D'Angelo Brown leaned against the railing, his eyes following Zen's warm-up routine with professional interest. The freshman moved with unusual precision, each stride and drill executed with methodical focus. Not typical freshman behavior at all.
"Something different about that kid," he murmured to himself.
After yesterday's shocking 200m victory, D'Angelo had started paying closer attention to his younger teammate. The 20.96 was impressive enough, putting him in the top ten nationally for a freshman, but it was how he'd won that caught D'Angelo's attention. The race intelligence. The tactical awareness. The perfect execution.
Reminded him of the Europeans he'd faced last summer at the World U20 Championships. The way they approached racing as chess, not just raw effort.
Trey appeared next to him, still riding high from yesterday's excitement. "You watching Zen? Kid's gonna demolish this 400."
"We'll see," D'Angelo replied, noncommittal but intrigued.
The warm-up area buzzed with activity as 400m competitors prepared for their preliminary heats. D'Angelo noticed how other runners glanced at Zen, their body language different from yesterday. The 200m title had changed something. Now they were wary.
He understood the pressure Zen faced. D'Angelo had felt it himself after his first international competition. Suddenly everyone expected greatness. Every race became a test to prove yourself. Some athletes crumbled under that weight.
Zen looked completely unaffected. Like he'd dealt with pressure before.
The heat sheets had been posted earlier. Zen was seeded 6th based on previous times, but everyone knew that was meaningless after his 200m performance. The system would need recalibrating.
D'Angelo studied Zen's stride mechanics as he ran a practice 100m at about 80% effort. The turnover rate was elite. Quick foot contacts, minimal ground time. But 400m wasn't just about speed. It was about maintaining technique when your body started screaming at the 300m mark.
That was the question. Could the freshman maintain that form through the pain cave?
"His recovery looks good," Andre commented, joining them. "Doesn't seem fatigued from yesterday."
D'Angelo nodded. Most athletes would show some residual fatigue after a maximum effort 200m. Zen looked fresh. Unusual recovery rate.
"Lane assignments posted," Diego called from nearby. "Zen's in heat two, lane five."
Perfect lane for a 400. Outside enough to see the field, inside enough to avoid excessive curve running. Tactical advantage.
As the first heat lined up, D'Angelo found himself analyzing the race from a coach's perspective. These weren't elite 400m runners. Most high schoolers approached the event too aggressively, burning out before the finish.
"First call for men's 400 meter dash preliminaries, Heat Two," the announcer called.
Zen finished his final strides and headed toward the clerk. D'Angelo watched his demeanor. Calm, focused, no wasted energy. Veteran approach.
"You think he breaks 48?" Trey asked.
"Depends," D'Angelo replied. "Prelims aren't about time."
But privately, he wondered. A 20.96 in the 200m translated to serious 400m potential. Maybe 47-mid with proper race execution.
Heat one concluded with unimpressive times, the winner at 49.2 seconds. Regional level but nothing special.
Zen's heat walked onto the track, taking positions in their lanes. Unlike the 200m, the 400m started on a stagger, each runner invisible to the others until the final straight.
"Watch his first 200," D'Angelo told his teammates. "That'll tell us everything."
The gun fired.
Zen's start was controlled, powerful but measured. No rookie mistake of sprinting the first 100m. The runners disappeared around the backstretch, emerging again as they approached the 200m mark.
D'Angelo's eyes fixed on the clock as Zen passed halfway.
23.4 seconds.
Perfect split for a sub-48 time. Completely controlled.
"He's in third," Trey noted anxiously.
"Position doesn't matter yet," D'Angelo replied. "He's exactly where he should be."
This was championship racing, managing energy for the final 150 meters when everyone else started to fade. D'Angelo had learned this competing internationally, where tactical awareness mattered more than raw speed.
The runners hit the second curve, and Zen began moving up. His form remained tight while others started breaking down. Elbows flaring, heads bobbing, strides shortening. Classic signs of 400m fatigue.
"Now he moves," D'Angelo said with quiet approval.
The final straight revealed the true race. Zen accelerated past the leaders, his form still clean despite being 350 meters into oxygen debt. That was the mark of elite 400m running, technical discipline through the pain.
"Holy shit," Andre muttered as Zen pulled away.
The clock stopped at 47.81 as Zen crossed the line, a full second ahead of second place. The stadium announcer confirmed what they'd seen.
"Heat two winner, Zen Cross, Westridge High School, 47.81 seconds."
D'Angelo felt a jolt of genuine surprise. That time would have placed at state championships. From a freshman. In preliminaries.
"Did he just...?" Trey's voice trailed off.
"Yeah," D'Angelo confirmed. "He just did."
The remaining heats seemed almost irrelevant. No one approached Zen's time. The next fastest qualifier ran 48.56, nearly a full second slower.
"That changes our relay calculation," D'Angelo thought. Most high school 4x400m relays featured one standout leg surrounded by solid but unspectacular teammates. Westridge now had two potential sub-48 legs.
