Girl on the Run (22 page)

I
opened my eyes and saw the alarm clock. Five fifty-eight. I reached out from under the yellow chenille bedspread and held my finger over the reset button. I liked to wake up before the radio came on—another way I like to beat the clock.

Besides, I'm always worried about waking Grandma. Six o'clock. There was a soft click, followed by a few seconds of music, and then I silenced the alarm. I had laid out my winter running clothes the night before. My feet danced on the cold floor as I slipped them on quickly. I glanced out my bedroom window. It was still so dark it could have been midnight.

I didn't mind getting up this early; I was excited. University scouts were coming to my school next week, and I had been training more than usual to get ready.

Mom wasn't sure what the panic was about. “You have next year too, Jesse,” she had said, whipping the garlic potatoes the night before.

“What's wrong with getting in early?” I had asked, taking a finger swipe from her mixing bowl.

“This particular scout is from Queen's, Maria,” Dad said.

“And Queen's University has the best athletic department,” Mom recited. She'd heard Dad and I talk about it so much it was ingrained in her memory.

Grandma asked, “Is Queen's far enough away?”

Dad snuggled up beside Mom then faked her out by taking a spoon of the potatoes. “Far enough?” Dad asked, through a mouthful.

“You two are eating all the supper!” Mom teased, pushing him away.

“Long legs are great,” Grandma said. “But Jesse needs her wings too.” She patted my cheek.

“Wings,” Dad grumbled.

“Oh, Stevie,” Grandma reached over and flicked his ear. “She's growing up, no matter how fast you try to make her run away from it.”

“That's why we're working on getting her into university,” he said, passing her a pamphlet.

“Say, Legs,” Grandma said, eyes twinkling, “is Queen's coed?”

Dad put his hands over his ears. “I'm leaving the room now,” he said. Grandma was so predictable.

“Hold on, Stevie,” Grandma said, holding up the pamphlet. “It says here there are lots of wonderful ice cream socials for the young people to meet and trade baseball cards.”

“I'm not listening,” Dad hollered from the living room.

Poor Dad, he was always outnumbered. It's not like he was overly protective—I think every Dad is, but the truth is I never found anything that made my heart race faster than speed training. My passion was track, and most guys wanted you to text them back within two minutes. No thanks; I saved all my free time for Chloe.

I tiptoed down the steps with my runners tucked under my arm. The kitchen was empty. That was weird. Dad was usually the first one up. I drank a glass of orange juice and ate a banana while I waited. Finally I heard their bedroom door open and close. He came around the corner, scratching his head and yawning.

“Did you even sleep?” I asked, looking at the dark circles under his eyes.

“Nightmares,” he groaned, opening the fridge. “About you sprouting wings and flying with your grandma from nightclub to nightclub.”

I waited by the front door with my wool hat and gloves already on. Dad pulled on his jacket and patted down the pockets. He unzipped one and pulled out his cell phone.

“Oh damn,” he said. “The battery is dead. I forgot to charge it last night.”

“It doesn't matter,” I said, tugging on his arm. “Let's go!”

He laid it on the hall table and grabbed the car keys. I helped him scrape the frost off the car windows. The last snowstorm had melted away, leaving the streets and sidewalks clear; perfect for a morning run. I danced on the spot and groaned at his slowness.

“Dad! Come on.”

He bent and stretched his arm a few times, wincing. “I must have slept funny.”

“Are you able to drive the van?” I teased. “Or do you need some of Grandma's pills?” I jumped in the front seat and adjusted the radio station.

“Jesse,” Dad moaned. “It's six in the morning.”

“You're so old.” I bobbed my head to the music. “Rap is the jazz of the new millennium!”

“Just because it comes out of Grandma's mouth, doesn't mean it's true.”

I turned up the radio even louder and made Dad sing along; well, sort of. We drove to the park through empty streets feeling like we were the only two people awake in the world.

“I can't wait until it's sunny in the morning,” he yawned.

“Maybe I should consider a school in Florida?”

“It's possible,” he smiled. “Some of the scouts next week are from the States.”

