Addy's Race

by Debby Waldman

I reached for my transmitter. It looked almost exactly like Sierra’s, the same shape as a fish stick and about as big, but Mr. Angelo didn’t notice. He was too busy being impressed with Sierra’s boom mic, even though the only reason she had an extra mic was because the one in the transmitter wasn’t powerful enough for her rotten hearing. What was so impressive about that?

  Chapter 10

  “I think he is the worst substitute we’ve ever had,” I announced to Lucy on the way home.

  “Uh-uh,” she said. “Don’t you remember the one in grade three who yelled and jumped on her desk when she saw a wasp on the window? And it was on the outside.”

  “Oh, yeah! Mrs. Finchley!” I remembered because her name sounded like a bird, and she had practically flown onto her desk. “But she wasn’t bad, just weird.”

  That’s when Stephanie and Emma appeared on either side of us, like police officers surrounding their suspects. “Hanging around with the cheater?” Emma said.

  “She’s not a cheater,” Lucy said. “She’s faster than you.”

  “What are they even doing here?” I asked. “Don’t they have to train with the best running club in Edmonton? ”

  “We can hear you, Addy,” Stephanie said. “We’re not deaf.”

  “Neither am I,” I said. “And I’m not a cheater. I could beat you anytime.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wondered where they had come from and why I had said them.

  Emma thought I was challenging her. “Let’s go,” she said. “Now!” She took off, her backpack bumping on her back, her ponytail swinging. Stephanie was at her heels.

  Lucy and I watched, shaking our heads. When they turned around—probably to see how far ahead of me they were and gloat—I waved. That’s when they came back toward us, angry and yelling.

  “What are they squawking about?” I asked Lucy.

  “Stephanie called you a chicken, and Emma said you couldn’t beat them if their legs were tied together.”

  “There’s an idea,” I said. “Maybe we ought to tie their legs together. And stuff socks in their mouths so they can’t talk.”

  “Too scared to race?” Stephanie called out as she got closer. She was so loud that some moms and kids on the other side of the street turned to see what was going on.

  “Give me your backpack,” Lucy said.

  “Huh?”

  “Give me your backpack. When they get back here, say, ‘ready, set, go,’ and take off and show them how fast you are. You’ll beat them because you’ll have the head start.”

  “I don’t need a head start,” I said. “I’m not going to race them.”

  “Why not? Just show them you’re faster and they’ll leave us alone.”

  “I don’t feel like it,” I said. “Besides, my backpack is too heavy for you. You’re still on crutches.”

  “Come on, Addy.”

  “No,” I said.

  Stephanie and Emma were just a few steps away. They had heard everything.

  “Afraid to lose?” Emma said, her nose suddenly so close to mine I could bite it.

  I pushed past her, and she stumbled.

  “Hey, watch what you’re doing!” Stephanie said.

  I switched off my hearing aids before I could hear another word. I walked as quickly as I could. I didn’t care that Lucy couldn’t keep up.

  When I felt something pushing into my back, I turned and flipped on my hearing aids. Lucy pulled the end of her crutch away and stuck it back onto the sidewalk. Stephanie and Emma had crossed the street. Finally. We were rid of them.

  “You walk pretty fast for someone with a sprained ankle,” I said.

  She poked at her ankle with a crutch. “It’s not really sprained anymore. But don’t tell.”

  “When did it stop hurting?”

  “A couple of days ago.”

  “You could have done the run!”

  “Not really,” she said. “I mean, it’s not that good. And I’m still really slow.”

  “So? It would have been better if you’d run with me. It was scary alone.”

  “You weren’t alone! There were almost two hundred people in that race!”

  “But none of them was my friend.”

  “I wouldn’t have been able to keep up,” she said.

  “I could have gone slowly. I’d rather run with you than alone.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “I just thought of something! A way for you not to have to run alone!”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You run with me. I just thought of that, remember?”

  “No, something better!” I hadn’t seen her this excited since we got free popsicles on Whyte Avenue in August. “Your fm. I can hold it and talk to you while you’re running. I can keep you company and not have to torture myself!”

