by Ali Dean
“What took us so long to be together, anyway?” I ask.
He smirks at me, and I wiggle in my seat. No one can smirk like Jace Wilder. It’s a huge turn-on.
“You weren’t ready for me, Pep.”
I tug my hand away and cross my arms. “What? I think you mean you weren’t ready for me. I didn’t have a single boyfriend until this year and you” – I wave my hand in his direction – “were with girls all the time. Then, as soon as I get my first boyfriend, you decide you’re ready for me. What’s up with that, huh?”
Jace tries to contain his laughter at my outburst but I see through it. My eyes narrow and I shove him in the chest.
“Okay, okay.” He raises his hand in defeat. “I didn’t want to mess things up with you. How many times do I have to tell you? You’re special, Pep. Too good for me, or anyone. I didn’t want to give something a try and fuck it all up and lose you.”
My head tilts to the side as I take this in. And then I smirk right back at him. “You” – I point at his chest – “big bad Jace Wilder. Were afraid of losing me” – I point to myself with a huge grin on my face – “little Pepper Jones, the girl next door?”
He grabs my finger and pulls me toward him so that I’m almost sitting on his lap. “I’m still scared,” he whispers gruffly.
Jace’s head dips lower, nuzzling my neck. His warm breath sends goose bumps along my spine as his lips skim my jaw line. “Terrified, actually.”
A confession like this from Jace doesn’t come often. But he’s getting better at sharing his feelings with me. Well, some of his feelings. I still haven’t gotten much from him about Annie.
Our phones continue buzzing throughout the night, and we distract ourselves by starting a challenging jigsaw puzzle at Jace’s house. Puzzles have always been one of our favorite things to do together.
I scroll through Jace’s phone before heading home for the night, deleting the photo messages. Several more came through of me and Ryan together, but all of them are from the fall. It means a lot that Jace trusts me enough to delete all of them without even looking at them himself. But I can understand the motivation to avoid having those images seared in his brain.
***
People stare at me when I walk into school the next day. Zoe warned me what to expect earlier that morning. Everyone knows about the photos. No surprise there. Until word gets around that Jace doesn’t believe I cheated on him – that the photos were from the fall – I have to deal with hostile glares.
But I don’t anticipate the lovely decorations greeting me at my locker. The word “slut” is written in big black letters. It’s definitely a girl who did this because the bold writing is very neat. The photos that were texted last night have been printed out – in color, no less – and are taped all over my locker.
I would rip all the photos off but I prefer not to give the crowd gathering behind me that satisfaction. Instead, I pretend I don’t care. Stoically, I turn my locker combination, desperately trying to wipe any signs of humiliation from my face. With shaky hands, I grab the books I need for the entire day so I don’t have to come back to my locker. My backpack weighs at least 50 pounds but I really don’t care.
I spin around and pause to narrow my eyes at the growing crowd in the hallway before heading to first period. It’s going to be a long day.
Chapter 14
Ryan catches me in the halls between first and second period.
“Pepper, I need your help.” He takes my arm and pulls me into an empty classroom.
“Ryan, being alone in a classroom right now is a bad idea. More rumors are the last thing we need.” I don’t mean to sound so angry, but it’s a stupid move on his part and I’m sure people saw us go in here.
“Sorry,” he says, cringing. “It’s just, I thought it’d be worse trying to have a private conversation with you in the hallway.”
“Yeah, I get it. So, what’s up?” I wonder if his locker was vandalized as well. Doubtful. I’m pretty sure this was meant to be an attack on me. Or me and Jace. Ryan is just a casualty.
“Can you talk to Lisa? Explain that those photos are from months ago?” Ryan shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at his feet. Why won’t he make eye contact with me?
“She doesn’t believe you?”
“I think she wants to, but she kept calling all night asking questions about each photo. She won’t let it go.”
“I can try, if you think it will help.” It probably won’t.
“Thanks, Pepper,” he says with relief.
“Who do you think took them?” I have my suspicions, but maybe he has different ones.
“I have no idea. It’s really weirding me out though. Who do you think would stalk us like that?”
“I think it could have been Dorothy,” I say quietly.
