by Chris Fabry
Hannah listened as she walked between the basketball court and baseball field. Passing the court sideline, she noticed a bench with a red boom box on it. There were a couple of skateboards, a water bottle, orphan backpacks strewn like trash, and a pair of headphones.
She stopped.
Nice headphones. Expensive. Name-brand. She had earbuds that worked fine. She didn’t need the headphones. But it wasn’t about what she needed.
She glanced at the boys, who were so engaged with the game, concentrating so hard on defense or making a strong pass, that they didn’t notice her. Focused like a laser. In that moment, in that split second, something clicked inside.
As one player made an easy layup and the ball was taken out at half-court, Hannah stepped toward the bench and with one swift movement took the headphones and walked away. Her heart beat fast. She expected someone to yell, “Hey, those are mine!” All she heard was the bounce of the ball and the shoes on the court and guys yelling at each other.
She folded the headphones, slipped them into her backpack, and quickened her pace toward the woods. The clapping and banter subsided. Then there was an uncomfortable lull, like the calm before a storm. She kept her head down, walking resolutely toward the trees.
Don’t look back.
The lull continued.
Don’t look back.
She couldn’t help it.
She looked back.
Headphone Guy stared at her. He knew. And she knew there was one thing to do. Run for home.
She sprinted. The guys yelled behind her. Angling right, she skirted the baseball fence and made for a path through the woods. In the open field she probably had no chance of escape. But if she got on uneven ground, using the trees to hide her, she had a chance. Her heart beat furiously as she reached the trees.
Don’t look back.
She knew turning her head would slow her down, but she had to know how close they were.
They were too close.
She hit the dirt path and her speed kicked in. The backpack felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, bouncing behind her, but she kept going, one foot in front of the other.
Zigzagging through the trees, she heard the lead guy yell something about “dead.” Whatever he said, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t let them catch her.
Down a hill, around a turn that blocked her from sight for a moment, she considered getting the headphones out and dropping them. But she figured even if the guys happened to spot them, they would keep chasing her.
Footsteps behind her. The lead guy yelling something.
If she could make it to the apartments, she could hide behind a Dumpster or crawl under a car, but they were too close. She heard their shoes slapping the earth.
And then she heard something else. Her breathing. The tightness in her lungs. The dry wheeze of an asthma attack.
Her vision blurred. She panicked. It felt like the walls of her lungs were collapsing and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
At the edge of the woods was a boulder and she fell behind it and sat there, trying not to gasp, trying to even her breathing and calm her heart. She found her inhaler and pulled it out just as the guys stopped no more than ten feet behind her. A few more steps and she’d be found.
“Did you see her?” one said, out of breath.
“No.”
She waited. Don’t come any closer, she thought. It was a prayer of sorts.
If they came around the edge of the rock, her life was over.
She had her inhaler in hand, but if she used it, they’d hear her. If she didn’t use it, she might collapse. Black out.
She felt herself slipping. She couldn’t wait. She put the inhaler to her lips and gave one pump. Relief came over her. The tightness relaxed a little.
“Listen,” one guy said.
She tried to keep still. No movement. Just lean against the rock and hope.
“I bet she ran into those apartments.”
“Who was she?”
“I don’t know. But if I see her again, she’s gonna pay!”
Headphone Guy yelled it like he meant it. They retreated, and she put her head back, breathing deeply now. She had to wait for them to get out of sight, and then she would wait some more.
When she was sure they were gone, she stood and ran down the hill, between the apartment buildings and onto the sidewalk, not looking back, headed home like an arrow.
She was never more happy to see that little house. She opened the front door, stepped in, closed it, and for the first time since she’d picked up the headphones felt she could relax. She sighed, finally safe.
“Baby, where have you been?” her grandmother said with an edge to her voice. “I thought the Y closed at four.”
Hannah tried not to react, not to jump out of her skin at her grandmother’s voice.
She took off her backpack and told her grandmother she had gone to Webb Park and her grandmother asked why. Hannah shrugged. Why did she go through the park? Seemed like a good idea. But she didn’t say that because she knew how her grandmother would react.
Next came the look. And when your grandmother looks at you that way, the way she’s looked a thousand times before, you know something bad is on its way. She held something up and with a voice that sounded like she had practiced all day she said, “Where did this come from? I found it in your jeans pocket.”
Hannah stared at an iPod. She had meant to hide it in the box in her nightstand. She’d forgotten that detail. She knew she had to say something, so she grabbed the first idea.
“I found it.”
Of course this was true: she had found the iPod, but she found it lying on a girl’s purse in the locker room at the Y.
“Hannah Scott, don’t you lie to me. I already bought you one of these.” There was guilt in her words, with a bit of shame and anger mixed in like yeast to rise with a high temperature. She handed it to Hannah. “Take it back.”
Hannah took the iPod and for an instant saw herself going to the Y and slipping it into the lost-and-found bin, under someone’s hoodie or in some gloves left from the previous winter.