  I shook my head. “Yeah. You’ll be torturing me instead. You know I hate having a voice in my head.”

  Lucy looked hurt.

  “Anyone’s voice. Not just yours.”

  “But I’m your friend!”

  “I like hearing your voice through the air. Only crazy people hear voices in their heads. I’m not crazy. But I will be if I use the fm all the time.”

  “Okay,” she said glumly. “I just thought it was a good idea.”

  “A good idea is for you to run with me. Or walk. You just said your ankle doesn’t hurt anymore. If you don’t come to running club tomorrow, I’m telling your mother.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would.”

  Chapter 11

  The next race was at Hawrelak Park, the biggest park in Edmonton. I hadn’t seen Lucy so scared since her mother took us to see Avatar during Christmas break in grade four. Joanne kept leaning over her popcorn and saying, “What are you so afraid of? It’s about nature!” And I was thinking, What’s so natural about people with blue faces and tails?

  “Were there this many girls at the last race?” Lucy asked as she hopped from one foot to another in the starting line.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “But don’t be nervous.”

  “I’m not,” she said. “I’m stretching. My mother told me to. I think this is what she said to do.” She crouched like a cougar about to attack. “Or maybe not.” She went back to hopping. “You said we don’t have to run the whole way, right?”

  She didn’t think she was nervous, but she sure was acting like it. Or maybe I was the nervous one.

  “I think you’ve stretched enough.” I put my hand on her shoulder to hold her still. “You probably shouldn’t use up all your energy.”

  “We can walk, right?”

  “Yes!” I said for the gazillionth time.

  She looked hurt. “You don’t have to yell.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  I didn’t think I’d be nervous. It was my second race. I knew what to expect. But I couldn’t help it. There were four rows of girls between us and the front line of starters. Even this far back, Stephanie and Emma stuck out like fake trees at a Christmas-tree farm. I wondered, if Lucy’s ankle was still hurt and she couldn’t run, would I have wanted to be up front with them?

  “I’m glad you’re back here with me,” Lucy said. She hugged me. “I’m lucky to have a friend like you.”

  “Grade six girls!” It must have been the man in the Adidas tracksuit, but I couldn’t see him because of all the girls in front of me.

  “Who said that?” Lucy demanded.

  “The starter guy.”

  “The starter guy?”

  “The ready-set-go guy,” I said. “The one with the gun.”

  “The gun?”

  “The starting gun! You were at the race last week— remember, at the very beginning, there was a gun?”

  Lucy shook her head.

  “Weren’t you listening?”

  “I wasn’t running,” she said. “I didn’t have to listen.”

  “Well, there was a starting gun then and there’s one now, and he’s about to pull the trigger.” Before I had a chance to tur
n off my hearing aids there was a bang! and everyone took off. It didn’t bother me nearly as much this time, but I wasn’t sure whether it was because I was expecting it or because I was too busy with Lucy. Everyone else took off. Not her. I had to pull on her arm or she would have been there when the boys lined up ten minutes later for their race. But once she was running, she was so quick she surprised herself and me.

  “You’re doing great!” I said as we passed a bunch of girls from the row in front of us.

  Maybe we could catch up to Stem and wave as we passed them. That would be fun—and it would make them mad. But we wouldn’t care, because we would be catching up to the faster girls and passing them too. We would get real ribbons, fourth or fifth place. Not first—we wouldn’t be that fast.

  We were doing so much better than I had expected. Lucy was running hard and not running out of breath. Somewhere inside of her was an athlete just like her mother. But then she stumbled and stopped, and we had to walk and run the rest of the way. Mostly, though, we walked.

  By the time we crossed the finish line, Lucy’s face was so hot I could have fried an egg on her chin and made toast on her forehead. I was barely sweating. Which made it doubly horrible when Stem came swaggering over and announced they had finished thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth.

  “Guess you didn’t take any shortcuts this week, did you?” Stephanie said.

  Emma snorted. “No, they took the long-cut.”

