The Running Dream (17 page)

“There it is,” Shandall says with mock reverence. “The Oval of Pain.”

I laugh and tell her, “Go on. You’ve got to warm up, stretch out, and bring home some fives!”

“I don’t know about
that
,” she says, “but if I get a third and we win by one, I’m takin’ credit for the whole shootin’ match!”

“You do that!” I laugh.

She takes off, and I swing forward toward the field.

I want to wish my team good luck.

And I want to stand among them and somehow believe that I still belong.

I
JOIN THE PRE-MEET
L
IBERTY HUDDLE
, then stay infield to cheer on runners in the 4×100–meter relays and the 1600-meter runs. The heats go fast—JV girls, JV boys, varsity girls, varsity boys—but each race is still a long process.

When the varsity girls line up for the 1600, I head over to Rigor Mortis Bend and shout my heart out for Fiona each time she goes by. She’s ahead at the 800-meter mark, but I can see her tighten up during the third lap. She holds on for as long as she can, but at 1400 meters she loses her lead and has to fight with everything she’s got to stay in second place.

She does get second, though, which brings in three points for the team, but she is not happy. “That’s six seconds slower than my PR,” she says, gasping for air when we meet up. “That third lap
killed
me. I just never recovered.”

I give her a pep talk and a hug, and after she’s caught her breath, she mutters, “Time to play nice with the Manipulator,” and wanders off to the high-jump pit.

I don’t tag along. I’m feeling kind of worn out, and I’m really not in the mood to make phony chitchat with Merryl
Abrams. Especially since it’s pretty hard not to notice that Gavin’s over there with her. So when Kyro and some parent helpers start setting up hurdles, I take the opportunity to crutch across the track to the bleachers.

Liberty High’s track has only one set of bleachers. It’s got steps up the middle, which divides it into two sections, one for home, one for away. Nobody pays attention to that, though. Even with our standing in league, usually the only people who show up at track meets are dedicated parents, plus the occasional boyfriend or girlfriend. It’s not like there are squads of cheering voices. Besides, it’s way more important to find a group to huddle with to help body-block the rising winds, and some afternoons anyone will do.

As I hobble across the track, I feel like I’m getting stares from people in the bleachers. I can see parents whispering to each other about me.

Or maybe I’m imagining it.

Maybe they’re not noticing me at all.

I go up the entrance steps, take a seat on the bottom bench, lay my crutches down, and unload my backpack. Then I sit through the 100-meter hurdles for the girls and the 110-meter high hurdles for the boys.

There are legs, legs, everywhere.

I watch them move so effortlessly.

Pair after pair of perfectly tuned, beautifully timed legs.

How could I never have seen them this way before?

In between the races I watch the high-jump pit, out in the distance.

Gavin’s still there.

I feel my heartbeat grow faster inside my chest. I try to calm it, but it pounds maddeningly harder. Pretty soon, my breathing turns shallow, and then there’s the familiar flutter of butterflies in my stomach.

This has nothing to do with Gavin Vance.

It has everything to do with the hurdles being cleared.

The 400-meter is next.

Starting blocks are adjusted, and soon the JV girls shake out and get into position.

I grip the rail in front of me as the starter calls, “To your mark! Set!” Then the starting gun cracks and my heart gallops away.

I want to cheer for the girls. I want to dash to the infield and root them around Rigor Mortis Bend. But all I can do is death-grip the rail and fight back the lump in my throat.

This is not my heat, but this is my race.

My
race.

There’s a soft voice beside me. “Jessica?”

I turn and see a woman I don’t know sitting beside me.

Oh, wait. She
is
a little familiar.

My mind scrambles to remember. She’s not one of our runners’ moms. She’s actually too well put together for any kind of track mom. Her hair’s long and sleek with subtle highlights. Her hands are perfectly manicured. But mostly it’s her clothes—they’re classy. Nothing sweats-like about them.

Who is she?

“I’m Claudia Steele,” she says softly. “Vanessa’s mom?”

She has her hand out, so I shake it, but I’m stunned.

“I just want to say how sorry I am,” she begins.

I move to pull my hand away, but she holds it.

“I don’t know the right words to use,” she continues. “I don’t know if there are right words.”

In her eyes I see … sincerity.

My hand stops pulling.

“Thanks,” I tell her, and for a moment I forget that there’s a race going on.

She does finally let go of my hand, but she doesn’t leave. Through the JV boys’ race neither of us says a word. And it’s odd to sit through the girls’ varsity lineup with her beside me.

I wish her away. Her being there is making me terribly uncomfortable. But she just sits there, silently watching as Vanessa adjusts her trademark racing glasses, rolls her shoulders and neck, shakes out her legs, and finally gets down in the blocks.

“This has to be very hard on you,” Mrs. Steele says.

I keep my eyes fixed on the runners.
Please
, I think,
just go away
. But then out of my mouth slips, “This is my first time back.”

I could kick myself.

Why am I talking to her if I want her to go away?

The gun goes off and Vanessa shoots from the blocks. She gathers speed and her stride lengthens. Her legs are long.

