Girl on the Run (29 page)

E
ven though it was only ten o'clock in the morning, the humidity was high and my shirt was already stuck to my back. Lewis had left the day before. We planned to meet up when he came home for Christmas break. He already made me promise to send him some of Mom's recipes to try out at culinary school.

But now, cooking and Christmas were the farthest things from my mind. The parking lot was full of cars and buses. As kids were picked up and reunited with their parents, the population of Kamp Krystal Lake dwindled, and with it my time left with Kirk. August had never flown by so fast.

His parents came early, and walked around the grounds with us for a while. They seemed really normal. Only a bumper sticker that read
I honk for Klingons
gave a hint to their passion. Scotty and Spencer were busy trading email addresses, and planned to FaceTime each other as soon as they got their phones. I smiled and chatted, hiding my growing apprehension.

Kirk and I stood off by ourselves as Scotty packed his stuff in the car. We had said our private goodbye earlier that morning, but now there was no denying it; we had to leave each other.

“I'm going to send postcards and email at least once a week,” he said, touching my arm.

“I know you will,” I said, staring at his T-shirt. “And I'll start training as soon as I get home.”

“I'll call too.”

“Good.”

We had already been through this conversation a few times; our parts were so well rehearsed that we even believed what we said to each other. I was aware of all the families around us and wished for one more private moment with him.

“I love you, Just Jesse,” he whispered.

I lifted up my eyes to his, and a small groan escaped my lips. It was actually painful to think about walking away from him. But I had to be tough. I was determined not to cry.

“Hey, Legs!”

I turned and saw the three of them waving beside the van. They were the only thing that could tear me away from Kirk.

“Chloe?” I yelled out, quickly crossing the distance between us. I hadn't realized how much I missed them until I was in their arms. The group hug lasted a full minute.

“Look at her, Maria,” Grandma smiled, holding me out at arms' length. “Doesn't she glow?”

Mom hugged me again. “You look so grown up, I hardly recognized you.”

“I think it's the cut-offs,” Chloe laughed, looking at my shorts.

“You didn't tell me you were coming,” I told her.

“I was curious,” she said, looking over my shoulder. “You must be Kirk,” she said, extending her hand.

Kirk was right behind me. “Nice to meet you, Chloe,” he smiled.

I quickly introduced Mom, who studied him carefully, between polite small talk. She has to play the role of father as well, I reasoned. But Grandma was a totally different story. She had him by the arm, walking her over to meet Scotty.

“Legs said he was her favourite from the first day!” she said, smiling up at him.

It was another twenty minutes before everyone was in their cars and ready to go. Except for Kirk and me, who lingered behind Mom's van.

“Your grandma invited me to come back and stay a few nights,” he said.

“She likes tall brunettes too.” I made a pattern in the dust with the toe of my flip-flop. “But I'm sure your family wants to see you before you leave for Europe next week.”

We smiled weakly at each other. He took me in his arms, and I let my head rest against his shoulder. I took in one last breath, trying to permanently fix his spicy sweet vanilla chai smell to my memory.

“You know,” I said. “When it's a cold winter morning, and I have to go for a run, I'll imagine that you're still here, and it's summer. And if I run far enough, and fast enough, I'll get back to you.”

His arms tightened around me. “If you'll promise to keep running,” he whispered, “I'll promise to be waiting. Don't give up on Queen's.”

I slipped out of his embrace, then jumped into the back seat of the van beside Chloe, and I finally began to cry.

“That's the sad thing about great memories, Jesse,” Mom said, eyes watery. “You always wish you were in them again.”

The van slowly pulled out of the parking spot. Wiping my eyes, I turned and watched his standing figure grow smaller as we drove up the dirt road. And I had a feeling this was the last time I was going to see him.

No one spoke, and it remained quiet until we reached the highway. I caught Mom's eye in the rearview mirror. “So, you were on TV, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said softly as the van sped up on the smoother surface.

“You were great, Maria,” Grandma smiled.

“And that TV guy was so cute,” Chloe added.

“What TV guy?” I asked.

“Oh, he's just one of the local reporters,” Mom said. “We did a few spots together.”

“Hmm,” Grandma murmured.

