Madeline did not.
After training, she told another volunteer Jordan had turned a fun run into “a workplace harassment seminar.”
The volunteer replied, “It took thirty seconds.”
Madeline walked away.
The cumulative review had not yet been completed.
Principal Hart wanted to finish interviews after the event because many students involved in planning had final exams and activities overlapping.
In hindsight, she would regret waiting.
At the time, the boundaries seemed sufficient.
Madeline had not directly confronted Jordan in weeks.
Friday night before the Color Run, Jordan worked a four-hour pharmacy shift.
She stocked allergy medication.
Helped a mother find children’s sunscreen.
Printed a college scholarship form during her break.
Mrs. Bellamy asked whether she was nervous.
“About four hundred teenagers running around with colored powder?”
“Yes.”
“Extremely.”
Bellamy laughed.
“You’ll be fine.”
Jordan looked at the clock.
“I’m mostly hoping nobody throws purple into an ambulance.”
That was the last conversation she had about the event before going home.
Saturday morning began cloudy and warm.
Crestwood’s athletic field had been transformed.
A white starting arch stood near the track.
Five powder zones lined a looping course through grass, practice fields, and the perimeter trail.
Music played from large speakers.
Students wore old white or beige shirts so colors would show.
Volunteers arranged boxes of powder on folding tables.
Jordan arrived at seven.
By seven-thirty, purple dust already covered her sneakers from opening containers.
She wore a fitted beige T-shirt, blue jeans because she was coordinating rather than running, white sneakers, and clear protective goggles.
Her curls were loose.
Angela had asked whether she wanted to tie them up.
Jordan said no.
“It is a Color Run.”
Angela smiled.
“Look at you living dangerously.”
Marcus and Cameron arrived later to work the water station.
Sabrina carried a camera for the newspaper.
Chloe had been assigned to photography-zone logistics.
Madeline arrived wearing black pants, a white top, and an olive-green jacket over it until the event warmed up.
Her red hair hung loose.
She looked calm.
Professional.
For the first hour, nothing happened.
Registration opened.
Students painted small colored stripes on their cheeks.
Teachers checked waivers.
A DJ yelled too enthusiastically into a microphone.
Jordan solved three missing-volunteer problems, moved one water table, located an inhaler somebody had left at check-in, and answered the same route question twelve times.
Madeline coordinated student photographers and finish-line music.
They spoke only once.
“We’re short two volunteers at purple,” Madeline said.
“I’ll cover until the second wave.”
“Fine.”
No edge.
No argument.
Jordan walked to the purple station.
The station sat beside the athletic field, marked by white rope separating participants from spectators.
Open containers of bright purple powder lined the table.
Runners would pass in waves.
Volunteers were instructed to toss small clouds toward shirts as participants crossed.
Jordan checked that everyone had goggles.
She reminded them again about faces.
The first wave arrived cheering.
Purple clouds filled the air.
Within minutes, Jordan’s beige shirt had violet streaks across one shoulder and stomach.
Some powder landed in her curls naturally.
She did not care.
Students laughed.
Music played.
The event felt exactly as joyful as everyone had hoped.
After the second wave, Jordan stepped away from the table.
She adjusted her safety goggles because powder had settled around the frame.