I frowned back at him. “What about Queen's?”

“There's nothing wrong with having more than one option.”

“I guess,” I said unconvinced.

Dad picked up on my tone. “You have to be ready for all kinds of situations in the next few years.”

“Yeah, but Queen's has always been the finish line,” I reasoned. “It's hard to race if I don't know what I'm running for.”

Dad looked at me sideways.

“I need to have a visual,” I told him. “It's like that quote from Jesse Owens. When he talks about how the one hundred meter dash is really over in three seconds.”

“‘The first second is when you come out of the blocks,'” he recited. “‘The next is when you look up and take your first few strides to get your position. And by that time, the race is actually about half over.'”

I picked up where he left off. “‘And the final second, the longest for any athlete,'” I continued. “‘Is the last half of the race.'”

“Because…” Dad prompted, leaving me the best part.

“‘Because that's when you really bear down, and see what you're made of.'”

“So,” he smiled. “What are you racing for? Wings?”

I reached over and patted him on the head like he was a little kid. “I'm keeping it simple,” I said. “Today I'm racing for you, because you got up when your poor old bones wanted to stay in bed.”

We pulled into the empty parking lot. Dad turned off the ignition and popped the trunk. He growled and I walked around to the back of the van. “What is it?”

“I forgot to bring the bike,” he said. “I'm in a bit of a fog this morning.” He checked his watch then turned around and looked down the street, weighing if it was worth going back home for the bike.

“Dad! We've already lost ten minutes.” I jogged on the spot, my perfect morning ticking away.

He opened and closed his fist a few times and frowned.

“Forget about the bike,” I said. “It won't kill you to run with me, will it?”

He nodded toward the pathway, telling me to start.

I began my route into the tree-lined pathway. Soon Dad was beside me, helping me warm up, our breath coming out like puffs of steam.

“Jesse,” he began.

I smiled. This was when Dad and I really talked. It was hard to get a conversation in at home without Mom or Grandma weighing in. I think Dad felt more on a level playing field when it was only the two of us, outside in the quiet morning air.

“I'm not too strict, am I?” he asked.

I glanced at him like he had three heads. “Strict? Don't be mental. I'm the one who wanted to train harder these last few weeks.”

“I mean, about what Grandma said. You know, getting wings and all that.”

“All that?”
Oh god! Please don't let my dad say the word sex. I'll vomit right here on the trail.
“Um…you don't have to worry, Mom already covered that.”

Dad winced and then cleared his throat. “I want you to be safe, but not afraid. Training is a big part of your life, and I always hoped it would make you strong enough for the outside world.”

“Geez, you make it sound like I've been wrapped up in cotton.”

His voice sounded thick. “Everything has always come easily to you; winning races, having lots of friends, getting good grades.” He paused and cleared his throat again. “We're so proud of you, but I want you to be prepared for disappointment.”

“This is a great pep talk.”

“Life is tough, Jesse.”

We ran in silence for a few moments.

“Um…Dad? Isn't this is the part where you mention some fact about Jesse Owens that brings meaning to whatever you're
trying
to explain?”

He slowed down a bit. “This is a good one: ‘It all goes so fast, and character makes the difference when it's close.'”

“I'm fast,” I said.

“And you've got character. I think Grandma calls it gumption.”

“I'll be okay, then?” I smiled, but my voice faltered a bit. Dad was usually never this serious on our runs. He was freaking me out a bit. I was still praying he wouldn't mention sex. The morning had that awkward kind of vibe.

Dad laughed a bit. “Lots of gumption and a fast pair of legs will get you far, Jesse.”

“Speaking of fast…start the clock!” Dad pulled out the stopwatch, and I took off down the trail.

Sprint for ten seconds. Run for twenty paces. Sprint for twenty seconds…thirty. Forty. Fifty. Done.

I leaned forward with my hands on my knees, sucking in air. I stood and looked back up the trail. It was quiet and still.

“Dad?” I called out.

I walked up the slight grade. A knocking sound made me look around. A woodpecker was searching for breakfast. When I reached the top of the grade I thought he was playing a joke on me for teasing him earlier.

