The Boy Who Lied to Win

Maplewood Elementary’s annual Field Day was bright as the sun hung high overhead. The highlight of the day, the 100-meter dash, had children in brilliant-colored T-shirts lining up, buzzing with enthusiasm. Among them was 10-year-old Jake, a wiry lad with a mop of wavy brown hair whose competitive streak stretched the Mississippi. His one aim was to win.

Though Mia, the girl with lightning-fast legs and a grin that could brighten a room, had that title, Jake wasn’t the quickest runner in his class. Still, Jake remained resolute. Running laps around his lawn, he had rehearsed for weeks, picturing the applause of the audience as he passed the finish line first. Would be his day today, he told himself.

The whistle blew, and the youngsters ran off like a herd of wild horses. As Jake ran, his sneakers stroking the track, his heart hammered. From the corner of his eye, Mia was pulling ahead, her ponytail bouncing with every step. He felt panic flash across him. He couldn’t miss.

NOT AGAIN.

Then Jake decided in a single second something he would soon come to regret. He veered slightly to the left as they approached the last curve, so isolating Mia. She staggered, her arms flinging as she sought to straighten herself. Jake turned his back on history. Armaments lifted in triumph, he crossed the finish line, and the audience burst into cheers.

But a sinking sensation crept into his gut as he stood there savoring the grandeur. Glancing down at Mia, who was scrubbing dirt off her knees, he felt disappointed. The medal on his neck seemed weighty like a stone dragging him down.

Jake stayed awake that evening, unable to fall asleep. Like a broken record, the picture of Mia stumbling kept playing in his head. He turned over, the medal shining on his bedside table in the moonlight. It felt more like a reminder of what he had done than like a prize now.

The following day, whispers began at the school. “Did you see what Jake did?” “He cheated!” 

Jake started avoiding eye contact with his peers as the remarks stung like bees. Even Sam, his closest friend, appeared far away, his customary quips replaced by uncomfortable pauses.

Jake sat at his regular table by himself for lunch, picking at his sandwich. A tap on his shoulder caused him to turn to find Mia standing there, her arms folded. Her voice firm but tinged with hurt, she questioned, “Why’d you do it, Jake?”

When Jake opened his mouth to defend himself, the words stopped in his throat. From what standpoint could he say? Did he get bored with constantly finishing second? That he merely wanted to win once? Not one of them sounded natural.

“I don’t know,” he said, fixed on his sneakers.

Mia yawned. “You know, if you cheat to get there, winning means nothing.”

Her comments seemed to him like a gut punch. She pointed out the right thing. Now, the medal, the cheers, the brief excitement of triumph—all felt empty.

Mrs Thompson, Jake’s teacher, said the school was having a sportsmanship award ceremony the following week. “This award is not about who is strongest or fastest. It’s about who exhibits the most justice, compassion, and integrity.”

The weight dropped in Jake’s heart. He understood he lacked the deservedness. He did not, however, anticipate what followed.

Mia got up during the ceremony and headed toward the front of the hall. Jake stiffened himself, expecting her to call him out in front of everyone. Instead, she responded, “I want to nominate Jake for the sportsmanship award,” smiling.

The room became quiet. The jaw of Jake dropped. “Me?” he said, crooning.

Mia shook her head. You do. You made a mistake, but I believe you have learned from it. And that is crucial.

Tears started to poke at the margins of Jake’s eyes. Rising, his legs shook like jelly as he headed towards the front of the room. His voice quivering, he added, “I do not deserve this.” I apologize; I cheated in the race. I neglected what counts—being fair and treating people with respect—because I was so preoccupied with winning.

Though the room burst into cheers, Jake felt not like a hero. He was not going to ruin the second chance he believed he had been granted.

Over the next few weeks, Jake put tremendous effort toward atonement. Offering Mia the medal he had received, he apologized to her in front of the entire class. With a calm voice despite a lump in his throat, he said, “You deserve this more than I do.”

Mia grinned and turned it over. She urged, “Keep it.” Still, not as a gift for a victory. As a refresher of your knowledge.

Jake gave her comments much thought. He began to train more to grow as much as to win. He even started the school’s running club, where he and Mia developed an unusual friendship. She coached him on timing himself, and he coached her on laughing at herself when she stumbled over her own feet.

Jake was nervous and excited at the same time when the following Field Day arrived. He was not chasing proof this time. Loving it—the surge of the wind in his face, the rhythm of his boots on the ground, the friendship of his classmates—he was running.

Jake took off as the whistle blew, his heart thumping with delight rather than terror. He ran his heart out, second to Mia. Still, this time, he felt proud. He had obtained his position just and reasonably.

Jake understood something crucial as he stood on the podium: winning was not about being first—the silver medal around his neck made it clear. It was about honoring the people around you, playing fair, and doing your best. And that was a win deserving of celebration.

While the throng applauded, Jake’s eyes fixed on Mia. With a smile as brilliant as the sun, she gave him a thumbs-up. Jake realized at that point he had won something far more priceless than a race. He had restored his integrity and the esteem of those most important.