Run to Me (10 page)

I turn to James. ‘So this David actually mooned
the principal?’

‘Too right he did. At the end of assembly
yesterday. He slipped out ahead of the teachers and gave them an arse shot as
they were leaving the hall.’

Kim tuts. ‘Terrible. Terrible,’ she says,
shaking her head. ‘And to think we pay all that money for the three of you to
go to that school. I hope that David boy got severely punished. No respect for
the teachers, that’s the problem.’ Kim turns to me with a look of concern. ‘Abby,
does this kind of thing happen at your school?’

The whole table turns to stare at me. Everybody
is silent, save for Oscar who is blowing his nose loudly into his napkin. Even
Luke, who until now has remained oddly quiet, shifts in his seat next to me so
that our knees bang together under the table.

I shrug. ‘I’m sure it does. I haven’t really
been there long enough. There was definitely similar occurrences back at Madison High School.’

Kim is not done with me yet. ‘Yes, but what
about respect? Surely none of your students would moon you? Your pupils respect
you, don’t they Abby?’

Paul Beckett’s face pops into my head. Does a
crush qualify as respect? Or is it the opposite?

As though reading my mind Luke breaks his
lengthy silence. ‘Tell them about that kid. The one from the running team.’

I roll my eyes at him. ‘They don’t want to hear
about that.’

‘Sure they do.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ says Isabelle, getting in on the
action. ‘Tell us Abby.’

I sigh. I was hoping to avoid having to talk
about Paul Beckett. He’s already in my mind a lot, and I don’t like it.

I clear my throat. ‘Well. He’s got a crush on
me, that’s all.’

‘One of your students has a crush on you? How do
you know?’ asks Kim.

‘He’s always staring at her,’ says Luke. ‘Isn’t
he Abby? Wherever she goes, there he is. Staring, and smiling.’

Bill leans in on both elbows and the dining
table creaks under his weight. ‘What’s this kid’s name?’

‘Paul Beckett.’

Across the table James is rummaging in the
pocket of his jeans. ‘I know him,’ he says, popping a piece of gum in his mouth
and chewing as he speaks. ‘Seen him round the skate park a few times.’

‘The skate park? What’s that?’

‘It’s over near your school, so I don’t go there
often. It’s just this place with a skate ramp and basketball court. Pretty
desolate really. Not sure why they all reckon it’s fantastic.’

‘Paul Beckett. I know that name, don’t I J?’
Isabelle’s forehead is burrowed as she tries to place the name. ‘Yeah. Yeah. I
think Stacey knows him from primary school. Yeah. He’s the one who had that big
bust up with Nicholas McFadden last year. That’s right isn’t it J?’

James nods. ‘Yeah, I think so. Got his arse
kicked, apparently.’

Kim tuts again. ‘Revealing themselves to the
teachers. Fighting with each other. What’s gotten into these kids?’

Bill and Luke both start in on today’s society,
the highs and lows of modern existence. But I drown them out. I’m picturing
Paul Beckett getting beaten up and I feel a tightness in my chest. I know this
feeling. What is it? Pity? Concern? No. More than that; sympathy. As I sit here
trying to comprehend why this particular student, this kid I’ve known for only
a matter of weeks, could evoke such a strong emotion in me Luke reaches over
and places his hand on my knee.

Seven

After school I race to get changed so I can grab
a smoke before our running session. I’ve still been picturing Mrs Fox in my
mind a lot. Every time it’s the same image; she’s standing before me, and she’s
stripping. It’s awesome. A sexy film clip playing out in my own head. I can
daydream and she’s there. I can close my eyes and whoo! There she is again.
Bloody spectacular.

I hurry to the bottom oval and duck in behind
the thick line of trees that make up the school boundary. I’ve always liked
this spot for smoking. I remember when I found it. I was in Year Ten and I’d
been smoking for about a month or something. I was still working out the best
way to sneak one at school when I heard a couple of girls whispering in the
canteen queue. According to the girls there was an excellent make out spot just
beyond the bottom oval. The teachers never went there, and you couldn’t see
anything from the main buildings. It was totally secluded.

I was as happy as Larry when I heard this. It
sure beat trying to sneak one in the toilets with all the smoke detectors
everywhere. I did set off a detector one time. It brought only one teacher
running, old frogs legs, Mr Freggells, and I was left with one choice; admit to
it, or blame the unsuspecting Year Sevens that were hanging round the dunny
door. I’m not entirely sure, but I think they got off with a warning.

As for me, I wasn’t willing to risk it so I’d
steered clear of the toilets after that. It meant I usually had to hang out until
after school and by that time I was about ready to drop dead from the cravings.
So behind the trees on the bottom oval became my favourite haunt. A few times I
had to share it with one frisky couple or another but usually, I’d say ninety
percent of the time, I had the spot all to myself. And I’d never clocked a
teacher within an inch of the place.

