Pepped Up and Ready (Pepper Jones #3) (13 page)

Jace can’t miss class so it’s just me and Gran at the doctor together. They do an x-ray and a bone density scan and then leave me waiting in the tiny room with Gran. I’ve turned my phone off, not wanting to deal with my teammates, or anyone else, asking for updates. Gran is engrossed in a celebrity gossip magazine and I’m jealous she finds it so fascinating. None of the magazines are sufficiently distracting for me right now. I haven’t eaten a thing all morning, yet I still feel like I might throw up at any moment. Apparently shin pain and pregnancy have the same symptoms. Good thing I don’t have to worry about the latter as a possibility.

Finally, Dr. Kennedy returns to our room. She introduced herself before the tests and went over some questions with me. I liked her immediately, and decided I would trust her diagnosis. After all, it still hurts to walk this morning. Again. The jig’s up.

“I know you are a very competitive runner, Pepper, and that this must be hard for you,” she begins. “So I’ll just get right to it. You have bone marrow edema in your left tibia, and severe shin splints in your right tibia.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t quite have stress fractures yet, but your left leg nearly has one, and your right leg is headed in that direction as well.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Deep down, I knew I would hear something like this. But it doesn’t make hearing it okay.

“How long until I can start training again?”

“The healing process for this injury usually requires six to eight weeks of rest.”

Mercifully, Gran remains silent. She knows I’m already kicking myself. Six weeks puts me in mid-November. I might be able to make it to the state meet! But even if I can run by then, I’ll be totally out of shape and there’s no way I’ll qualify for Regionals a week later. Regionals is the qualifying meet for Nationals, which is the second week in December. I can’t decide whether to feel devastated or hopeful. I have avoided learning anything about my condition before today, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be out for days or months. I suppose I thought months were more likely.

Renewed hope – realistic or not – takes a hold of me, and I revel in it.

“I spoke with your coach briefly before your appointment today, and I’ve agreed to meet with you and him to discuss the course of treatment and how it will impact your training. With your consent of course,” she says, nodding at me and Gran.

“How it will impact my training? So, I’ll still be training in some capacity?”

“Oh, yes. No running, of course. And I’d like you to take a few days completely off from any form of exercise to start. Also, you’ll be using crutches for ten days to keep weight off your left shin.”

“Crutches? Are you sure? I just ran my fastest 5K time ever... I’m not sure that’s really necessary.” Crutches are for people with broken legs and ankles. Not me. I’ll still be training. She just said so. I’ll still be an active athlete.

“Just for ten days. It will accelerate the healing process, and have you back out running faster.”

She knows how to sell me on the crutches. I’ll do anything to be back out running faster.

After picking up my crutches, promising to forgo exercise until Saturday (gulp!), and arranging a time to meet with Dr. Kennedy and Coach Tom tomorrow, Gran takes me to Clyde’s Creamery. It’s only just opened for the day, but unlike when the boys dragged me here last night, I have an appetite now. We order chocolate milkshakes and sit outside on the picnic table together.

“How does it feel?” Gran asks.

“The crutches?” I ask. “They’re all right, I guess.”

“I didn’t mean the crutches,” Gran says.

The kernel of hope that maybe I will recover from this in time to go to Nationals is barely alive, but it’s there. “Do I give up for the season, Gran? I don’t want to let go of the hope that maybe I can come back from this before it’s over.”

Dr. Kennedy did say that I may need longer than eight weeks, and I shouldn’t expect to just up and start training at the level I’m used to when I finally do get out running again. But I mostly held onto her words that six weeks might be sufficient. And that would give me four weeks of running before Nationals. As I think more seriously about this timeline, and the measly four weeks I’ll have to prepare even if I do qualify, the kernel of hope dwindles to the size of the tip of a needle. It hardly exists at all.

