Girl on the Run (26 page)

T
he first day of training presented two problems: I only had one sneaker, and the thought of passing out again made me super nervous. But I couldn't back out; the look on Spencer's face had convinced me this was the right thing to do. Kirk knocked on my door that morning in shorts and sneakers with a solution to both issues.

“Here,” he said, handing me pair of cross trainers. “Alicia thought you'd be the same size.”

Alicia and I had come to an arrangement. Although most of the camp knew that Spencer had almost drowned, the fact that he couldn't swim was still a secret. After he ran with me, she would give him private lessons for half an hour; no witnesses, not even me.

I tied up the laces, sneaking a peek at the braid on Kirk's wrist. I'd be lying if I said it didn't give me a secret thrill. “They'll do until Mom mails my other pair from home,” I said, walking around, testing them out. Not exactly a perfect fit, but good enough. I pressed my lips together, trying to fight the grin, remembering my other email request to Grandma.

“What?” he laughed, watching me from the doorway.

“Nothing.” I slipped by him into the early morning mist. Spencer was already outside Cabin 4A waiting.

He frowned when he saw Kirk in his shorts and sneakers. “I thought it was just going to be the two of us,” he said.

“I'm purely backup,” Kirk answered, “unless you want to catch Jesse if she passes out again.”

“What if you, like, barf?” Spencer asked me, imagining a series of unforeseen disasters.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “I'll make sure to miss your new sneakers.”

We warmed up with a slow jog through the woods ending at the top of the hill, then we moved onto speed training on the soccer field. Kirk had purposely kept back, giving us our space. By the time we emerged from the trail again, I sensed things had changed.

The heavy guilt of Dad's death was gone. I'm not sure if it was finally telling someone my fears about the day he died, or the fact that I had saved Spencer, but on that first run, I knew the haunting was over. I had finally forgiven myself, it seemed.

I carried my lunch tray to the back of the main hall. When I glanced at Cabin 4A's table in the corner, Spencer's plate was loaded with pasta—he was taking all aspects of the training seriously. Go carbs!

The rest of the camp was under the impression I would be running. Every time Susan gave me one of her big grins, I secretly enjoyed waves of satisfaction at fooling her.

I took my place next to Kirk at his usual spot. I was dating the head counsellor, after all. Our legs brushed up together.

“A good first day?” he asked, motioning toward Spencer.

“Yeah,” I smiled. “I don't think I'll need you to chaperone anymore.”

“I feel a bit cheated,” he teased. “Only one morning, and you're ready to fire me.”

I buttered a roll, enjoying how goofy he made me feel. “The morning is for training,” I said. “But after that, I'm all yours.”

He smiled then reached under the table and put his hand on my knee.

Ben and Lacey
blurred into the background as my days took on a wonderful new schedule: training with Spencer, followed by lunch with Kirk. Then water safety with Alicia in the afternoon, and finally supper with Kirk.

Kirk. Kirk. Kirk.

The race was only four nights away. I sat on my bed cross-legged, tugging at the elastic band on the end of my braid.

“What's U of T like?” I asked.

Kirk was in the chair across from me, working on my necklace. He was determined to fix it. “Um…last year was great,” he said, “although I spent most of my time in the pool.”

He had easily made their swim team his first year. I listened as he told me a few stories.

“How far is it from Queen's?” I asked. Of course I knew how far it was from Queen's. I knew everything about Queen's. The only reason I asked is that I wondered if he'd thought about what September would mean to us.

“Queen's?” He looked up from his work. “U of T is a huge rival with Queen's.”

“Really!” I tried to sound surprised. “I was supposed to try out for a scholarship there,” I said. “But that was before…” I paused.

“Before your dad died,” he finished for me. “I remember. It was in the article.”

I purposely studied the end of my braid, pretending to be absorbed in the knot that wouldn't come out. We never talked about the end of summer. The silence grew thick in our little love shack, and I regretted bringing it up.

What's the point in falling in love and going all the way if your heart is going to get broken?
This was like the movie
Grease
. I was the Sandy to his Danny, except our romance wouldn't end with us flying away in a car. In another month ours would just end.

The End. Roll Credits. Take Your Garbage With You As You Exit The Theatre.

He scuffed along the floor and sat down on the bed beside me, taking the end of my braid in his hands.

“It's about a three-hour car trip,” he said, gently slipping the elastic out of my hair.

“I didn't mean that I expected you to…” I let the sentence fall.

