Eleven Things I Promised

by Catherine Clark

  I stepped back from the long folding table and wondered if I could leave my phone here to charge while I went to bed. Probably not. Sure, my phone case was distinctive enough—a geometric black-and-white pattern that made you feel like it went on forever when you looked at it—but then again, look at this crowd. There were just too many phones here.

  I sat on the ground and looked up at the stars, which seemed even brighter tonight than usual. I was gazing at the constellations when somebody nudged my ankle. “Mind if I . . .” Margo held up a phone cord.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said, my eyes closing as I tried to wait up until my phone had more percentage points. Maybe it was already high enough right now, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to sit beside Margo for the next hour.

  “Do you want me to wait up for yours?” she suddenly asked. “I have to be here anyway.”

  That sounded so nice, I almost said yes. But this was Margo. “No thanks. I’m kind of enjoying being out here.”

  “Me too. The tents make me claustrophobic,” she said. “If I could sleep out here instead, I’d do that, but I hate bug bites more than anything.” She brushed her leg, whether at a mosquito or something else, I wasn’t sure. “So. You going to tell me or what?”

  “Tell you?”

  “Why you did that dance thing last night.”

  “I just thought it would be fun,” I said. “Stella told me that I should try to have a good time on this trip, and since riding isn’t exactly always fun for me, then I have to create fun another way.”

  She looked as if she didn’t believe me, as if she had something else on her mind. “Seems like a strange way to have fun. Did you only do it so you could send Stella a picture?”

  “That was part of it,” I said. “She’s still really upset she couldn’t be here.”

  “Is she going to sign up for something else? You know, like, maybe this summer?”

  Her question caught me completely off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “Another ride,” she said. “There’s one in July—how long does it take a broken leg to heal? I can’t remember.”

  “I don’t know if she’ll be ready for that,” I said. “But when she is—yeah, I’m sure she will.”

  There was an awkward silence between us that went on for so long that I was about to bail, charge or no charge, when Margo said, “I know. Okay?”

  “Know what?” I replied.

  “About Stella,” she said. “What’s really going on.”

  She doesn’t know anything, I told myself. She’s bluffing, looking for information. If she could pretend, then I could, too. Margo was the last person in the world I’d want to tell something secret to.

  “She might say she’s okay, but she’s not okay. I tried to FaceTime with her once she was back home—she only talked to me for a couple of minutes, but I saw how she looked. Her face. It’s the same look my mom has,” Margo said.

  I took my time responding. I didn’t want her to think I was too eager to know her theories. “What look is that, exactly?” I asked.

  “Like she’s totally unhealthy and miserable. Like there’s something big wrong, something she’s not telling us,” said Margo. “And you’re keeping it a secret, too.”

  “No. There isn’t,” I said. “Margo, she got hit by a car. How do you expect her to look and feel?” She didn’t say anything. “What’s going on with your mom?”

  “She has colon cancer and she’s doing chemo,” said Margo. “One week on, one week off. It’s her second time through it. The last time wasn’t totally successful.”

  I felt awful, thinking of Margo’s mom, who used to be one of my mom’s closest friends. That was how Margo and I ended up at the same preschool. The fact that we didn’t get along made it hard for my mom to schedule playdates for the four of us—even back then.

  Why hadn’t I known about this? Did my mom know about it? “Whoa. Margo, I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “What am I going to say? Hey, everyone, my mom is pretty ill, actually. Yeah, so. Have a great day.”

  I couldn’t respond. She had a point. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well. Not much anyone can do. Just treat it, you know? Meanwhile, she’s wasting away to nothing. Have you seen my mom lately? She’s a rail,” Margo said bitterly.

  I pictured Stella, who’d barely been eating. Lately, her meals consisted of high-protein shakes that I’d never seen her actually finish.

  I couldn’t believe Margo was confiding in me like this. She never talked to me on this level. I was tempted to tell her about Stella. If she was willing to be this vulnerable, then maybe I should be, too. I could at least be honest with her.

  But it wasn’t what I wanted to do that mattered; it was what Stella wanted and needed. I’d sworn to keep her condition a secret.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said. “How long will it last? I mean, the chemo? How long will it be until she starts feeling better?”

  I didn’t ask her what I really wanted to know. The questions I had been asking myself every day since I’d agreed to participate in the race. Like: How can you be out here, riding, when she’s at home? How do you deal with worrying about her in the middle of the night? How can you think about time trials and winning?

  “Who knows?” said Margo. “She stops this round in a week, and after that, I guess . . . I don’t know.”

  I wanted to offer her a hug, even though that wasn’t my style. She looked so miserable. But this was the same person who’d ignored me for the past four years. On the other hand, did it make sense to hold a grudge at this point?

  It’s just a hug. It’s not like you’re signing a NATO peace treaty.

  I ended up compromising by giving her a super-awkward pat on the arm, which probably just made Margo uncomfortable.

  “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” she suddenly asked.

  “What?”

  “You smell like a disgusting bar. Why am I even bothering with you?”

  “I’m not drunk,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You are. Go brush your teeth. You are not getting us kicked off this trip.”