“I’m already late for work,” her grandmother said, grabbing her purse. “Your dinner’s on the stove. I’ll be home by ten.”
When she reached the back door, she turned. “Hannah, I mean it. Take it back.”
“Yes, Grandma.”
Hannah put on her backpack, grabbed her fried egg and cheese sandwich and chips and something to drink, and retreated to her room. It was a small space with paneled walls, but it was her haven, a place to shut out the conflict and struggle and people running after her. The wall behind her bed was filled with photos and cards and clippings from magazines. The images made her smile. Musicians and runners. A cuddly panda. And a horse. She didn’t remember why she had chosen all those pictures, but now they kept her company on the wall, and when she saw them, they made her happy.
She sat on the bed and pulled out the headphones, then opened the drawer in her nightstand and removed the old shirt hiding the blue box. Inside were her treasures, things she had “found.” A pair of sunglasses, a watch, bracelets, a camera. The box excited her and brought a wave of guilt. These headphones weren’t hers, but they were now. She hated herself for taking these things. She didn’t need the headphones—she had her earbuds and another pair at the bottom of the box she didn’t use. So why did she take them?
The new headphones fit neatly inside. She put on the lid and covered the box with her shirt and closed the drawer. Hidden away.
On her nightstand was a small TV she’d gotten for Christmas the year before and underneath it was a magazine ad she’d saved. She didn’t pin it to her wall because it didn’t fit with the other pictures. It didn’t make her feel the same way they did. There was something about the man in the ad, the way he smiled, the way he held the hands of the little girl on his shoulders.
The ad said, Create Lifelong Memories. She studied the girl’s smile. It looked like she could launc
h from her perch on her father’s shoulders, just fly off in any direction, and that made Hannah warm inside.
Maybe that’s why Hannah didn’t have the picture on her wall. It gave her a warm feeling but also reminded her of what she didn’t have. No, what she couldn’t have. There was hope for becoming a better athlete or owning a horse or looking pretty. But there was no hope for having a mother or father. That dream was dead. Both her parents were phantoms. She remembered neither of them. She had only a handful of pictures and the few words her grandmother gave. And her grandmother never spoke of her father.
She folded the page and took a bite of her sandwich. Her grandmother knew exactly how to get it crispy but not burned on the outside. How did she do that? When Hannah tried, the bread smoked and turned black. Probably the temperature of the pan or not enough butter.
When she finished, she went to the kitchen and washed and dried her dishes. That would make her grandmother happy. It was still light outside. Her grandmother didn’t like her going out alone in the evening, but what could be wrong with a quick run?
She changed into her running shorts, laced up her shoes, and went to the front porch to stretch. That was one thing her coach at Franklin High had drilled into her, always stretch before a workout. She had taken that advice and hadn’t injured herself like other runners.
She hopped down from the front porch and heard voices up the street. Teenage boys. She thought she recognized one of them. She couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but one guy sounded super angry.
And then she realized it sounded like Headphone Guy. They were a few houses away. She jumped up, darted inside, and closed the door, standing behind it, hoping they hadn’t seen her. Were they canvassing the neighborhood? Had they called the police? Fear coursed through her. She listened as they walked past, then peeked out the window, catching a glimpse of them. Were those the guys from the basketball game? It didn’t matter. There was no way she was going for a run.
CHAPTER 7
In John Harrison’s mind there was no problem, no struggle, no amount of distance between him and his sons that couldn’t be overcome by a game of H-O-R-S-E. Focusing on something together, even a competition, helped open conversations.
He waited as long as he could for Ethan, then began a game with Will. Will was into the bounce-it-off-the-backboard, kick-it-high, catch-it-in-the-air-and-shoot-it approach. John chuckled as his son seemed to make up each shot as he went along.
Amy called out the window and told them dinner was ready. John looked for Ethan’s Jeep. He worked part-time at Race2Escape, an escape room that recently opened in town.
At the table, Will picked up a hot roll and dropped it on his plate as Ethan walked in with a worried look. “Dad, did you hear Coach Wright is moving to Fairview?”
It was more of an accusation than a question and John calmly buttered a roll. “Well, he went from thirty-two players to thirteen, so I think he saw the writing on the wall.”
Ethan spoke up, his voice tight. “So no football on Friday nights.”
John sighed. He was just as frustrated with the end of the football program as Ethan. “You know most of those boys will play baseball or soccer in the spring. They’ll be fine.”
Amy sat. “Well, they could run cross-country. Gary would love that.”
“Whatever,” John said, unable to hold back his disdain for cross-country.
“Hey, what about our team?” Will said, referring to Brookshire basketball.
“We’re in good shape,” John said. “There’s your brother, Ty, and the twins, so we’ve still got our best players.”
Ethan sat, still fuming about the football program.
Amy turned to Ethan. “How was work?”
“It was fine. We had two groups come in but neither of them escaped.”
“Because the rooms are too hard,” Amy said.
Ethan nodded and stared at John. His voice was softer, more gentle when he said, “Do you know how many students we’ll have?”