I share my fears with Gran. “I’m scared that it will hurt that much more if I do all the cross training and everything I’m supposed to do, only to be told I still can’t run until the season’s over. Or, what if I do get to run at State, but I do horribly because I haven’t been running, and I don’t qualify for Regionals?”

“You want to know what I think?” Gran asks. “I’m no athlete, but you just said you don’t want to give up hope before the season’s over, so don’t. I saw how you were during track season last spring. You weren’t your best self, Pep,” she says with a knowing look. And then she shrugs. “You’re special. And you’re special because you are your best when you focus on a goal. When you do everything you can to get that goal. You maybe went about it a little too aggressively this time, but this new approach might just be your ticket. So no way, girl, am I telling you to give up when the goin’ gets tough. It ain’t over. You heard the lady. She’s gonna talk to your coach, get a plan and all that.”

I’m grinning so widely at Gran I feel like my face will break.

“Just be smarter this time. Do what that doctor and the coach tell you to do. Don’t run before they say you should. And maybe you’ll get where you want after all.” She winks. “You’re a fighter, Pep.”

Her words get me through the rest of the day. As expected (and the reason I didn’t want them), the crutches draw a lot of attention. If people didn’t know already, everyone is now aware that I’m injured, and that it’s bad. The hardest part of the day, though, is when I make my way over to the team’s meeting spot by the baseball field dugouts. Even though it takes a while on crutches, I’m the first one there. Everyone else had to go to the locker room first to change. Coach Tom and the assistant coach, Janet, watch me approach.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell them, holding my chin high.

They attempt to wash their face of emotion, but I can tell the sight of me on crutches breaks their hearts a little.

“Coach, this is my fault. I ran more than you wanted me to. A lot more,” I add, when he doesn’t appear angry. He still shows no reaction; I have a feeling he already suspected as much. “But now I’m going to do everything I can to recover as quickly as possible, and I hope you’ll be with me on it.” I need him now, more than ever. I need him to believe in me.

“After you gave permission, I spent some time on the phone with Dr. Kennedy,” he tells me. “Getting back out there this season is a long shot, Pepper, but I’m willing to work with you and the doctor to get you there, if you are willing to do what it takes.” He hasn’t said he believes I can do it, but he’s never been one to encourage unrealistic hopes. It
is
a long shot. There’s no doubt about it.

“I’ll do everything it takes.”

“No exercise until Saturday?”

I nod my agreement.

“We’ll talk tomorrow with Dr. Kennedy about what happens after that. I don’t expect you to show up to practice this week just to watch. Go home and get some rest.”

It’s pointless to be here today because it’s a recovery day from yesterday’s workout. Everyone will be dividing into small groups to go on easy runs, and I’ll be left sitting here on my own. But I wait for my teammates anyway. I owe them an explanation. Miracles might happen, but I promise them nothing about me returning this season. It’s weird making an announcement that’s only about me, but my team deserves to know the truth about my injury. They shouldn’t have to find out from school rumors.

The guys’ team is there too, and I’m all too aware that Ryan’s brother, Kevin, will likely report this news to his dad. UC doesn’t make its first round of scholarship offers until the end of November, and I still have time to prove that this injury hasn’t obliterated my chances of a successful collegiate running career.

I’m not expecting to hear anything from the head coach of the UC running team, but when I don’t get any worried calls from Ryan that day, or the next day, or any day for the next week, I start to worry that I majorly hurt his feelings. It’d be nice to talk to him about what’s going on. Yeah, it’s annoying he’d be able to say he told me so and all that, but I’m sure he’d be helpful with weighing in on my new cross training routine.

I make a commitment to show up at the beginning of practice every day, even if it’s painful. I’m still the captain, and I still need to be a leader on the team. Once I’m allowed to start pool running again I’ll just stay for announcements and stretches.

