The Running Dream (23 page)

“There’s no stopping you, is there?” he says with a chuckle.

“Not where Fiona’s concerned,” I tell him. “She has been the most incredible friend.”

I don’t know if it’s my comment about Fiona or him not wanting to leave me alone on Rigor Mortis Bend, but he stays there with me. I cheer for Fiona on her first lap, and when she hits the 600-meter mark on her second time around, she’s trailing the first-place runner from Hartwell, but not by much.

When she crests the curve and hits the bend, I can see the grit on Fiona’s face. The focus. I shout, “You can do it, Fiona—pass her!”

Gavin cheers her on too, and it’s cute because you can tell he’s never actually done this before. Words come out, but they’re shy. He’s shouting, but there’s nothing really
loud
about it.

When Fiona hits the straightaway, her head bobs and she bears down, moving out a lane to pass the girl from Hartwell.

“Kick it, Fiona! Kick it in!” I shout, and then hold my breath as she edges ahead and wins the race.

“She did it! She did it!” I squeal. And I find myself
jumping and hugging—just like I would with anyone else on the team.

Only this isn’t just anyone.

This is Gavin Vance.

And it’s my first physical contact with him of any kind. I’ve never even accidentally bumped or brushed or
touched
him before.

And now I’m hugging him?

“Sorry!” I say, pulling away. Then I try to cover up my embarrassment with words. “It’s just … you have no idea how hard the eight hundred is. There’s no way you could get me to run that race. It’s the four hundred times two! Rigor Mortis Bend
twice
. I have trouble facing it even once!” I start moving away from him. “Well, I’m going to go congratulate her. Thanks for helping cheer her on.”

And I escape.

Not that there’s any danger of him following me.

Not with Merryl making a beeline toward him the way she is.

B
OTH VARSITY TEAMS WIN HANDILY
against Hartwell, and the JV boys and girls squeak by.

But it’s still a sweep, and everyone is pumped.

Merryl’s nowhere to be found, but what else is new? And since Gavin disappeared with her, it’s easy for me to just celebrate the moment with my team.

Afterward Fiona drops me at home, and to my surprise, the Channel 7 news van is parked at the curb. When I get inside the house, I hear my dad saying, “They’re still arguing about whose responsibility it is, and meanwhile what are we supposed to do? This was a school event. It happened on a school bus.”

I can’t believe he’s telling them this. And the cameraman is getting it all on video!

“Dad!” I say, throwing down my backpack. “What are you trying to do? Get everyone at school to hate me?”

Marla Sumner signals the cameraman to cut, then turns to me. “This is a really important part of the story, Jessica.”

“No! The story is that my team is trying to do something
amazing and positive! We do not have to get into all this negative stuff!”

She considers this a moment, then has some silent exchange with my dad before smiling at me and saying, “Your mother told me about Sherlock. Could we get some footage of you and him in your front yard?”

“Sure,” I tell her.

Anything to change the subject.

Anything to get her away from my dad.

After about ten minutes outside, Marla and her cameraman pack up and take off. I hang outside with Sherlock a little longer because I’m still upset with my father, but when I go back inside, I discover that
he’s
upset with
me
.

He sits me down at the kitchen table.

Mom is standing off to the side, quiet.

“I’m sorry if you think I’m being negative,” he says. “I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to talk about the school district’s obligation to meet your basic medical needs. But here’s the reality: While the insurance companies are dragging their feet, I am working twelve, fourteen, sixteen hours a day to keep us afloat. While they’re deciding who is responsible for your hospital bills, your mother and I have taken out a second mortgage on the house. It won’t begin to pay for everything, but for now it’ll put off collection agencies and ruined credit or bankruptcy. Because their lawyers are playing a game of cat and mouse, we’ve had to hire our own, and he’s told us that these kinds of cases usually take
years
to settle. But if we don’t fight for your rights now, you will get a measly settlement that won’t include the medical care and prosthetic limbs that you’ll need
in the years ahead. You’re still growing, Jessica, and your body will keep changing. Plus prosthetic legs wear out. I’ve researched this, and you will need dozens of legs in your lifetime. At twenty thousand dollars a pop, that’s not something we’re willing to let go or pretend isn’t a problem. As your parents, we need to prepare for your future. Anything less would be completely irresponsible. So if you think I was being ‘negative’ with the news crew, I’m sorry. The fact is I’m just looking out for you.”

