LANE 4

Book 1

The five gold medals from the British U18 National Championships sat in a heavy, metallic pile on top of Vanessa’s desk. Next to them lay three smaller gold medals from the London U18 meet, their red silk ribbons slightly frayed at the edges from being pulled in and out of sports bags all summer.

Maya picked up the top medal from the British Nationals, running her thumb over the raised lettering on the back before wiping a smudge off the ribbon with the sleeve of her oversized sweater.

“If you throw these into the main pocket with your training spikes, the metal is going to get scratched up,” Maya said, setting the medal down carefully on the bed. She picked up a hand towel from the laundry basket, wrapping the five medals together into a tight bundle. “Leave them with me. I’ll keep them on my desk so nothing happens to them.”

“Nice try,” Vanessa said, taking the wrapped bundle back from her younger sister and sliding it into the padded front compartment of her duffel bag. “Those are coming with me. On days when everything goes wrong at that school, I need something sitting on my nightstand to remind me I actually belong on a track.”

“You swept five events at Nationals, Ness. Nobody on their team is touching your times,” Maya said, sitting squarely on top of Vanessa’s main suitcase so her sister could pull the zipper around the overstuffed corners. “I looked at their official athletic page again last night. Their top sprinter posted a twelve-point-one in the hundred-meter heat last month. Your best time is eleven-point-eight. You’re literally going there to take her spot.”

Vanessa yanked the zipper shut with a sharp tug. She didn’t need Maya to tell her who the top sprinter was. Ivy Whitaker’s face had been plastered across every university sports graphic for the past two weeks. Vanessa still remembered the look on Ivy’s face when they stood on the national podium three months ago the stiff, fake smile she offered the camera, and the way her parents had walked off toward the VIP lounge before the silver medal was even handed over.

“It isn’t just about who runs faster,” Vanessa said, slinging her heavy backpack over one shoulder and checking the floor to make sure she hadn't left any chargers behind. “It’s a full athletic scholarship. If my times drop or if I don't fit into their program, they can revoke the funding and hand my bed to someone whose family buys new gym equipment for the university.”

From the bottom of the stairs, their dad’s voice echoed up through the floorboards, loud and sharp enough to rattle the bedroom door frame. “Vanessa! Maya! If we miss the eight-fifteen train, you’re carrying those bags all the way to Central London, and I’m keeping the petrol money for my breakfast!”

“We’re coming, Dad!” Maya yelled back, grabbing Vanessa’s smaller kit bag and heading out onto the landing.

Vanessa took one last look around her room. The light blue paint on the walls showed pale, rectangular outlines where her regional competition schedules and training charts used to be pinned. The small room was completely stripped down now, stripped clean of everything she had built over the last four years.

She dragged her main suitcase out into the hallway and let the wheels bump down the narrow staircase, step by step, until she reached the ground floor. Her dad was standing by the front door, wearing his good dark jacket and holding two plastic travel mugs filled with steaming black tea.

He looked at her as she came down the last three steps, his eyes taking in the heavy luggage before a small grin broke through the tired lines around his mouth.

“Look at you,” he said, reaching out to take the heaviest bag out of her hand before she could argue. “Your mother would be losing her mind right now. She would have bought three disposable cameras from the corner shop and made us stand out on the front steps in the drizzling rain until the film ran out.”

Vanessa felt a small smile touch her face, her chest loosening slightly at the mention of her mom. “She probably would have tried to pack three containers of stew into my duffel bag too.”

“At least three,” her dad chuckled, turning the handle and pushing open the front door to the cool morning air of East London. “And then she’d have taken the bus all the way to the campus just to tell the head coach he was lucky to have you on his team.”

They walked down the street together in a tight line, the heavy wheels of the suitcase clattering against the cracked pavement. The neighborhood was just starting to wake up. The local corner shop was winding up its metal shutters, and the smell of fried food and stale coffee drifted out from the small café near the bus stop. It was the same noise and smell Vanessa

had woken up to every single day of her life.

When they reached the platform at East Ham station, the yellow train was already visible down the tracks, grinding along the metal rails toward the station platform.

Maya immediately turned around and threw her arms around Vanessa’s waist, burying her face into her sister’s jacket. “Don’t let those rich people talk down to you,” Maya said, her voice muffled against the fabric. “And if any of those girls give you trouble on the track, just run right past them.”

“That’s the only plan I have,” Vanessa said, squeezing her sister back tightly before stepping back to look at her dad.

Her dad set the travel mug down on a wooden bench and placed both of his hands on Vanessa’s shoulders. His palms were rough from years of physical work, his grip firm and steady.

“Listen to me, Vanessa,” he said, his tone dropping into something serious and quiet that made her pay attention immediately. “You got into this university because you worked harder than everyone else in this district.

Nobody gave you a shortcut, and nobody paid off a scout for you. When you get inside those gates, you keep your head down when you’re training, but you keep your chin up everywhere else. You belong there just as much as anyone whose parents have their name written on the library wall.”

“I know, Dad,” Vanessa said, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m not going to lose this scholarship. I promise.”

“I know you won’t,” he said, giving her shoulders one last firm shake before picking her bags up and nudging her toward the open train doors. “Now get on before the train leaves with half your luggage.”

Vanessa stepped onto the carriage, pulling her bags into the narrow space beside the seats. As the doors slid shut with a pneumatic hiss, she watched her dad and Maya wave from the platform through the smudged window. Maya kept waving until the train curved around the bend, swallowing the familiar platform and leaving East London behind.

The train ride west took less than forty minutes, but with every stop, the scenery outside changed completely. The cramped row houses and industrial yards slowly gave way to polished brick buildings, wide leafy avenues, and tall glass office towers. By the time Vanessa got off the transit line near the university district, the loud hum of East London traffic had faded into quiet, orderly streets.

She walked two blocks up the hill, carrying her heavy duffel bag over one shoulder while dragging her suitcase along the smooth stone pavement.

Hudson College didn’t look like a school. It looked like an old estate built to keep people out.

Two massive wrought-iron gates stood wide open at the main entrance, anchored by tall stone pillars carved with old university coats of arms. Past the gatehouse, perfectly trimmed green lawns stretched out toward imposing Victorian buildings made of dark stone, complete with high arched windows and grand double doors. Groups of students were strolling across the courtyard in small clusters.

Most of them wore dark tailored coats, designer jackets, and expensive leather boots, talking loudly to each other without a care in the world. None of them were carrying heavy luggage, and none of them looked like they had ever had to fight for a spot on a team.

Vanessa stopped right at the boundary line where the public pavement met the stone entrance of the campus.

A girl wearing a navy blue Hudson athletic sweater walked past her through the gates, holding a sleek silver water bottle and laughing with two guys carrying custom tennis rackets.

The girl’s eyes flicked over Vanessa’s worn black track pants, her faded athletic hoodie, and the two heavy bags sitting at her feet. The look lasted only a fraction of a second a quick, casual assessment that dismissed Vanessa before the girl even turned her head away—but the message was clear.

Vanessa adjusted the strap of her duffel bag where it was digging into her collarbone. She didn't adjust her sweater, she didn't hide her bags, and she didn't look down. She picked up the handle of her suitcase, took a firm step forward, and walked straight through the gates of Hudson College.