“Mrs. Turner is pregnant,” Mom said quickly. “With twins!”

“Again!” Grandma laughed. “She must be making her own ball team.”

“She was asking about you, Jesse,” Mom said. “Wondered if you might want to babysit.”

“Not tonight!” Chloe insisted. “Too much to talk about.” She gave me a nudge in the ribs with her elbow.

“Later,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. Some details couldn't be shared over email, and she grinned mischievously with anticipation.

“How's Sam?” I asked her, trying to keep a straight face.

“Gone back to university,” she sighed. I continued to stare at her. “Later,” she whispered.

Grandma turned around with a smile. “Is it true,” she asked, “that they put a dead eel in your bed?”

“No,” I said.

“Oh.” She frowned.

“It was still alive.”

Squeals filled the van for the next hour as I gave a colourful re-telling of Cabin 4A's antics.

‘A' for antics, I thought with a smile
.

“Sounds like you have some good stories to pass on,” Mom smiled knowingly.

“Yeah,” I laughed. The heaviness in my heart began to ease, just by the tiniest, but it was a start, and I knew that things would be okay. My sadness over leaving Kirk would linger, of course, but my life was still going forward, toward the next finish line. I took in a deep breath, enjoying the lightness of my new guilt-free life. Everything felt…just right.

Dear Diary,

There's no such thing as a safe bet—ever. You might be the fastest runner in the heat, but that doesn't mean you're going to win the final race. Even when the finish line is dead ahead, waiting at the end of that flat stretch of track, it can still seem like an uphill climb. But I knew, that as long as I could see it, I could reach it first.

Still, getting there first isn't why you race.

After all my years of running I'd forgotten the very first rule of training. No matter how much it hurts or how much you think you're going to fail, you have to keep moving forward. Otherwise there's no point and you might as well be on the sidelines.

I finally realized the most important finish line isn't the one you can see straight ahead of you; it's the one that might be just around the corner, or up over the steepest hill.

I was so busy trying to find Old Jesse I didn't see that I was going backwards, not forwards. I'm not sure what this school year will bring, but I know I'm moving in the right direction. I'll be running again—for real. I'm going to try for that scholarship to Queen's, but not as Old Jesse, or even as some new and improved Jesse. I'm going to be just me…Just Jesse.

G
etting
Girl on the Run
published was like running a relay race; it passed hands several times before completing its loop around the track. Many thanks to literary agents, Naomi Hackenberg for finding it in the slush pile and cheering on Jesse from the sidelines the longest, and Roseanne Wells for smoothing out the kinks.

I'm again enormously grateful to Penelope Jackson, editor of my dreams, along with Patrick Murphy, Whitney Moran, and the whole team at Nimbus Publishing who made it possible for Jesse to finally cross the finish line in style.

I'm also indebted to the inspirational quotes and sporting success story of Jesse Owens. In writing this book I drew on The Jesse Owens Foundation, a non-profit organization whose goal is to promote the development of youth to their fullest potential by offering scholarships to those students in need who have distinguished themselves in academics or sport.

There were early readers for this story whose enthusiasm I am very grateful. Thank you, Barbara MacDougall, Tricia Dauphinee-Bishop, and Shannon Macgillivray. You all have gumption with a capital G.

Most of all I'm thankful for the continued support from my parents, Eric and Ethel Bishop and their unfailing belief in me. And thank you to my generous, big hearted siblings, Brad Bishop and Cynthia Flack.

Thank you to my husband Ken and our children, Ruth and Adam for filling the non-writing bits of my life with so much wonderful stuff. I adore you all.

And lastly, a big thank you to my lovable cocker spaniel, Cody, whose constant companionship proves the sound of my typing is the best background music for his naps.

TANYA REYNOLDS PHOTOGRAPHY

B. R.
Myers
is the author of
Butterflies Don't Lie
. She spent most of her teen years behind the covers of Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, and Lois Duncan. She collects vintage jewelry, appreciates a design in her cappuccino, and believes bacon makes everything better. When she's not putting her characters in awkward situations, she works as a registered nurse. She lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, with her husband and their two children. You can visit her online at bethanymyers.blogspot.ca.