Justin Larson was the kind of kid who never quite fit in, literally or figuratively. By sixth grade, he had earned a reputation for being clumsy, nerdy, and perpetually out of sync with the rest of the world. He wore hand-me-down clothes from his older brothers that never quite fit right, and his pigeon-toed walk made it seem like he was always on the verge of tripping over himself. The other kids nicknamed him “Crash” after he face-planted into a locker one too many times.
But then came seventh grade, when things started to change.
One day, Justin sat alone at his usual spot in the cafeteria, picking at a soggy PB&J, minding his own business. The sound of laughter from a nearby table—the one where all the “cool” kids sat—barely registered anymore. He was used to being ignored or, worse, the butt of their jokes. As he spaced out, the track coach, Mr. Davis, suddenly appeared, his shadow looming over Justin’s lunch tray.
“Larson, right?” Coach Davis asked, eyes squinting like he was solving a math problem.
Justin looked up, confused. “Uh, yeah.”
“I’ve been watching you,” the coach continued.
Justin gulped. Great, he thought. Even the adults think I’m a joke.
But to his surprise, Coach Davis didn’t laugh. “You ever thought about track?”
“Me?” Justin asked, raising an eyebrow, as if the coach had mistaken him for someone else. “I’m… kinda slow.”
Coach Davis shook his head. “Not when you’re in a hurry. I’ve seen you dart to class when you’re late. And those pigeon-toes of yours? Believe it or not, they could be an advantage. Make you a little faster.”
Fast-forward a week later, Justin found himself out on the track, feeling wildly out of place in his brother’s old gym shorts. But something strange happened. The second he started running, the awkwardness melted away. His pigeon-toed stride—something he’d always been self-conscious about—actually made him faster. He wasn’t just keeping up with the other kids; he was blowing past them.
By high school, Justin had transformed from “Crash” Larson to “Flash” Larson. He was winning meet after meet, breaking records, and even scoring a scholarship offer from Dickinson State University. And with newfound popularity came something Justin never saw coming: attention from Ashley Davenport, the hottest girl in school and his former tormentor’s girlfriend.
One spring day, just before prom, she approached him at his locker. “Hey, Justin,” she purred, flipping her hair like she was in a shampoo commercial. “So… prom’s coming up. You got a date yet?”
Justin, who’d once considered it a win just to avoid getting shoved into a locker, was now getting asked out by the queen of the school. “Uh, no, I don’t,” he stammered, still processing that Ashley Davenport was talking to him.
“Great,” she said with a practiced smile. “You and me. Prom. It’ll be perfect.”
The whole thing felt like a dream. Or maybe a cliché—like some weird combination of Forrest Gump, Varsity Blues, and Napoleon Dynamite. But Justin wasn’t about to argue. He was going to prom with Ashley Davenport.
Prom night arrived, and Justin pulled up to Ashley’s house in his mom’s 1978 Pontiac Trans Am—a relic from her midlife crisis that looked more like it belonged in Smokey and the Bandit than suburban Minnesota. The thing had a massive, golden bird decal splashed across the hood, which Justin thought was the coolest thing ever.
Ashley, however, did not.
“What is that?” she said, scrunching her nose in disgust.
“It’s a Trans Am,” Justin explained, as if that made it self-explanatory.
Ashley crossed her arms. “It looks like a giant chicken threw up on your car.”
“It’s a classic,” Justin insisted.
Ashley rolled her eyes and turned to her dad. “Dad, can we just take your car instead?”
Without hesitation, Justin tossed her dad the keys, and the two of them ended up heading to prom in the most boring vehicle known to man: a Dodge Intrepid.
When they got to the prom, Ashley strutted in with Justin on her arm like he was her latest accessory. She made sure everyone saw them together, basking in the glory of snagging the track star. But after one obligatory dance, Ashley ditched him, gravitating back to her popular friends like nothing had changed.
Justin, left standing on the dance floor, couldn’t help but feel like Napoleon Dynamite when Deb ditched him after their awkward slow dance. He was just the flavor of the week, and now the fun was over.
But that’s when things took a different turn.
Standing by the punch bowl, looking equally uncomfortable, was a girl Justin had seen around but never really noticed—Chloe. She was nerdy in all the best ways: glasses, paint-stained jeans, and a sketchbook that she carried with her everywhere.
“Hey,” she said, offering a sympathetic smile. “Rough night?”
“You could say that,” Justin sighed. “You?”
“Same,” Chloe replied, glancing at the crowd of over-dressed students. “This whole prom thing is kinda dumb, huh?”
Justin grinned. “Yeah, it is.”
They hit it off instantly, talking about everything from art to the absurdity of high school. Before long, the two of them were laughing in the corner, completely forgetting about the people who were supposed to be cool. As the night wore on, Justin realized something: he didn’t care about being the prom king or the fastest runner.
When Ashley came out to get into her dad’s car for Justin to give her a ride—home, to the afterparty, or wherever—she stopped short when she noticed Chloe sitting in the back seat.
“What’s she doing here?” Ashley asked, her tone dripping with annoyance.
Justin shrugged casually. “Chloe and I are gonna grab some ice cream. We’re not really into the whole afterparty scene, but we can drop you off if that’s where you’re headed.”
Ashley huffed dramatically but didn’t argue, clearly annoyed at the sudden shift in her spotlight. They dropped her off at the party without another word, and Justin and Chloe went on to have an amazing, low-key date. They spent the night driving around, laughing over milkshakes, and stayed out almost until sunrise, feeling like they were in their own world.
In the weeks after prom, Justin made a big decision, Chloe inspired him to consider his creative side an asset rather than an embarrassing quirk. Despite the scholarship offers and everyone assuming he’d go on to run track at Dickinson State, Justin chose a different path. He enrolled in art school, following his true passion instead of living out someone else’s expectations.
And when people asked why, Justin just smiled and said, “Because I’m finally running toward something that matters.”
By the way, word on the street is that Ashley’s dad took the Trans Am out for quite a joy ride that night!
