Summary
A short story is presented.
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Extract
Scoring
Martin Postachian-hailed Stash by those who know him best-is halfway to Shoe Town when a young woman in a green apron approaches him. "Martin?" she says. "Martin Postachian?" He frowns at her, trying to place her face. Her brown hair's braided into a single rope. A silver cross rests at the base of her throat. A beatific smile showboats an adorable overbite.
He has no idea who she is. He blames his brain; it's fried. Normally, after eight hours of reading essays, Stash hits the gin with the boys, then the beach, but this afternoon he took a cab-a van, actually, piloted by a bearded, slovenly nutjob who reminisced about Hurricane Charley-to the mall. Stash hates the mall. Today, though, it's a necessary evil. He needs shoes. Running shoes. Not that he runs. But he could, might start. Mike and Matt and Dave and Ty-four of the 2,000-plus teachers who convene in Daytona every year to score the country's Advanced Placement essays-have started. The past two mornings, these guys have risen at sunrise, donned iPods and nylon shorts and T-shirts advertising 5K Cancer Runs, and jogged. Meanwhile, Stash, who packed brogues and boat shoes and a pair of Birkenstocks but nothing resembling athletic wear, had slept. When he'd heard the guys were running, he said he' d go, said he' d run barefoot, had heard running barefoot was superior, especially on beach sand, but then it was crunch time, the clock radio bleating ruthlessly. He punched snooze. When he opened his eyes Matt stood before him-a wet swimsuit clinging to his ripped legs-saying rise and shine numnuts, you missed it, we ran and swam ...See the full content of this document
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