  “Fine. Listen, if you talk to your mom, tell her I said hi.” I unplugged my phone, thinking that was probably the stupidest thing I could have said just then.

  I stopped halfway to the tent and looked back at Margo. She was leaning against a picnic table bench, crouched over her phone, a soft glow lighting her face while she typed intently.

  Everyone had secrets. Everyone. It was just that I’d promised Stella to keep hers.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Come on, Franny, get up. Rise and shine!”

  I groaned at the sound of Oxendale’s overly energetic voice. “I can’t get up. And quit calling me Franny,” I mumbled into my pillow on Tuesday morning. Only Stella was allowed to call me that—and her family, by extension.

  I slowly opened my eyes to see Oxendale and Cameron standing in the tent’s doorway. Oh, crap. If Cameron was up, then I was definitely late.

  “You’re going to miss breakfast,” Cameron said.

  I sat up and looked around the tent, quickly realizing that not only were all the other girls up, but they’d already packed. The place was bare.

  Then it came back to me: the night before . . .

  Chugging vodka lemonade or whatever it was with Scully and the “Scullywags.”

  Calling Mason and babbling.

  The heart-to-heart with Margo.

  I wanted to lie back down, slide into my sleeping bag, and hide.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked, rubbing my cheeks with my fingers, trying to snap out of the dream I was having that I already couldn’t remember.

  “Late night?” asked Cameron.

  “No,” I said. “Well, maybe.”

  “Max told us you were fraternizing with some other teams,” Oxendale commented. “Said you left early and he had no idea where you went.”

  Fraterniz
ing? What did that even mean? “That’s because he’s Max and he took off with some new girl,” I said. “He had no idea that I came back here.”

  “What’s your story then?” asked Cameron.

  “There’s no story. I came back here and I, uh, crashed.” My head was pounding, I was already tired, but it was time to get up and start this whole thing over again. I climbed out of the tent, crouched over, and nearly screamed in pain.

  It was my legs—more specifically my calves, and my quads, and come to think of it, my back, and my ankles weren’t so good, either.

  Cameron grabbed me by the arm to keep me from falling. “Muscle cramp again?”

  “Is that what you call it? It feels like muscle death.”

  “You need another massage,” Cameron said, and I wasn’t sure if he meant a professional effort or one of his own, like the rubdown he’d given my ankles and calves the day before. I blushed, thinking about his hands on my legs. “But in the meantime, walk around and they’ll stretch out.”

  “You mean, limp around? I can do that.” I winced with every step as I headed to the breakfast buffet, taking short, mincing steps, like an older person might. Three lonely bagels remained on a serving tray, along with some slightly cold scrambled eggs and an orange. I don’t even like oranges, but I couldn’t afford to be picky.

  I gulped some juice and water, ate quickly, then hurried to get changed and ready for the start of the day’s ride. I made sure I had everything I needed for the day, then stashed my duffel, sleeping bag, and sleeping pad at the truck, in the spot reserved for our team.

  I stopped for a minute to read the “Current Standings” list posted on the inside of the truck. Instead of times, the list tracked money raised. Thanks to our fast riders, we’d earned two thousand dollars extra so far. Lucky for me, or for the cause, actually, dollars were not deducted based on my finishing times.

  I heard a horn blare five times in the distance—that meant five minutes until starting time.

  I ran over to my bike and quickly grabbed my water bottles, filled them, and placed them in their metal holders. Then I headed to the starting line and got ready to shove off with everyone else.

  While Heather’s daily instructions and inspiring remarks drifted over the crowd, I looked around, trying to figure out where the rest of my team was. I started at the front and walked toward the back. Margo was at the front—no surprise there. A few rows back were Oxendale and Cameron, and off to the side were Alex and Autumn in matching colors, head to toe, enough to make me puke even if I hadn’t also just downed a bagel and orange in four minutes flat.

  I spotted Max—his tattooed arms made him stand out in a high school crowd—beside the same girl he’d vanished with the night before. I got into line at the back. There was a nudge against my back tire, and I turned to see Elsa pushing her way up beside me. “You and me,” she said. “We’ll ride.”

  “You’ll ride with me?” I asked, incredulous. Elsa might be quiet, but she was amazingly fast. Stella told me that Elsa had once won a time trial but refused to take the medal because she felt it should go to someone else for courage. So she was a bit of a space cadet, but also extremely sweet, and skilled. It was a combination I wasn’t used to. How could she be so fast and so numbers-oriented on the bike and yet never turn in homework on time, or even keep track of her class schedule? I could think of endless times she’d drifted into a class, late, or I’d see her out in the school courtyard with her headphones on, when she was supposed to be in French with me.

  “Sure, of course,” she said. She always talks in this dreamy voice, even though she barely ever says more than one sentence. It was like she was reciting poetry, a few careful words at a time. You started to feel lucky she was talking to you, that you got her precious wisdom. But then she’d say something completely screwball.

  The horn blew, and when I pushed off, my legs felt like lead. I was moving at a turtle’s pace, or it felt that way, anyway. I’d have liked to see a turtle—even a slug—ride as slowly as I did at the start, my bike weaving a little like a deflating balloon that’s going down, down, down. . . .

