A determined girl athlete deals with food insecurity and a new rivalry challenging her feminist ideals in this “resonant” ( School Library Journal , starred review) upper middle grade coming-of-age story from author of The First Magnificent Summer , R.L. Toalson. Eighth-grader Leta “Lightning” Laurel is a big sister, a problem solver, and the star of her track team. Her dad’s been out of the picture for more than a year, and food’s gotten scarce at home. When Leta learns her mom’s financial struggles are even worse than she’d thought, she hatches a plan to bring her dad home: she’ll win district champion in the 400-meter dash, the newspaper will write about her, her mom will send the clipping to her dad, and her dad will remember he has daughters who need him. Because she’ll be unforgettable. It should be easy; no one can beat her in the 400. But a new runner shows up, threatening Leta’s top spot and her budding feminist beliefs about sisterhood. She works harder and harder in practice, trying to ensure the new girl won’t ruin her perfect plan…until an injury sidelines her. How will she ever prove to her dad and the world that she’s unforgettable? How will she prove it to herself? * "Toalson has crafted a novel that can be handed to anyone. Leta is a character that every reader will connect with and root for. Add in an embarrassing grandpa, a pain-in-the-neck little sister, and a supportive cast of friends, coaches, and teachers, and it’s a story that will reach every reader." ― --School Library Journal, starred review R.L. Toalson grew up running wild through corn rows and cow-grazing fields and recording true and wildly exaggerated false tales to entertain her friends, family members, and anyone who would listen. She still runs (literally) wild through the streets of her city and spends most of her days recording true (if a little exaggerated) and false tales to entertain anyone who will listen. She lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her one brilliant husband, six delightful children, and two arrogant cats. She’s the author of The Colors of the Rain , which won the Arnold Adoff Poetry Honor Award for New Voices in 2020; The Woods , which received a starred review from Booklist ; and the highly acclaimed The First Magnificent Summer . Visit her at RachelToalson.com. Chapter One: Thursday One THURSDAY I don’t look like a runner. I look like a rag doll trying to launch myself toward the finish line on rubbery legs that weren’t made for this. But my legs were made for this, so I keep going. The wind blasts against me, picking up for the home stretch. This is about the time my thighs and calves have melted into wobbly blocks of Jell-O, and my arms have numbed completely, my form long gone. Of course there’s a wind when I can’t feel my feet. I just want the misery over. I chance a look at the sky. Dark clouds glare at me. Storms are pretty typical in April, but… is that a tail? My hearts rams in my throat. I hate tornadoes. I’ve never experienced one, and I don’t live in a place that sees them often, or, like, ever, but that doesn’t stop my brain from whispering, I think that is a tail. You better run for your life. Which makes everything harder. Running for your life is too much pressure. And I’m actually running toward the possible tail, or the imaginary one, however you want to see it, since it’s straight ahead and so is the finish line and the end of my torture. I can hear Coach Mac yelling from here. The wind’s not against her. It snatches her words, twirls them across the football field, and delivers them right to my ears. “Pick it up, Leta, or I’ll add another!” She’ll have to make me crawl another. My legs won’t make it through one more four hundred. I try to pick it up. I really do. But when I cross the finish line and bend over, gasping—just what Coach Mac tells us not to do (“Doesn’t let enough air get to your lungs, ladies!” she says)—and Coach Mac calls out my time, I wonder the same thing she asks: “What’s wrong with your feet today, Leta?” What’s wrong with my feet? I’ll tell you what’s wrong with my feet: Track shoes are expensive, which means Mom can’t buy a new pair every time mine wear out, which means I run miles and miles in my track shoes, which means all the miles someone else ran in these track shoes before me (because they’re not brand-new, they’re secondhand, that’s the way we have to do things in my family) along with my miles add up to slow slow slow SLOW! Coach Mac has me running the four-hundred-meter dash. It’s not quite long enough to wear regular running shoes. It’s more of a long-distance sprint, which calls for the special metal-spiked shoes that are supposed to help a runner’s toes grip the track so they can run super fast. Some of us don’t run super fast. At least, not every day. I’d like to remind Coach Mac of that, right now, when she’s looking at me like I’m some alien who stole Leta Laurel’s body and is now pretend