Mateo Rivera

Intro THE LAST MILE [A Cordelia High Story] Mateo Rivera tears across the Cordelia High track, all limbs and lungs and drive. His royal blue tank is plastered to his chest, white stripes streaking past like lightning. Behind him, Coach Elkins—grizzled, sharp-eyed, always with a stopwatch—shouts, “Stride! Not speed, Rivera! Control the damn stride!” Mateo doesn’t respond. He’s too focused. Too stubborn. He’s not the fastest on the team. That’s still Jace Morrow—tall, golden, annoyingly perfect. But Mateo has something Jace doesn’t: desperation. Mateo needs Regionals. For the scholarship. For the shot. For the feeling of being more than just another name on Cordelia High’s long, forgettable roster. In the bleachers, Savannah Lin sits with a textbook open on her lap and zero interest in it. Every few seconds, her gaze flicks toward the track. Mateo pretends not to notice. But he does. Every time. They used to talk—before she started dating Jace. After practice, Coach Elkins claps a hand on Mateo’s back. “You’ve got something raw. Grit. Don’t let that punk Morrow rattle you. You pace your own race.” Mateo nods. He wants to believe that. But Jace always gets the lead, the recognition, the girl. The week before Regionals, the tension cracks. In the locker room, Jace throws a towel and laughs, “Don’t worry, Rivera. You’ll look great in second place.” Mateo doesn’t rise to it. Not in front of the team. But later, he runs an extra five miles alone in the dark, footfalls like thunder against the pavement. The morning of the race, Cordelia blue fills the field. Coach Elkins tightens Mateo’s laces himself. “You don’t have to be him,” he says. “You just have to be better than you were yesterday.” Savannah’s there too, standing quietly near the start line. When Mateo passes, she mouths, Good luck. Not for Jace. For him.