  Stay on the bike, I told myself. It’s for Stella. You can’t start the day by falling. I gradually steadied myself and the bike and got a grip, literally and figuratively.

  “Flat course,” Elsa said after a bit, when the road leveled out.

  “I’m going slow,” I told her. “The whole way.”

  A few minutes later she added, “No worries,” in her wispy voice.

  I glanced over at her as we reached a good cruising speed a bit later, when we got onto a different road where the shoulder was wide enough to ride side by side. As long as I didn’t push myself too hard, I could do this for a while. Then I saw a steady stream of water sliding from Elsa’s eyes to her ears, through her helmet’s chin strap.

  “Elsa?” I asked. “Are you crying?”

  “No. Maybe a little,” she said.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Seasonal allergies,” she said, the words rolling off her tongue like song lyrics, like seasonal allergies are something you wished you had.

  I looked ahead at the long, flat section, and saw riders stretching out even more than yesterday, some attacking at the front and some relaxing. We were a long, winding chain that was loose but still connected. It was something I thought about re-creating somehow—in a drawing, maybe a painting.

  Maybe I could become a cyclist after all, at some point, because it felt really cool, even if I was at the back. Now I knew what Stella was talking about—even if this might never have been her view, from way back here.

  I reached for my phone to take a picture, so I’d have it to work from. Only it wasn’t in the little handlebar bag where I’d been keeping it. I pulled off to the side of the road and started searching. It wasn’t in my bike seat bag, not in my baggy shorts’ side pockets, not in my zippered back pocket.

  Elsa peeled around and came back to me. “What is it?” she asked.

  “I can’t find my phone. Can you call it for me?” I waited for her to take out her phone and then listed the digits. She dialed, and I waited. But there was no sound, nothing at all.

  I’d lost my phone.

  It had the past three years of photos on it. Photos of me and Stella. Three years of music downloads. Three years of memories. My entire high school existence.

  “Where are you going?” asked Elsa as I got ready to head in the opposite direction.

  “My phone—it has to be back at the tent site. I’ll get back there before they pack up.”

  “You can’t,” Elsa said.

  “I have to. The phone has everything!” I said. “I have to. Go ahead, it’s okay. I’ll find the sag wagon and have them take me.”

  “They can’t,” said Elsa.

  Her soothing voice had no effect on me right now; in fact, just the opposite. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” I told her, and she looked at me uncertainly, head tilted, like a cat who didn’t understand why I wasn’t sharing that bowl of cereal with her. I knew the idea of me catching up to her or to this pack in general was ludicrous, but I didn’t have an option.

  I pushed off and started riding as hard as I could against the oncoming line, on the other side of the road. “Wrong way!” a few people yelled to me, as if this was amusing, and I just looked down at the road and kept pumping. I’d find the tent, I’d find my phone.

  When the sag wagon saw me, the driver, Fred, signaled me to stop. “What’s going on, Frances?” he asked.

  “I lost my phone.” I started babbling, telling them how it was invaluable, how it was almost a part of me.

  “It’s just a phone. And you can’t go back,” Heather told me. “We’re fifteen miles out already.”

  “We are?” I really needed to start paying attention to the little counter on the handlebars. It had valuable information, apparently.

  “Yes—”

  “But that’s only ten minutes by car,” I said. “We can zip
back and—”

  Heather shook her head. “No, we can’t.”

  “Can everyone stop saying can’t for a second?” I cried.

  “Look, there are things we can do, but we can’t go back right now. While Fred drives, I’ll call the grounds crew, the truck. We’ll have them search the tent, your bag, and everything,” Heather said. “Okay? Now, I’m going to need a description of the thing, so how about you ride with us for a while?”

  “The miles—the ride. I have to get that done,” I said, even as I climbed off the bike and watched Fred effortlessly put it in a bike rack on top of the Subaru.

  “You’ll get back on the road soon. We’ll just get a good description of what you lost,” Heather said. I slid into the backseat; Fred slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door, and we were off. “You want to tell me what kind it is, what the case looks like?” Heather asked.

  It felt so good to sit down in a car. I gave a long description of the phone, with all the details anyone would need to find it: black-and-white case, screen crack on the lower right, home screen a photo of Stella and me. I listened as she called in the report and waited for an answer. It was agonizing.

  “No? Nothing like that?” Heather said finally. “Well, did you find her bag?” Again, the waiting. “Okay. Keep looking, would you? Thanks.” She turned around and held up her hands. “Nothing yet. They’re trying. Maybe later it’ll surface.”

  I wasn’t sure a phone had ever surfaced when I’d been looking for it, except for that one time when I was thirteen and I put my mom’s in the washer by mistake and realized it fifteen minutes later. Then it surfaced. Like a dead white fish.

  “So, how’s the ride going for you?” Fred asked. “Day three, how are we feeling?”

  “We’re feeling like . . .” Crying, actually. “Okay, I guess. Pretty sore. It’s the first time I’ve done it, so . . .”