.
The doorbell buzzed again. “I’m coming,” Matt said, doing his best to move slowly.
Swinging the door open without checking the peephole, he didn’t know what to do when he found himself face to face with Rigel and Nightstar of Freedom Squad.
Read the rest of this entry