Trail of Secrets (12 page)

Miss you
,

Pete

I thought about sending him a reply right away but didn't know what I'd say. I'd been so looking forward to seeing him in a few weeks that I'd managed to overlook everything else. I knew other students made it home for the Thanksgiving weekend without much problem. Maybe there really was another girl keeping Pete at McGill for the holiday. I wouldn't be all that shocked, I guess. Pete was such a good person, and I knew other girls would think so too.

I sighed and turned off my computer, then picked up my stuffed bear and looked him in his unflinching glass eyes. “Promise you'll never leave me, Benny,” I said. “Even if you get a better offer.” I made Benny nod his stuffed head. “That's my boy,” I said. “My loyal friend to the bitter end.”

On Tuesday, I ate a big breakfast in preparation for the morning's race—cereal and a banana, a bagel with cream cheese, orange juice and a strawberry yoghurt. It should all be nicely working through my system by the time eleven o'clock rolled around. I checked the weather report as I ate and was happy to see the warm air mass was still hanging around, and we wouldn't be getting any rain until after supper. At least I wouldn't be physically miserable.

“I can drive you to school to conserve your energy for the race,” said Dad.

“That's okay. I don't mind walking. It'll loosen up my muscles,” I said.

“I'll take a ride,” Roxie offered. “I have my science project to bring in today, and it's kind of heavy.” She and Dad had worked all weekend on a model volcano that spewed purple lava. I couldn't say who'd enjoyed the project more.

“No problem.” Dad said. “I wish I could stick around to watch you present, but I have cars lined up at work this morning.”

“I'll give a full report after school,” Roxie said. “Say, Jennifer, good luck with your race. May the force be with you.”

I laughed. “And with you. Hope your presentation gets an A+.”

In the end, I almost missed the bus to Sir John A. McDonald because I had to wait for my lucky hooded sweatshirt to dry. I'd laid out the red sweatshirt the morning before but had discovered it was still damp when I'd gone to put it on. I stuck it in the dryer on low, hoping it wouldn't get stretched out of shape, and that took twenty minutes longer than I'd planned. Mr. Jacks was standing outside the bus, reading his clipboard when I arrived. I tried to slip past him unnoticed. Without lifting his head, he said, “Almost thought you'd decided to skip the run. Can't say as I'd have blamed you, Bannon.”

“Good to see you too, sir,” I said and stomped down the aisle to take a seat at the back of the bus. What was I doing here? Didn't I have enough sense to throw in the towel when failure was in my cards? Everyone else would have by now. But nooo . . . not me. My stubborn Bannon streak began to simmer as I focused in on the back of Mr. Jacks' bald head. Once, he half-turned in his seat and glanced my way. I could have sworn I saw his lips curve into a smile. There's one thing I hate, and that's when a male chauvinist like Mr. Jacks gets all smug, like he's got things all figured out. It makes me want to make him eat his superior, know-it-all words with a big side of crow.

We tumbled off the bus and milled around as the junior runners got their instructions. The stands were filled with senior runners and kids from Sir John A. who'd gotten the morning off to watch. I sat near our team and cheered on the junior racers, first the boys then
the girls. Each group made a couple of laps of the track before cutting off onto the bike path through the woods. They'd cordoned off the path and marked the way with coloured plastic ribbon on the trees. The juniors only had a four-kilometre run, ending with a lap around the track to the finish line. There had to be thirty boys and twenty-five girls running, a good number for our region, which covered several schools west of Toronto.

The first group of boys to finish the race lacked any Morton T. High runners. So did the second and third groups. Mr. Jacks shook his head as Timmy Bruce crossed the line in the twenty-first spot. Timmy'd been our best hope at a medal. It seemed like a pathetic grasping at straws, in hindsight.

Our junior girls fared about as well. A Grade Ten girl I didn't know from Morton placed seventeenth, but Miss Po acted like she'd just won a spot in the Olympic trials.

“Terrific!” she kept exclaiming over and over. If you didn't know Miss Po, you'd think she was being sarcastic.

Mr. Jacks motioned us over. “Twenty minutes to race time,” he barked. “Start warming up.”

I wandered over to a spot away from everyone else and began my regular routine. I tried to clear my head and think about how I'd pace myself. We had ten kilometres and a few hills to handle, or so Miss Po had told us in one of our practices. She'd wanted to bring us to Sir John A. for a trial run but hadn't been able to organize a bus. It wasn't a high priority with the powers that be since we weren't expected to do well.

The boys lined up first. They numbered close to forty and jostled for position as they rounded the track two
times. Within minutes, they'd all disappeared on the path into the woods.

“Ten minutes, ladies,” yelled some overweight guy with a megaphone.

We started moving closer to the start line. I glanced around. I recognized two Grade Twelve girls, Beth and Edith, from Morton. Two other Grade Eleven girls from our school rounded out our crew. We gravitated towards each other and gave some half-hearted high fives until Mr. Jacks bellowed at us to spread out. I did a quick head count and noted we were five amongst forty-four. Who'd have thought cross country would be popular at other schools? It didn't bode well for us.

I was hanging back a bit to get a spot behind the first line of runners when I heard my name being called from somewhere off to the right. I turned and scanned the bleachers. Evan Quinn was waving to me from the lower stands. I waved then turned back. At first it felt good to have someone cheering me on, but then I remembered it would be someone to witness my defeat. I tried to shrug off the negative thoughts. “You can do this,” I said. “You have the power.”

“Get set!” megaphone man yelled, then he pulled the trigger on the start gun. I felt my legs start to move of their own accord, swept along by the crowd of running girls.