Today I hide behind one of the thicker trunked
trees and light up. With nothing else to think about, she wanders into my head.
Usually she’s wearing a black bra and undies with stockings and those garter
things. But right now everything’s red. I close my eyes, and against the black
backdrop of my eyelids her red outfit is screaming at me. At first she’s just
standing there like a statue but eventually her hands begin to move and her
hips begin to sway to some silent music. She’s smiling, and her hands reach
behind her to unhook her bra. It falls away to who knows where. I’ve fixed my
gaze on her massive boobs. They’re perky and her nipples are pointing outwards.
I will her hands to move and she starts massaging both tits. She is licking her
lips and pouting. Even I know that’s a bit over the top, but hey it’s my
fantasy isn’t it? I can have her do whatever I like. Next she is inching
towards me and about to reach down and grab my bits when I hear the scrunching
of footsteps behind me.

I open my eyes and turn around. Matt is
wandering over to me; the twigs and rocks that line the ground crackling under
his feet. I shake my head and take another drag of my smoke. Now he is looking
me up and down and then he starts pissing himself. He is laughing so hard he
has to bend over and hold his stomach.

‘What are you...’ I begin to ask but then I feel
it. My pants are pulled tight around my fellas, and when I look down I see the
giant bulge in the front of my shorts. Great. I stamp my cig out on the ground
and start groping at my crotch, trying to puff my shorts out to hide the boner.
But I give up. Matt’s already seen everything anyway.

‘Cut it out, would you?’ I say.

Matt is trying to pull himself together. ‘I
didn’t know you had a thing for Marlboro Lights,’ he says, cracking up all over
again.

‘Fuck off,’ I say and crouch down so my hard-on
is obscured from view by my knees. I try to picture disgusting things, like my
mum shaving her legs or my grandma cutting her toenails, and after a minute my
boy starts to settle down. I keep crouching, just to be sure, and look up at
Matt.

He’s looking at me now. He’s past laughing. We
stare at each other in silence, but I can see he’s working up to say something.
I know what he’s about to ask even before the words leave his lips.

‘Mrs Fox?’

I stare at him closely, expecting to see that same
pitying look from before. But his face is blank. He simply holds my gaze and
waits for me to answer. I do an overdramatic shrug of my shoulders and nod my
head.

‘What can I say?’ I ask. ‘She’s in my head and I
can’t get rid of her.’

Matt looks at me for a long time, then nods. He says
nothing. He turns away from me to look back towards the school. I’ve finally
got things under control in my shorts so I stand up. I shake each leg to get my
balls back into a comfortable resting spot and run my fingers through my hair.

‘You’d better get ready,’ Matt says, cocking his
head to the left. ‘Because here she comes.’

I step out from behind the tree and look across
the oval. Sure enough I can see her off in the distance, walking down the
concrete steps that lead onto the first oval. Some of the team members are with
her. I can make out Melanie and Sarah, both chewing her ear off. She’s pulled
her hair back into a ponytail and I watch as it sways from side to side behind
her head. Her hair seems blonder today, or maybe it’s just the way the
afternoon sun is beating down on it. As she draws closer I notice a glistening
on her legs, as though she’s just put lotion on them. Her clad-red body pops
into my head again, but I shake it away.

I don’t move. It’s as though my legs are weighed
down by blocks of lead or something. I know I should step forward, head up to
meet them all, but I can’t help it. She’s got me mesmerised. It’s like I’ve
never seen a woman before. I can feel Matt’s eyes on me but I ignore him. There’s
nothing I can do. I’m rooted to the spot.

***

Halfway through Thursday’s training session I
purposely fall behind the rest of the team. I like to do this so I can watch
them closely, check out their running styles. Most amateur runners have a very
pronounced bounce in their step and from personal experience I know it wastes a
lot of valuable energy.

When I first started running, I was bouncing all
over the place. I had no clue until a friend videotaped me during a ten kilometre
race. I was like Tigger, and it looked outrageous. I remember being horrified
and embarrassed. It was no wonder I’d always had to turn my music up full bawl to
drown out the distracting noise of my feet banging on the pavement. That kind
of thing is inevitable when your entire body weight is coming down with each
single step.

After seeing myself on that video I made a
concerted effort to kick my legs out, and use my back foot to propel me
forward. I realised that the motion of running doesn’t need to exhaust me. Once
I mastered an elite style, running became just as easy as walking. It became
second nature.

Today I slow down my pace and begin watching my
team from a hundred metres back. I can see that Melanie and Sarah are
struggling. They have fallen behind every one else and I have to slow to almost
a walk to avoid catching up with them. They’re not bouncing or moving with
ease. They’re shuffling. Their feet barely lift off the grass.

 Paul, on the other hand, has the clean style of
a marathon runner. I like to watch him. He’s been at it for five years, so I
would expect him to be at a higher standard than the others. But he seems to
have eclipsed them all. The way his upper body syncs with his feet, the
twisting of his torso, his long strides; they’re all trademarks of a strong and
competent runner.  