“I'm not going to be at U of T this year,” he said. I could feel his fingers untwisting my braids. His touch sent shivers through me.

I let a few moments of silence pass before I asked again. “Well…what are your plans?”

Kirk cleared his throat, and said, “I'm taking some time to go travelling with friends. It was arranged before the summer started.”

“Sounds great,” I said, trying to smile. “Where are you going?”

“Europe.”

I swallowed dryly. “Really far away, then.”

He reached across and gently took out my other braid.

His silence was killing me. “How long?” I finally asked.

“The whole year…probably.”

Gulp.

“Scotty will miss you.”

Kirk let my hair drop and ran his hand down my back. “Promise me something,” he asked, reaching his arms around me.

“No,” I pouted. He would be travelling through Europe, while I dragged my lovesick ass back to high school. How on earth would any guy compare to Kirk?

“You're mad,” he said.

“Yes.”

He leaned closer. “Come away with me.”

“That's crazy.”

“I know, but I had to ask.” He put a finger under my chin, lifting my face to his. “Then promise me something.”

“What?”

“Never forget how amazing you are, Just Jesse. No one else would be able to do what you're doing with Spencer. I know you're not sure about returning to the track yet, but don't count out Queen's yet. You can go where ever you want. Just promise me you'll never quit whatever you set out to do.”

I rolled my eyes. “What if I
set out
to drop out of school and stalk you around Europe?”

He laughed, ignoring my attempt to make him feel guilty. Sweeping my hair over my shoulder, Kirk nuzzled my neck. I was determined to feel sorry for myself, or at least stay mad, but my hormones had other plans. We fell back onto the bed and didn't come up for air for a long time.

My head rested on his shoulder as his hands combed through my hair. “What are you going to do when you get back?” I asked, docile and dreamy after my cuddle therapy.

“I'm not sure. That's the whole point of the trip, I think.” He paused for a moment then pushed himself up on his elbows. “I'm jealous of you,” he said.

“Me?” I gave him a look. “You're the one with a fantastic trip planned.”

“But you know exactly where you're going. I seem so lost compared to you.”

I let out a tired sigh and ran my finger along the collar of his T-shirt. “That was Old Jesse. I'm not as focused on the finish line anymore.”

He looked worried. “I thought the running was going okay,” he said.

“It is,” I said. “But I guess I finally see that there's more to life than racing on a track.”

He took a deep breath and I thought he was going to give me another speech about Queen's again, but he must have read my expression. Instead he played it safe and said, “Speaking of racing, when are you going to tell Susan?”

I cringed. “I wasn't…actually. She'll probably fire me when she figures it out.”

“If she fires you, I swear I'll quit.”

“You can't leave Scotty,” I said. “He won't see you for a whole year after—” my throat went dry. If Susan does fire me, this may be my few days with Kirk. Maybe forever. I grew quiet.

Kirk kissed my forehead. I tucked in close, feeling his chest rise and fall. “Although,” he began carefully, “I am wondering…”

“What?”

“Are you going to be cheering me on while I do the swimming portion?”

“Will you be wearing a Speedo?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Your cut-offs?”

He snorted.

“Kirk!” I whacked him in the shoulder. “You have no idea how many nights of insomnia I've suffered.”

“Really?” He smiled mischievously. “Tell me.”

So I did. And when the kissing started again, I completely forgot about Europe and universities.

T
he rain had turned the soccer field was a sea of mud. It was our last day of training.

“Feet and lungs,” I screamed over the downpour, clutching Dad's stopwatch that Mom had included with my sneakers. It felt weird in my hand. I kept adjusting the strap, trying to get a comfortable hold. The idea that this was the last thing he was holding still got to me. I put it in my other hand, fumbling with the buttons.

Spencer finished his fifty-second sprint and fell to his knees. I splashed through the soggy grass and crouched over him.

“Burns, doesn't it?” I smiled.

“There's a cruel side to you,” he said between gulps of air.

I pocketed the watch. “I know what I'm doing,” I said.

“If I have to run ten kilometres tomorrow, how come you've got me racing only short distances?”

“You trick your body into thinking you're actually running farther,” I said, ignoring his expression. “Trust me, it works.”

“Well, I'm running as fast as I can!”

“But you have to move in sync,” I explained. “Moving your arms faster, with longer pumps, makes your stride quicker too.”

“Oh.” He scratched his head. “Is that what you mean when you yell ‘feet and lungs'?”