By the second lap, I found myself in the middle of the pack with not much room to manoeuver. The other girls were keeping up a pretty good clip, but I wasn't tired at all and found I was sort of cruising, truth be told. I settled into a comfortable pace and found a slightly larger girl to run behind, using her draft to make my life easier. Then
we started onto the path, and I found her pace a bit too slow. I passed her reluctantly and took my time running past a few more girls. I wasn't too worried about my place in the pack because I knew we had a few hills and lots of path left to run. I actually started to enjoy the day, feeling the sun on my face and listening for birds singing in the trees overhead. Another group of girls came into view, and I loped past them without problem. I could tell they were starting to feel winded by their laboured breathing. I still felt pretty good. I met the first major hill with anticipation. It wasn't the steep incline I'd been expecting, and I kept my pace as I rounded the corner at its uppermost point. The path ahead was free of runners, and I could pretend I was alone in the woods with nobody trying to catch me. I started thinking about Pete's new life at McGill, and Mom and Leslie living in California with Mr. Putterman, and I could feel myself picking up my pace. Then I thought about Evan leaving at the end of the week and Ambie's real dad appearing out of nowhere, and I jogged past a few more girls I met on the next hill. I started feeling myself grow tired, but that soon passed, and I managed to keep up my rhythm. I grabbed a cup of water from an outstretched hand at a way station about five kilometres in and sipped to keep up my fluids. I tossed the cup onto the side of the path and kept going.

At about seven kilometres, I began to tire again, so I slowed my pace a bit to give myself time to recover. Even at that, I passed a few more runners who seemed to be running out of steam. I knew that most of the runners who'd started out strong would begin to flag by this point
unless they were in really good condition. Another hill, and I began to feel good again. This time I passed about five girls who appeared to be struggling. I tried to count in my head how many I'd passed but couldn't get enough oxygen to make any sense of it.

A third hill and another big curve, and I started on the downward slope. I had to be careful not to turn an ankle as I flew down the hill. I could see three more jackets up ahead, and I focused hard on catching them. I remember their surprised faces as I passed by them on the left. One girl even glared at me like I was doing something illegal. I passed the nine-kilometre flag and felt a surge of joy in my belly. One more kilometre to go, and I was still feeling pretty good. I couldn't see any more girls in front of me and wondered how far ahead they were. Did I have enough time and wind to catch them? I decided it might be worth picking up my speed a notch.

I saw the end of the path up ahead and no runners in sight. It worried me until I decided that I'd passed enough girls to place a respectful ninth or tenth. After all, nobody had passed me, so I should be doing okay. It might not be enough to impress Mr. Jacks, but it ought to be enough to send Miss Po into nirvana.

A few seconds later, I left the woods and broke onto the track, knowing I had one lap to go. None of the girls I'd passed appeared to be closing in on me, so that was a relief. By now, I was getting tired, and I needed something to keep me going. Two things actually popped into my line of vision to propel me forward. The first was Mr. Jacks standing halfway around the track, pumping his fist over his head and
jumping up and down like a crazy person. His striped green and white toque had slid to one side, making him look like a big, drunken elf. I remember wondering what had gotten him so worked up. The second thing was Evan Quinn standing near the finish line, his one hand cupped around his mouth as he yelled at me to keep going and his other arm waving me forward. I felt myself dig deeper—my thoughts were a cross between wanting to show Mr. Jacks I wasn't a failure and hoping not to let Evan down. “Okay, Bannon,” I said to myself. “Now would be the time to sprint.”

Lord only knows how I managed to make my legs go faster. In the end, I think it just came down to Bannon determination. I literally flew across the finish line before I realized the race was over. I slowed my pace and took some deep breaths, more winded than I'd ever been in any of my imaginary races. Then I stopped and bent over, putting my hands on my knees while I caught my breath. I could hear people cheering, and after a few more deep breaths, I raised my head to see how many others had crossed the line ahead of me. As I scanned the track, Miss Po threw her arms around me, and Evan was wrapping another arm around my back. Then it struck me. Nobody had crossed the finish line ahead of me. Mr. Jacks chose that moment to yell in my ear while he waved a stop watch in the air, “You broke the senior girls' record, Bannon! I knew you could do it!” Then pandemonium broke loose in the Morton T. High section of the stands.

It was odd being treated like a returning hero. Mr. Jacks actually got on the intercom the next morning during biology class and announced my win—he called it “the victory of the decade”. After he said those words, I sank deeper into my seat and waved sheepishly at my classmates, who were cheering and letting out catcalls and whistles. My eyes met Evan's. He was grinning at me and giving me a thumbs-up. Mr. Jacks finished by saying the girls' trophy with my name on it would be in the showcase at the main entrance for the whole year.

“Buy your tickets here!” said Toby Manning. “Guess none of us guys are going to be able to catch you, eh Bannon?”

“Only if I want to be caught,” I said, and we all laughed. It was better than sitting there all embarrassed by the attention. It was no big deal really, except I did feel a shiver of pleasure down my back. It had been quite a while since I'd felt that kind of pride in myself.

Mr. Williams passed out our marked tests, and I had a second thrill for the morning—eighty-nine per cent. That kept my mid-term average in the high eighties, somewhere it had never been before. I shoved the test into my binder and stood to go to French. Gillian walked me to the door.

“I aced the test,” she said.

“Oh? What did you get?” I didn't normally ask, but I was a little surprised, considering Gillian's aversion to frogs.

“Fifty-three per cent,” she said happily. “I didn't even study much.”

“Wow, that's great,” I said, smiling.

“Oh, how did you do?” Gillian asked.

“About the same as you,” I said. It wasn't that long ago that I would have been satisfied with a mark in the fifties. I knew exactly where Gillian was coming from.