Next to him, at the front of the pack, is Matt.
He’s not bad but seems to tire easily. Right now he looks like he’s done half a
race, rather than just a few laps round the oval. The two always run side by side,
unless I force Paul to go off on his own. I wonder how much Matt’s exhaustion
holds Paul back from his full running potential. Friendship is all fine and
good, but running is a sport based on isolation and competition. Chatting like
that leaves you wide open for other runners to overtake you.

As I hit the line that marks the beginning of my
fifth lap, the stragglers - including Melanie and Sarah - pull out altogether.
They stagger into the middle of the oval and flop onto the grass. Water bottles
are passed round, and I can hear a few moans of displeasure. They’ve knocked
themselves around.

‘Stretch!’ I yell towards them, waving my arms
to get their attention. Sarah waves back, but not one of them starts
stretching. I decide to worry about it later, and I pick up my pace.

It takes me less than a minute to catch up to
Matt and Paul. I’m surprised to hear they aren’t actually talking after all. So
it’s all about moral support, this business of running together. I’ve got to
hand it to them.

‘Hello,’ I say, pulling up beside Matt.

‘Hey,’ he replies. Paul says nothing.

‘Listen, Paul,’ I say, still focussing on the
grass ahead. ‘Your loyalty to Matt is admirable, but how about you show me your
real pace?’

The boys glance at each other.

‘Off you go.’

Paul shrugs, slaps Matt on the back and takes
off ahead of us. Straight away I can see the difference in him. I thought he
was on form before, but now he seems to have surpassed even himself. I continue
to watch as he increases the gap between us, and for a moment I almost forget
Matt is right beside me.

‘He’s good, isn’t he,’ he says.

I turn to look at him. His breathing is laboured
and his hair is matted with sweat, and yet he shows no signs of stopping.

‘Yes, he is. But you seem tired, Matt. Why don’t
you go sit with the others. Do me a favour and get everybody to stretch?
Especially the calves and hamstrings.’

Matt looks off at Paul, streaking out ahead of
us, and then back at me. He smirks.

‘OK’ he says and drops back.

Again I pick up my pace and hurry to catch up to
Paul.  He hears me coming and turns his head to look at me. Our eyes meet and
he gives me a wide smile. I am instantly aware of the situation I have created.
How could I have been so stupid? This is the one student I am meant to be
keeping my distance from and here we are running next to each other, barely
half a metre between our bodies.  

I let out a long sigh at my own ignorance and
shake my head. I can feel him looking at me out of the corner of his eyes. I
see his head tilt as he drops his gaze to stare at my chest. I am mentally
kicking myself when he says,

‘So how long have you been married for Miss?’
His voice is even and clear, as though the labour of running is having no
effect.

‘
What?
’

‘Well, it’s Mrs Fox right. So you’ve got to have
a husband.’

I shake my head. This is meant to be about the
running, not me.

‘You know you’ve got an excellent running style,
Paul. The right kind for long distance races. Keep at this, you’ve got a lot of
potential.’

For a second I think I’ve embarrassed him
because he gives me a sly smile. Then he opens his mouth.

‘Nice try, Miss,’ he says with a laugh. ‘You
didn’t answer my question...’

He reaches up to wipe some sweat off his
forehead. I watch him laughing and I can’t help but smile. I like it when the
kids are relaxed around me; it makes this whole teaching thing a lot easier. 

‘Right. Um. Four years.’

‘And what’s he do?’

I consider not answering. The students get
curious about newcomers, I know that, but Paul doesn’t need insight into my
life. Still, it might be just harmless small talk; a distraction from the
monotony of these laps, and the heaving of his chest.

‘He’s in finance.’

‘Ohhhh…’ he says with a loud groan.

I look at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘He’s one of those really boring types, right?
Like an accountant or something’.

‘Ha’. I quickly smother a giggle. I’d thought
the exact same thing when I first met Luke. ‘Actually...no. There’s a lot more
to it. He’s definitely
not
an accountant.’

He is smirking. ‘Right.’

‘He’s a financial advisor. Don’t ask me any more
than that. He’s tried to explain it numerous times, but it’s a bit over my
head.’ As I’m talking I listen to the words tumbling from my mouth and try to
will myself to stop. Why am I telling him all of this? ‘He’s busy trying to
make off-shore contacts at the moment. But I’m not entirely sure what that
involves. That’s crazy isn’t it? I mean what kind of wife does that make me?’

Finally I manage to put a cork in it. Paul
continues to run along beside me in silence. I can’t help but wonder what he thinks
about my sudden outburst. He’s probably re-thinking this crush of his now.

After a minute I notice him turn to look at me.
I let my eyes stray to the left and they meet his. He smiles at me kind of
awkwardly and seems to be struggling to find his words. I should look away, but
there is something compelling in his expression. We keep staring at each other
and then his face softens.