That put them in state championship conversation.
D'Angelo had been running since elementary school. He knew talent when he saw it. What Zen had just done wasn't normal. It wasn't just freshman-phenom impressive. It was nationally elite impressive.
"I wasn't running times like that as a freshman," he admitted to himself. His own progression had been remarkable, breaking school records every year, qualifying for international competition. But Zen's trajectory appeared even steeper.
The implications for their 4x400 relay were significant. D'Angelo had assumed he'd anchor, being the veteran with championship experience. Now he wasn't so sure. Ideally, you wanted your fastest leg last, and Zen had just announced himself as potentially the team's fastest quarter-miler.
Coaches emerged from the officials' area, checking results and making notes. Coach Dormer approached their group, a controlled smile on his face.
"All eight finalists are posted," he said. "Zen's the top seed by almost a second."
"That time puts him in state title conversation," D'Angelo noted.
Coach nodded. "Goes beyond that. That's approaching national elite level."
The team dynamic was shifting before D'Angelo's eyes. He'd been the unquestioned star for four years at Westridge. The standard-bearer. The one everyone looked up to. And he still was, in many ways. His 800m dominance remained unchallenged.
But in Zen, he recognized something he rarely saw in high school competition, a peer. Someone who understood elite racing at the same level he did.
"Relay configuration discussion before finals," Coach told D'Angelo. "We need to maximize both your strengths."
Translation: they needed to decide who would anchor based on 400m finals results.
D'Angelo nodded, surprised to find himself completely comfortable with the situation. In previous years, he might have insisted on the anchor position as team leader. Now he found himself thinking purely about team success.
If Zen could run 47.8 in preliminaries, what might he run going all-out in finals? 47.5? Maybe even 47-flat?
The relay decision would be obvious if that happened.
Zen jogged back from his cool-down, receiving congratulations from teammates and even competitors from other schools. His expression remained calm, accepting praise without seeming affected by it.
D'Angelo approached him directly, extending his hand. "That was quality racing. Smart execution."
"Thanks," Zen replied, genuine appreciation in his voice. "Felt good."
"Your recovery from the 200 is impressive," D'Angelo noted, professional assessment in his tone.
"Good recovery protocols," Zen replied. Something in his voice suggested deeper knowledge than most freshmen possessed.
D'Angelo nodded. "We should talk relay strategy before finals. Could adjust our approach based on your 400 time."
"I was thinking the same thing," Zen said. "Want to leverage our strengths optimally."
The phrasing caught D'Angelo's attention. Not typical freshman vocabulary. More like something a coach would say. Or an experienced competitor.
"You've got good race intelligence," D'Angelo observed. "Where'd you learn to distribute effort like that?"
Something flickered across Zen's face, caution? Before he answered. "My dad. He raced professionally."
That explained some things, but not everything. Plenty of athletes had parents who competed at high levels. Few demonstrated the intuitive race awareness Zen showed.
"We've got a real shot at something special in the relay," D'Angelo said. "Your speed plus my endurance background could make a strong combination."
Zen nodded. "I was thinking the same. Your 800 pace judgment combined with 400 speed gives us tactical flexibility."
Again, the analysis sounded more veteran than freshman.
As they walked toward the recovery area, D'Angelo found himself genuinely looking forward to the relay. Throughout his high school career, he'd dominated as an individual but never had a teammate who could match his championship mentality.
Now he did. The dynamics had changed. And despite being the senior leader, D'Angelo realized he might have something to learn from the freshman phenom.
"You planning to open up in finals?" he asked casually.
"Depends on the field," Zen replied. "But yes, curious to see what's possible."
D'Angelo nodded. That was the right answer, not focusing on time, but on competition first. Championship thinking.
"The regional record is 47.85," D'Angelo mentioned. "You just ran 47.81 in prelims."
"Records are meant to be broken," Zen said with a small smile.
Something about his confidence wasn't arrogance. It was the calm certainty of someone who knew exactly what they were capable of. D'Angelo had seen it in Olympic champions he'd met through national team events.
"Well, I'll be watching," D'Angelo said. "Should be an interesting final."
As he walked away, D'Angelo found himself recalibrating his assessment of both Zen and their team's potential. He'd gone from seeing a promising freshman to recognizing a legitimate championship-caliber athlete.
The 4x400 wouldn't just be competitive at regionals. With Zen running 47.8 and himself capable of similar times, they had legitimate state championship potential.
D'Angelo smiled to himself. Four years of building Westridge's reputation, and in his final season, he'd found a teammate who might help take them to another level.
The best part? For the first time in years, D'Angelo felt challenged. Not threatened, challenged. The presence of another elite athlete pushed him to sharpen his own approach.
He watched as Zen methodically went through his recovery routine, every movement purposeful. Not a typical freshman at all.
This was going to be interesting. Very interesting indeed.