  Kelsey and Miranda finished ninety-seventh and ninety-eighth. Emma and Stephanie stopped high-fiving each other long enough to congratulate them. Kelsey and Miranda weren’t used to Stem being friendly. They looked confused. Or maybe it was because Emma was still snorting.

  “You sound like a pig,” I muttered.

  Emma looked at us. “What?”

  “I said, you sound like a pig when you laugh.”

  “Well, at least I don’t run like one,” she snapped.

  “Actually, you do,” I said. Then I grabbed Lucy’s hand and pulled her over to where our mothers were waiting.

  A farm pig can run almost eighteen kilometers an hour. Wild pigs are faster. Cheetahs are the fastest animals on four feet. Ostriches are the fastest on two. Some cheetahs can run more than two hundred kilometers an hour. Lucy and I were about as fast as two jellyfish in a bowl of pudding.

  “I’m sorry I slowed you down,” Lucy said. “But I’m glad you ran with me. I never would have finished if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Congratulations, girls!” my mother said. “How’d you do?”

  “Lucy finished two hundred twenty-fourth and I finished two hundred twenty-fifth,” I said. “That’s last.” In case she hadn’t noticed.

  My mother smiled. “I’m proud of you both!” she said. She had the same smile on her face as she did when I finished sixteenth at the first race. That’s how good an actress she is.

  Joanne would not be a good actress, so it’s a good thing she’s a bank manager. Instead of congratulating us, she said, “Did you girls have a good time?” which was like asking someone who had broken their leg skiing if they’d had fun on the chairlift. It didn’t help when she added, “You’ll do even better next week!”

  “We couldn’t do worse,” Lucy said, which is what I was thinking but didn’t want to say, because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I wanted to do better next week, but unless Lucy sprained her ankle again, that probably wouldn’t happen.

  “Lucy! What kind of attitude is that?” Joanne said. “You get out there and train harder, and you’ll knock their socks off next time.”

  Suddenly Joanne’s face changed from uncomfortable to happy. I turned to see what she was looking at. There, behind me, were Stephanie and Emma and their mothers.

  “Hello, Sandy!” Joanne said to Stephanie’s mom. I couldn’t understand how Lucy’s mother could be friends with Stephanie’s mom when Stephanie was so awful.

  When Joanne asked, “How did you girls do?” I wanted to turn off my hearing aids before Stem could answer, but my mother was looking at me. So I had to listen when they said how easy the race was. Then Joanne made excuses about Lucy’s ankle and gushed that I was such a good friend to let her finish ahead of me.

  Of course my mother agreed. She said I was a sensitive girl due to my hearing aids, and the reason I wore hearing aids was because she had a recessive gene. So, it was all because of her that I was sensitive.

  Then Sandy reminded everyone that Stephanie and Emma were in the best running club in Edmonton. Before Stephanie and Emma left, Emma said, “Bye, bye,” in a little singsong voice. And then she leaned close to me and whispered, “Cheater. Loser.”

  Chapter 12

  I crossed my fingers, hoping Mrs. Shewchuk would be back the next day, and she was. She hadn’t been sick. She’d been at a workshop. When novel study ended, she made us play a game she’d learned.

  “This will get you thinking about how stars fit into the solar system,” she said. “I’m going to hand each of you a card with a picture of a constellation on one side. On the other side is a picture of half the constellation. You have to find the person whose constellation makes yours whole. Compare pictures, and when you find your partner, stand together and wait for the next instruction.”

  I got Pisces, the fish. Lucy got Ursa Major, the Great Bear. So did Sarah, who is supposed to be a piano prodigy, but I don’t think she is because she never plays in the school talent show.

  Henry and Stephanie wound up together, which I thought was pretty funny until it turned out my partner was Sierra. We were the last two to find each other. With everyone talking, the room was so loud I had stopped trying to ask people about their constellation. I guess she had too.