Fluid.

Beautiful.

I close my eyes and try to stop my chin from quivering.

What made me think I could do this?

Vanessa wins the race easily, which gives Langston five
points. But we get three for second and one for third, so Langston nets only one point.

Still, it’s hard to take.

Especially with my rival’s mother sitting beside me.

I’m just thinking of an excuse to leave, since she’s not, when Vanessa comes clomping up the steps. She’s still wearing her racing glasses. “That track is a
joke,
” she spits out. “This whole place is a joke! My time was terrible!”

I have an urge to flatten her.

She’s made her mother uncomfortable too. And I can tell Mrs. Steele wants to say something to her daughter, but before she can, Vanessa holds out a hand. “Can I see my phone?”

Her mother produces it from her purse, and as she’s handing it over, she says, “You recognize Jessica Carlisle, don’t you?”

“Yeah, hey,” she says to me, checking for texts. She hands the phone back to her mother, then turns and walks away.

“Vanessa!” her mother calls, but Vanessa says, “I’ve got to get a rubdown before the hurdles!”

“Vanessa!” her mother snaps, but she doesn’t even get acknowledged this time.

“Excuse my daughter,” Mrs. Steele says after a moment. Her hands are shaking as she refastens her purse, and when it’s closed, she faces me and says, “No, excuse
me
for raising such a self-absorbed daughter.”

Then she stands and walks away, leaving me the same way she found me.

Stunned.

A
FTER
I
GET OVER MY SHOCK
, I can only think of one thing to do.

Tell Fiona!

I wait until the next race is over, then crutch across the track and make my way toward the high-jump area.

Before I can reach it, Gavin intercepts me. “It’s great to see you out here!” he says.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him at any meet ever, so I tell him, “It’s great to see you out here, too,” but with limited enthusiasm. I nod over at Merryl, who’s a few yards away, pulling on her sweats. “How’d she do?”

He glances over his shoulder at her. “She tried her best.”

I hold back a snicker, because he seems to really mean it. Merryl’s best is about 4′6″ and involves a lot of drama. And since high jump is her only event, she’s always finding some excuse to leave after she’s eliminated. “So you taking off?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? This is Langston! We’re the underdogs! We need to win this thing!”

I give him a curious look. “Wow, Gavin. I had no idea you were so into track.”

He laughs. “It’s sort of contagious, isn’t it?” There’s a sweetness to the blush of his cheeks that I try very hard to ignore.

“You ever thought about running?”

He shrugs. “I used to be fast in elementary school … but that was a long time ago. And I don’t exactly come from a family of sportspeople.”

I eye him. “You can be a politician
and
run, you know. And I’m not talking about for office.”

He laughs again, then gives his chin scruff a thoughtful scratch. “That’s a whole new paradigm, isn’t it?”

Merryl is suddenly upon us. “Hey, Jess,” she says, then turns to Gavin. “I have a killer headache. I really need to get home.”

This creates an awkward moment, so I tell them both, “See ya,” and hobble over in time to see Fiona’s approach. The bar’s at 4′10″, and she flips over it with ease.

“Nice!” I tell her when she comes back around. They have to cycle through all the remaining jumpers before it’s Fiona’s turn again, so I’ve got time to tell her what happened. “Guess who sat next to me during the four hundred.”

“Who?”

“Vanessa Steele’s
mother.
”

“No!” She blinks at me. “On purpose?”

So I tell her the story from beginning to end, and when I’m done, she gasps, “Unbelievable! The whole thing is unbelievable!”

“Bartlett!” the pit judge calls. “Bartlett, you’re up!”

“Gotta go,” Fiona says. She takes her mark, composes herself, rocks back and forth a few times, then approaches the bar and flips right over it.

She returns to me, breathless. “I am so pumped right now!” she laughs. “Everyone will be when they hear about it!”

I grab her arm. “Wait! No! You can’t tell other people!”

“Why not?” she asks, incredulous.

“Because …” I try to sort things out quickly in my mind, but I don’t really know why. It just feels wrong. “Because her mom was really nice.”

“So?”

“So … I think it’s … you know … bad karma.”

She squints at me. “Bad
karma
? Vanessa Steele is what’s bad karma!”

“Look, just don’t, okay?”

She sighs. “Whatever you say.” Then she gets fiery again. “But I’m gonna yell my lungs out for Annie and Giszelda in the three-hundred hurdles.”

“I’ll yell with you!” I say it with a laugh, because we always cheer for them. Annie and Giszelda are fun and funny, and awesome hurdlers.

They’re just not as good as Vanessa.

I
T’S DOWN TO TWO VARSITY GIRL
high jumpers—Fiona and a Langston jumper named Yassi—when the hurdles are set up again for the 300-meter race. The finish line is very near the high-jump area, which is pretty convenient for us, but it’s doing nothing for Fiona’s concentration. She already missed one pass at 5′2″ when the JV girls were hurdling, and when we see varsity line up, she decides she doesn’t want to risk missing again.