Saturday is another meet, and watching from the sidelines on crutches is not something I’m looking forward to. As we often do before a meet, we head to Lou’s after practice on Friday for a pasta dinner. Loading up on carbohydrates is really only necessary in preparation for an endurance event that lasts more than an hour or two, and our races are about twenty minutes. But carbo-loading before a race is tradition, whether we need the extra boost on race day or not. Lou’s is a pizza joint owned by Kayla Chambers’s family, but it also has inexpensive pasta dishes. I haven’t been to Lou’s since our run-in with Kayla at the party, but it’s not like she’s ever there anyway.

We squeeze seven of us into a booth that is probably more suitable for four people. It’s just me, Zoe, Jenny, Rollie, Omar, and two juniors on the boys’ team. It’s nice to hang with my teammates, who are more interested in talking about running than Brockton gossip. Despite the regret that I won’t be racing with them tomorrow, I’m enjoying myself.

Jenny will be the number one runner on the team in my absence. She’s a firecracker and her positive energy is contagious. She’s picked Madonna on the jukebox and is belting out the lyrics with gusto from her seat between me and Zoe. The whole table is entertained, and probably the surrounding tables as well. I notice Rollie watching her with a smile I’ve never seen on him before. Is Roland Fowler smitten with Jenny Mendoza? If so, I fully support that.

The door jingles as another group enters Lou’s. The place is packed with students, families, and people just getting off work. I notice Omar and Rollie glance at the doorway, then at each other, and then at me. I frown at their reactions before turning around to see Wesley Jamison standing there with two guys who appear to be in their late twenties. All three of them are wearing jeans, work boots, and dirty tee shirts. It’s not Wes’s typical attire.

When he sees me, he grins, and makes his way to our table. “Hey Pep!” he greets me, and then my friends, though he doesn’t know all of their names. They all know who he is, of course.

He introduces us to the two guys hovering beside him, who show little interest in socializing with high schoolers. Apparently they are his new co-workers at Brockton Construction Company. Well done, Jace.

“So, what are you guys up to tonight?” Wes asks the table.

“Just watching a movie at Rollie’s house,” I respond for the group. “Meet tomorrow.” I don’t have to tell him I won’t be racing. The crutches leaning against the side of our booth tell him all he needs to know.

The next thing I know, Wes has invited us all over to his house, where he has a home theater, and plans have been made to show up there in an hour. I’m still contemplating the strangeness of the situation when we settle into the comfortable chairs with popcorn and water bottles (yup, hydrating is the top priority).

Wes and I have the back row chairs. “So you invited all my friends over to your house. What’s up with that?” I can’t help it. I’m suspicious.

Wes grins sheepishly at me through the darkness. “I haven’t hung out with you in a while and I heard about what Gage shithead said. I’m not going to fuel that fire by hanging out with you alone again.” Jace is in Utah for a football game tonight, so the three of us couldn’t hang out. But inviting all my friends over is a bit much. As long as we didn’t show up where all the Sig Beta guys hang out, I seriously doubt spending time with Wes would start more rumors. Though I suppose that’s not something I want to deal with either.

“Plus, I kind of like your friend Zoe,” Wes murmurs.

I glare at him. That’s the real reason.

“What?” He holds up his hands innocently in response to my death glare. “You asked me to chaperone her at some party and I did that without making a move. I’m being cool running it by you before just going for it, aren’t I?”

“So if I told you to lay off you would?” I ask.

“Yeah, obviously. She’s just a cute girl who seems cool, Pep. But she’s your best girlfriend. I’m not gonna mess with all that.”

“That’s the problem though, Wes. She’s just a cute girl. You’ll just want to hook up once, and then it will be all weird and awkward.”

“It might be more than once,” Wes says in all seriousness. “And besides, I hang out with girls I’ve slept with all the time. I’m excellent at not being weird and awkward about it.”

Zoe can hold her own, and she knows as well as anyone that Wes doesn’t do girlfriends. I should probably just stay out of it. “Do what you want,” I tell him, “just don’t put me in an awkward position.”