Ryan’s eyes widen. “That’s crazy. Why?”
“Just a feeling.” There’s no time to elaborate. “Come on, we should get to second period before more rumors start rolling.”
When we leave the classroom, Remy and Jace are standing in the hallway with their arms crossed. The rest of the hallway is empty, and I know we’re all going to be late for class. But as my eyes lock with Jace’s, that’s the least of my concern.
“Are you trying to make this harder on me for some reason?” he asks after a long silence. I hear Remy speaking angrily to Ryan as they round the corner down the hall.
Shaking my head, I approach Jace slowly and touch his arm. His voice is hard, and he’s masking his emotion. But I know that’s when he’s closest to snapping.
“He just wanted me to talk to Lisa. That’s all. I’m sorry it looked sketchy.”
Jace runs a hand over his face and looks away. His body is rigid, and I want to hug him until he relaxes in my arms. Instead, I keep my hand resting on his forearm, feeling the muscles tense underneath my fingertips.
I can’t force him to trust me.
“This is one of so many reasons why I never wanted us to be more than friends.”
My heart drops to my stomach at his words. “What?” I choke out.
His green eyes dart back to my face and his features soften. “You, more than anyone, can hurt me.” He steps into me, closing the space between us.
“Try not to break my fucking heart, okay?” he says as he kisses my temple.
I smile with relief. “I’ll try not to break your fucking heart,” I promise.
Jace makes it clear that everything’s good with us by sitting me on his lap during lunch period. The mean glares diminish significantly for the rest of the afternoon, making me thankful for Jace’s influence over the student population.
Jace assures me that my locker will be clean by tomorrow. I don’t know how that’s possible, because it looked like permanent marker, but I trust him.
***
By Saturday morning, the drama with the photo texts and locker is far from my mind. I’m a bundle of nerves as Zoe parks the family minivan outside Hutchinson High. I’m sitting in the back row with Rollie. Ryan and Claire are in the middle seats and Charlie has shotgun. I watch my teammates pile out, but I’m reluctant to move from the safety of the van.
Parents and athletes are everywhere. Hutchinson High has some of the best sports facilities in the state and they are hosting a big tennis tournament and a track meet on the same day.
It’ll be my first individual race since I won Nationals. I’ve avoided Googling myself but I’ve heard my name mentioned a couple times on the local news this week. Thankfully, Ryan has already raced some fast times this year, and he’s getting a lot more attention. They’re still referring to us as the “Brockton High Phenomena”. It’s not a title I’m comfortable with.
Charlie pokes his head in the sliding door. “You coming?”
“Do I have to?” I mumble as I make my way outside.
Charlie throws an arm around my shoulder. “It’s a beautiful day for a track meet. You’ve done this a million times. Just race like you always do.”
“Yeah, ye
ah,” I grumble as I swing my track bag over my shoulder. I am so not feeling it.
Fortunately, there are so many different events at track meets that it takes the focus away from my race. I make an effort to cheer for my teammates in their events, and it distracts me from my own race. But I can’t kick the anxiety weighing me down. The mile is one of the last races of the day and I can’t wait for it to be over with.
Claire and Jenny are racing the mile as well and we jog around the high school together to warm up. Claire’s a senior and is headed to some engineering college on the east coast next year. They have a decent Division III running program, and she plans to race. School’s always been her first priority though.
Jenny is only a freshman but she’s a super-talented runner. This is her first time racing the mile. She might actually give me some competition. Sometimes I find her right on my heels at practice.
My eyes flicker to Dorothy as we run by the tennis courts. She’s filling up a water bottle and when she catches me watching she smirks and raises a single, perfectly-shaped eyebrow. I’ve never been able to raise one eyebrow like that, but if it makes everyone look as evil as Dorothy, then I’m okay not having that special ability.
We sit down on the grass by the pole vault to stretch and put on our “spikes” – lightweight sneakers with little spikes on the bottom. I have the same hot pink pair that I raced in last year. I’ll probably need a new pair soon. For some reason, most track spikes come in bright colors. As I rummage through my track bag, I don’t spot any hot pink. I dump the contents out and sure enough, my track spikes are missing.