  Mrs. Shewchuk explained we were going to use “repurposed items” from the Reuse Centre to make mobiles inspired by our constellations. She showed us some finished samples. My favorite had wires shaped like question marks and strung with beads, and more wire shaped like lions, covered with orange and yellow yarn, for Leo the Lion. I wanted to start right away, but Mrs. Shewchuk said we had to do research first to learn about our constellations.

  “We’ll be spending the next period in the library at the computer stations. Except Addy and Sierra. Come here, please, girls,” Mrs. Shewchuk said.

  When we got to her desk, she explained that she wanted us to work on her computer. “With everyone in groups, the library will be noisy,” she said. “It will be better in here—quieter.”

  She pulled another chair up to her desk and motioned for me and Sierra to sit. “I’ll get you started, and then I’ll go to the library,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” Sierra said in what I was starting to think of as her I’m-more-important-than-you voice. “I got a computer like this for Christmas last year, so I know how to use it.”

  By recess, Lucy was an expert on the Big Dipper and I was an expert on Sierra.

  “Did you know slaves used to call the Big Dipper the drinking gourd?” Lucy said as we walked across the playground. “When they escaped, they’d say they were following the drinking gourd because they went north and the North Star is part of the Big Dipper. And the Big Dipper is part of Ursa Major.”

  “Did you know Sierra is really bossy?” I said. “She wouldn’t let me use the computer until Mrs. Shewchuk overheard her saying someone had to be in charge and it should be her. Mrs. Shewchuk had to tell her, ‘Sierra, you and Addy are partners. You have to work together.’ So I got to be in charge of the keyboard, but she was in charge of me. Every website I went to, she kept saying, ‘No, go to this one.’ I went to Cool Cosmos without her permission, and she made me go to some Star Trek thing. When it turned out to be as useless as I knew it would be, she said, ‘Go back to Cool Cosmos.’ She didn’t even say please.”

  “Well, did you find out anything interesting?”

  “I found out Sierra can’t read lips.”

  “Anything you can use for your mobile?”

  “Sierra won an art prize at her last school. A
nd she moved here because her father got a job at Epcor. She’s going to Vancouver next month to give a talk at a cochlear implant conference.”

  “How are you going to use that for your mobile?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m not. She thinks because she won an art prize, she should do everything. I want to use empty tuna cans. If we take the paper off, they’ll be kind of silvery and shiny, like stars. Or maybe we can use fish skeletons.”

  “That’s gross. But the tuna can idea is good. Did you tell Sierra?”

  I nodded. “She said no way, tuna cans stink. As if I wasn’t going to wash them first. I bet we’re going to do whatever she wants.”

  “Remind her that Mrs. Shewchuk said it’s a partnership.”

  “How can you be partners with someone who thinks they know everything?”

  “Remind them they don’t,” Lucy said. “Show her your ideas. Except not the fish skeleton one.”

  “What are you going to do?

  “Something with the drinking gourd song, I think. Sarah can play it on the piano.”

  “We’re supposed to be making mobiles, not putting on concerts,” I said.

  “She’s not going to play it for everybody. Maybe we’ll cut sheet music in star shapes. I don’t know. We don’t have to have a plan yet.”

  “Go tell that to Sierra.” I pointed to the stairs behind the school, where Sierra sat with a sketchpad. “She’s making one now. When I told her we didn’t have to do it during recess, she said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll come up with ideas.’ Which means we’re using hers.”

  “Then you come up with some too,” Lucy said. “I’ll help.”

  Chapter 13

  The next day started badly. When I woke up, I put my hearing aids in and they were all staticky. I turned them off and on, but they didn’t get better, and then the left one stopped working.

  My hearing aids never break, although the summer after I got them, I was swimming in Susie Patrick’s pool and her dog ate one and chewed half of the other. I had to borrow a pair from the audiology clinic while I waited for my new ones.

  I still have the half-chewed one. Mom keeps it in the hearing-aid box in the kitchen, with batteries and the battery tester and the hearing-aid dryer, which we never use because Alberta is so dry you can feel your skin shriveling when you get out of the bathtub. At least that’s what my grandmother says all the time.