“Very funny!” I yelled. “Now get up, old man before you pee your pants and freeze to the ground.”

He was lying face down, with his arms and legs splayed around him. But he didn't move. At all. I heard the woodpecker again.

This was no prank. “Dad!” I raced toward his figure, sprawled on the path. The stopwatch clutched in his hand was still counting. I dropped to my knees and turned him over. My fingers tried to brush the dirt and gravel imbedded around his nose and mouth.

“Dad!” I yelled. I grabbed him by the shoulders. “Dad! Wake up!”

I screamed and shook him a few more times. My lifeguard training finally kicked in. I checked his pulse. Nothing. No chest rising or falling, either.

“HELP!” I screamed. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” My shaking hands fumbled to unzip his jacket. I gave him two breaths of air and began chest compressions.

“HELP!” I screamed again. But no one came. It was too early. I kept doing CPR ignoring my numb wrists and the sound of Dad's ribs breaking under my hands. “HELP!”

Only the woodpecker answered. Wait! The cell phone! Frantically patting down his pockets, I felt nothing and realized the phone was home on the hall table.

I gave him more breaths. I could keep going forever. I remembered reading once that an ER team worked on someone for over half an hour and brought them back. I glanced at the stopwatch. It was now past twenty minutes.

“FIRE!” I shouted over and over again.

Someone from a nearby house finally heard me. They came out wearing a long winter coat over their pajamas. They called the ambulance.

“I'll take over compressions,” they offered, kneeling beside me.

“No!” I shoved them away with my shoulder, and kept pushing on his chest. “Don't touch my dad!”

Sirens squealed in the distance, their sharp tone slowly ringing louder.

Ringing?

I opened my eyes. I wasn't on the park path in February. I was on the trail at summer camp. But I could hear something. Not a siren. A bell was ringing.

Get to the lake before it's too late.

I wobbled out of the woods. My hands went to my cheek, feeling a bruise already swelling. Duff was on the dock, ringing the bell. My feet moved me across the grass before my brain could figure it out.

Duff ran up to me, almost knocking us over. He signed so quickly I couldn't understand him. Tears were streaming down his face. He pulled me to the end of the dock, and pointed to an empty canoe halfway to the float. I held him by the shoulders and looked straight at him. “Keep ringing the bell,” I told him.

I grabbed the PFD, strapped the Velcro end around my ankle, and dove in.

T
he coldness shocked me. The PFD tugged at my foot as I swam down, searching, but all I could see were tiny fuzzy specks. My sneakers kept clipping my ankles. I was so frantic to get into the water, I'd left them on. I resurfaced and took a quick gulp of air. The bell was still ringing. I looked to the shore, and saw Liam's unmistakable mohawk sprinting up to Cabin 4A.

I never wished for a prank so much in my life.
Please let it be a joke,
I prayed. I began to swim toward the empty canoe. I was halfway when a head broke the surface. Black hair plastered a face with wide eyes.

“Scotty!” I kicked and splashed until I was close enough to reached out and grab his arm.

“Sp…” he coughed.

“It's okay,” I said, my voice trembling. I gave him the PFD to hold. “I've got you.” I pulled him toward the dock.

“No,” he said.

“It's okay,” I repeated. “Relax, we're almost there.”

The ringing stopped and Duff reached down to help Scotty climb onto the dock.

“He can't…swim,” Scotty wheezed.

Duff squeezed my shoulder and spelled the name.

“Keep ringing the bell!” I made my way back out to the canoe and dove again but there was nothing but blackness. I spread my fingers out and dove even deeper. I felt hair-like tips of eelgrass. Completely blind, I waved my arms, hoping to feel something…anything.

My lungs burned. There was no sound, no light, only the tiny bubbles escaping from my mouth. Something slid by me, then another, and another. I was in a school of eels. Punching threw the mass, my hand felt something soft. Hair.

I grabbed a fist full of Spencer's wild, curly hair and began to kick. My free hand clawed at the water, trying to pull us up. But there was so much water above us. I fought my brain as every nerve ending was screaming at me to breathe.