“I think about 240.” He said it quickly, almost convincing himself it was a good number. Then he let out some of the disappointment. “We had 550 last year.”
Amy shook her head. “Don’t say that. That makes me so sad.”
John reached out and the four of them joined hands. “Well, I think we’ll be fine as long as no one else leaves.”
As he bowed his head, Ethan said, “Then you haven’t heard about the Hendersons.”
“What happened?” Amy said.
“Ty said there’s a For Sale sign outside their house. Went up yesterday.”
John rubbed his forehead. “That’s a big blow to the church. Bill does so much.”
“Did,” Ethan said, correcting him.
John nodded and bowed again, praying for the Hendersons and all they were going through. In a way, he felt like he was praying for himself, too.
A week before school started, John walked into Olivia Brooks’s office. She had that no-nonsense demeanor as he sat. She had asked to meet with him and he could tell there was more bad news. A cut in salaries? Layoffs? Another sport cut from the school? He took a deep breath and prepared for the worst.
The first news was that he would be picking up a civics class left by a vacancy. That wasn’t so bad. But who had taught that class last year? He couldn’t remember.
“John, I think our kids deserve a chance at as many sports as we can offer.”
“I agree.”
“And I don’t want to end any programs I don’t have to.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Olivia. What’s going on?”
She plopped a folder on her desk. “Gary is leaving.”
That was it. Gary taught civics. And he coached the cross-country program. Though John had doubts about the sport, John respected him and his knowledge about endurance running and getting the best from his team.
“Why is Gary leaving?”
“He took a job in Texas. So now I’m down three coaches and two teachers and school starts next week. At this point, I don’t think I can save football, but I do think I have a solution for cross-country.”
“Who?”
Olivia put her hands on the desk in front of her and gave him a look that said it all. And she didn’t blink.
The look finally broke through and he realized what she was asking. “Olivia, no!” As he said it, he couldn’t believe how much like his boys he sounded when he or Amy asked them to do some undesirable chore.
“I believe you could do it,” Olivia said confidently.
“I’m not a cross-country coach. I hate running. Amy bought me a treadmill three years ago.” He paused. “Never use it.”
Olivia wasn’t having it. She softened her voice and leaned forward. John thought she probably learned this tactic at some persuasion seminar for principals.
“I don’t want to have to cancel another program. You are my best option.”
Something stirred inside. What was it? A sense of injustice at what had happened? School enrollment had been cut in half. Football was toast. Who knew if basketball or any other sport would survive.
Instead of playing defense, John went on the attack. “Cross-country’s not even a real sport.”
“That’s not fair. Come on, now. I’ve never seen your basketball players throwing up after a game.”
“Exactly,” John said. “I don’t want to see that. Nobody wants to see that.”
He thought she would smile. She didn’t. So he went for the coup de grâce. “And cross-country overlaps with basketball, so . . .” Three-pointer. Swish.
“Not by much,” Olivia said. “John, I have heard you give some very inspirational speeches to your players. About stepping up under pressure and going the extra mile. That is exactly what I need from our staff right now.”
As she spoke, John couldn’t believe he was in this position. He rolled his eyes. He did anything but look at her. She was using his own words, his own locker room speeches against him. He wanted to
blow the whistle or toss a yellow flag onto her desk. She sounded so convinced, like she’d made up her mind decades before he walked into the room.
“Did I mention that you’re my best option?” she said with resolve.
John looked out the window. He didn’t know the first thing about cross-country. But then what was there to know? Just show the kids the route and blow a whistle. What a waste of his time and energy.
“What do you say?” Olivia said.
He shook his head. “All right. It looks like I don’t have any other option. I’ll do it.”
“Good.” She told him who to contact in order to get the schedule set, plus information about uniforms, waivers, and other material he would need. He couldn’t listen. He didn’t want to deal with schedules and skinny kids with shin splints. He held it together until he walked out of the office. He wanted to scream and yell. Instead, he walked into the hall and flailed his fists in exasperation. When he finished, he turned to see Jimmy Meeder, the janitor, staring at him.
John composed himself and walked past the man as quickly as he could, saying hello.
That night John told Amy and the boys to get in the car. They were going to make something good happen for a change. But when they pulled up to the Sac-O-Sushi restaurant, there was a For Lease sign on the front door. Could things get any worse?
CHAPTER 8
Hannah walked onto the well-kept campus on her first day at Brookshire not knowing a single student. She kept looking for a face she’d recognize from the Y or perhaps someone who had attended one of her former schools. That brought up a worse fear than loneliness—someone who knew her past. Shelly, from the financial office, was the only person at Brookshire she knew by name. And that made Hannah wonder who had given her a scholarship. Why had she been chosen? It still felt hard to believe.
Her grandmother’s shift at the restaurant started early. The campus was only a mile from her house, but her grandmother wouldn’t hear of her walking on the first day, so Hannah arrived an hour before the opening bell. She sat outside the entrance waiting for students and teachers.