“How was I supposed to know?” I snap. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“Maybe we should have,” Dad says wearily. “But we thought you were dealing with enough already.”

I just sit there feeling awful.

I’ve known that my parents have worries, but I thought they would go away. I figured that in time everything would work itself out.

But while I’ve been living day to day, worrying about walking, my parents have been taking the long view, thinking about my future.

Before the accident, “my future” just meant college. College is something I haven’t thought about since the accident, but Fiona and I did have plans.

Big plans.

And now, thinking about my future, I’m slapped with the reality that attending our dream college is no longer an option for me.

My parents couldn’t afford it then.

I’ll never get a running scholarship now.

So Fiona will be going there without me.

That thought, along with everything my dad said and the obvious toll this has taken on my parents, hits me in the gut like an unexpected punch. “I’m sorry,” I choke out.

Then I go up to my room and cry my eyes out.

I
SEEM TO HAVE
long heart-to-hearts with everyone that night.

Mom, Dad, Fiona, Kaylee … even Sherlock, although the one with him is pretty one-sided. By bedtime I’m sick to death of trying to sort through everything, and I tell Dad that he can call the news station back if he wants to.

He kisses me on the forehead and tells me for the hundredth time that he wishes he could change things. And then, right before he closes my door, he turns to me and asks, “What was Lucy’s last name?”

“Lucy? Sanders,” I answer. But as he’s leaving, I have a horrible thought. “Wait!”

He looks back into the room.

“You can’t have her parents depositioned or dispositioned or whatever you were talking about before. Lucy’s dead! They’re not going to want to talk to lawyers. It would be mean to ask them to help us!”

He gives me a curious look, and I can see him trying to stay calm. “Jessica,” he says quietly, “I want to see if I can help
them
.”

Then he closes the door.

L
EAGUE PRELIMS TAKE PLACE
over the weekend. Kyro invites me along, but I’m still not ready to get on a school bus, let alone stay on one for over a hundred miles each way.

Instead, I help Mom in her flower garden. She’s bought pansies and vinca and gazania, verbena, impatiens, and marigolds, and sacks of potting soil. She bustles about, uprooting dead plants and weeds, and mulching new life into the tired dirt.

She’s late with her planting this year, and she shouldn’t have waited. As the day wears on and the new plants get nestled into earth, her whole being seems to change. She hums.

She blooms.

Sherlock is out in the yard with us, gnawing on a stick. He seems content too, ignoring the fluttering birds and the occasional pedestrian.

I think about the seasons.

About the joys of spring.

About the cold, hard days and long, dark nights of winter.

I wonder if old people ever look back on their lives and see it in terms of seasons.

Years of summer.

Decades of spring.

I wonder what I’ll see when I look back later in life. Looking back now, I see sixteen years of springtime, followed by a deep, sudden freeze.

I wonder how long this winter will be for me.

I wonder how long I’ll have only glimpses of sunshine.

I wonder if it’ll ever be enough to thaw the freeze, or if the ice will just soften for a moment, then harden again.

My mother shakes me from my thoughts. “It’s so nice to have you out here with me.” She takes off her gloves and holds my face. “My family, and my flowers. That’s all I need in this world.”

I smile and try to hold on to the warmth of her sunshine.

F
IONA QUALIFIES EASILY
for the league finals in the 800 and the high jump. I had no doubt that she would, but I heap on the praise anyway. “Congratulations!” I gush on our way to school Monday morning. “I want to hear all about it!”

She’s happy to oblige but catches herself after a few minutes. “Is this okay to do?”

“Of course it is!” I say, but the truth is, I’m feeling like I really missed out.

She glances at me. “I’m sorry. I’m being an idiot.”

“Hey, it’s fine! I really want to know.” I try to jumpstart her by asking, “So did Vanessa dominate the four hundred?”

Fiona scowls. “Yes. And the hurdles. You should have seen her struttin’ around.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?”

She eyes me. “She didn’t break your record, though, so nanny on her.”

I laugh, “Nanny on her?”

“Yeah,” she says, grinning. “Nanny-nanny-nah on her!”
Then she adds, “Oh! And Merryl didn’t even bother to show up. Kyro called her at home when the bus was set to leave and her mother said she was sick.”

“Yeah, right. But she wouldn’t have qualified for finals anyway.”