“It's more like a combination of things,” I explained. “Jesse Owens said that running was something you could do by yourself and under your own power. And that you could choose any direction and go nice and slow, or fast and hard against the wind. It's the runner who can seek out new sights, just on the strength of their feet and the courage of their lungs.”

Spencer made a face. “What does that mean?” he asked.

“It reminds me of the simple joy of just being able to run at all.” I looked down at my muddy sneakers and shivered, realizing how much I might have lost if I hadn't come up here this summer. “And it's not just where you're going, but what you're going through.”

He chewed on his bottom lip, looking across the field. “Do you really think I can win this?” he asked.

“Of course,” I lied. It couldn't hurt to give him a mental boost. Spencer was good; his best time for ten kilometres was one hour. Fast for a beginner, but probably not fast enough to win the cup.

“What will you do if you cross the finish line first?” I asked.

“Raise my hands then fall down exhausted.”

“And if you don't win?”

“Same thing, I guess.” We shared a nervous laugh, then began our cool-down jog through the trail. I felt a pang in my heart. I started track because of Dad's encouragement and love of the sport. For Spencer it seemed more like a life saver, something to prevent him from getting into trouble. God, the pressure he must be feeling.

“You know,” I said, “with the right practice, you could be great. Do you have a good track and field coach at your school? I'm sure your dad could call and talk with the gym teacher.”

“I doubt it. The principal only calls to complain. Dad would hate to initiate contact with her.”

“Right,” I said. After all, this was one of Satan's turds.

“Your school has a good program, right?” he asked, suddenly animated.

“Um, yeah.”

“Well, maybe I could transfer,” he suggested. “No one would know me.”

“You mean you'd switch schools?” I couldn't imagine leaving Chloe or my teammates behind.

We continued down the path in silence. “No one will believe that I can do this,” he finally said. “They all think I'm some spoiled shit heading straight for jail.”

I stayed quiet.

“You know I'm right,” he said.

“If people see you as a spoiled shit, maybe it's because that's all you let them see. You can't use your dad or your school as an excuse for not trying, Spencer. It's up to you.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Give it up,” I said. “After Jesse Owens won four gold medals in Berlin he came home to a ticker-tape parade in New York, but he still had to ride in the freight elevator to attend his own reception at the Waldorf Astoria.”

“Why?”

“Because he was Black,” I said. “Everybody wanted to shake his hand, but nobody wanted to give him work. It took several jobs for him to make a living. He even did a stint running against racehorses. Jesse Owens is remembered not only for his athletic achievements, but for his personal triumph over poverty and bigotry.” I paused and stared into Spencer's face. “And not quitting was the reason behind all of his success.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this.”

I ran ahead and reached the green slope first. Alicia was already on the dock, waiting.

“Yay, more exercise,” he grumbled behind me. But that was the only complaint; maybe I was getting through to him after all.

After a shower, I visited Lewis in the kitchen.

“Spencer's going to want to eat a horse,” I said, watching Lewis lay out the rows of bacon on the grill.

“Sorry, only the usual pig kind of bacon this morning.”

“I need your advice,” I said, spreading a piece of toast with strawberry jam.

“I'm not going to kiss you again.”

“That area is fine, thank you,” I grinned. “It's about my necklace. Would a guy wear it, or think it was too…um.” The word stuck in my throat.

Lewis guessed. “Too gay?”

“No,” I squirmed. “Maybe, yeah. I'm thinking of giving it to someone.” I chewed the last bit of toast.

“Who?”

“It's a secret.”

“A guy?”

I nodded.

“A straight guy?”

“Fairly certain, yes.”

Lewis leaned back and crossed his arms. “Yeah,” he finally decided. “It's got a kind of Aztec thing going for it. It would be cool on a guy.”

“So it would be okay, to give it to this person?”

Lewis narrowed his eyes and stared me down. “Is there a good reason for giving away the necklace that was rescued from the depths of the lake, and meticulously cleaned, just to win you back from Ben?”

I felt a surge of flattery and almost giggled. “That was the reason?” I asked.

“No, not really, but make sure there's a cool story to go along with the offering.”

I sat up straighter. “Of course there's a meaning behind it.”

“You know,” he said, starting to flip the first row of bacon, “some Amazon warriors would decorate their mates with jewellery, to warn other females that he was taken.”

“You mean, like a branded lover?”

“I'm not sure, I made that up. But Kirk might buy it.”

“Goodbye, Lewis,” I said, rolling my eyes.