A burst of bubbles spat out of my mouth. Everything was going numb. I was twisted in the water, unsure if my legs were moving. Spencer's hair started to slip out of my fingers. Slowly, we floated back down, the pain in my chest gone, and finally my eyes closed. Everything was black.

“
Feet and lungs, Jesse!
” my dad's voice screamed.

A jolt ripped through me.

“
Feet and lungs, Jesse!
”

I kicked hard and didn't stop until the bright buoy came into focus, floating above us. Then finally air, huge mouthfuls of wonderful air. Voices rushed in surrounding me.

“I got her! I got her!”

“Let him go, Jesse.”

“Hurry!”

“Let go, Jesse.”

Someone pried my fist open. Blinking a few times, the scene came into focus. Several swimmers took Spencer to the dock. We were much closer to the shore than I thought. Within seconds, he was out of the water, with Alicia and Tyler bent over him.

Hugging the PFD, I rested my chin on the top and watched Tyler put his ear to Spencer's face. He shook his head at Alicia. She hadn't started compressions. Instead she gave him two breaths.

Please.

My arms slipped off the buoy.

“It's okay,” Kirk said from behind. “I've got you.” His arm was wrapped around my waist. He held the buoy with the other hand. The hurried voices from the dock were muffled by Kirk's breathing next to my ear.

“I've got you,” he repeated.

Spencer threw up and Alicia rolled him onto his side. After more violent coughing they positioned his arms and legs, still crouched close to him, watching and talking. The camp nurse had made her way across the lawn, a first aid kit in her hands as she ran.

“He's breathing on his own,” I whispered.

Kirk let out a deep breath. “Hold on,” he said. “I'll do all the work.”

His hand slipped away from my waist. He swam back to shore, pulling me along. When it was shallow enough for us to stand, he put an arm under my elbow, and we walked onto the beach. He lowered me onto the sand and unfastened the Velcro around my ankle.

We heard sirens in the distance and silently watched the paramedics assess Spencer. After strapping him to a stretcher, Alicia and Tyler helped them carry him up the grassy slope. An oxygen mask and IV were already in place. Cabin 4A, along with the other kids who were awake, followed behind, shouting encouragement. A weak thumbs-up from Spencer resulted in a nervous cheer from the onlookers. Alicia jumped into the back of the ambulance before the doors shut.

Kirk and I turned to each other. “Jesus, Jesse,” he whispered.

“Just call me J.J.,” I said.

He stood and gently pulled me up with him. “You should see the nurse.”

My legs were still wobbly. “No, I'm fine. I just need to rest for a minute,” I said. I looked down and saw I was only wearing one of my runners. “I just need to be warm.”

“It's okay.” He put his hand behind my knees and scooped me up into his arms. “I've got you.”

Kirk carried me across the lawn. I closed my eyes, letting my head lay against his bare chest, listening to his heart race.

“Here, let me help.” Ben's voice came from the side.

“Get the door,” Kirk grunted.

After a few more steps I was lowered down onto a bed.

“What can I do?” Ben asked, looking anxious.

“Stay with the rest of your kids,” Kirk snapped. “They need you.”

Ben gave me one last look and left the cabin.

I sat on the twin bed, shivering in my wet things. Kirk disappeared around the corner then came back with a pile of clothes and towels. Kneeling in front of me, he took a towel and began to dry my hair.

“Where am I?” I asked. The room was bigger than my shed, with windows and a desk, but it looked like there was only one bed.

“My cabin.” A few moments of silence followed.

“I'm cold,” I said. My brain was on survival mode.
Breathe. Exhale.

He handed me another towel. “Keep drying off,” he said. He disappeared around the corner again, then came back wearing a T-shirt and pair of shorts.

“You need to get out of your wet things.” He pointed to the folded clothes beside me. “I'll be right back.”

After the door shut behind him, I peeled off my running gear, including my lone sneaker, and towelled my goosebumped skin. I pulled on his sweatpants and T-shirt, and sat on the bed in a daze. The water dripped down my back from my ponytail but I hardly noticed; everything felt numb.