I know I packed them. I always pack my bag the night before, and my spikes and uniform are the first things that go in it. The race starts in five minutes. I’ve got just enough time to run over to the van to see if they are in there.
“Where’s Zoe?” I ask the girls impatiently. “I need her car keys.”
We all look around but don’t see her. I spot her track bag and frantically sort through it, feeling for the keys. When I find them, I sprint over to the parking lot. I usually do a couple of short sprints as part of my warm-up, so this will have to suffice. It’d be great to miss the race, but I don’t want to deal with the questions that will follow if I do. It would only increase the buildup for my next individual race.
After searching under the van seats and in the trunk, I come up empty. Ugh! I guess I’m racing in my regular sneakers. It’s not the end of the world, but it will definitely slow me down. Not to mention, it just feels weird. Okay, I also admit it bothers me that I’ll look really silly. Wearing a sleek track uniform and regular running shoes is a totally awkward look. Very amateur. I have no choice but to rock it.
When I get to the track, the first heat for the mile has already finished and they are lining up for the second one. Based on my seed time, I’m number one, so they call my name first. I’m breathing heavily when I jog over, and people are giving me funny looks. Whether it’s because I look like I already ran the race or because I’m not wearing track spikes, I don’t know.
There are a lot of people in this heat, which means it’s going to be important to get well-positioned right from the start. I’ve gotten myself locked on the inside and behind lots of people before, and it’s pretty frustrating.
“Runners, take your marks!” I crouch into position. Boom! The gun goes off and I shoot forward, but not fast enough. Without spikes to grip the track as I push off, several other runners quickly move ahead of me.
My feet feel sluggish as we turn the first corner, but I’m mostly concentrating on all the bodies around me and them breathing down my neck. The first lap of the mile is always like this – utter chaos. That’s because, unlike the shorter races, we don’t have assigned lanes.
It’s really hard to control the pace on the first lap. Sometimes it’s way too fast, and sometimes it’s way too slow. Right now, it seems too fast, but maybe it’s because I don’t have spikes on.
By the time we come around the first lap, the pack has thinned out enough that I don’t have to worry about tripping and falling. There are four girls in front of me, including Jenny. I usually try to be in the front of the front pack – not setting the pace but in second or third. That way I don’t have to break the wind but I can easily move ahead when I’m ready. I’m further back than usual, but I’m just not feeling especially aggressive at the moment.
Coaches yell our splits as we run through the first lap, and as I suspected, we’ve gone out way too fast. We’re on pace to break five minutes, which I seriously doubt anyone will actually do today. The pace immediately eases up slightly when we hear the split; I’m not the only one who knows it’ll be brutal if we try to keep it up.
I decide to stay where I am and let people fall back as they get worn out. This is often a smart approach, but today I know I’m doing it for the wrong reasons. I don’t want to test myself. I’m not submitting control of the race because it’s smart race tactics – even if it is. I should just be running my own race, because winning it shouldn’t be too much of a challenge.
But the last thing I want is to go out too hard and not be able to follow through. Slowing down at the end of a race or getting passed by someone is my worst nightmare. It’s a good fear to have as a cross country runner, because the races are longer. But it’s not ideal for racing the mile. Still, I’d much prefer to race conservatively and finish strong. Even if it means I’m being a chicken.
When we head into our fourth and final lap, it looks like there are five of us in the top pack. We’ve settled into a decent pace – fast enough to qualify for State – but unless I really drop the hammer, I’m not going to be impressing anyone today.
I can hear the commentator speculating about when I’ll take off. I’m not feeling especially drained, and I should really start picking it up. If I wait until the last minute to sprint, someone else might outsprint me.
Reluctantly, I move out into the second lane and pick off the girls in front of me one by one. Normally, I love this part of the race. But the adrenaline rush I’m expecting never comes.
I’m in front now, and it’s liberating. I’m not feeling the typical burn that hits me at this point, but for some reason my legs will not go any faster. They feel heavy and soft. There’s someone on my shoulder and I just can’t seem to go any faster to brush them off.
“Pepper Jones and Jenny Mendoza have left the lead pack in the dust as they round this last curve. It’s a Brockton Public race to the finish!”
I grit my teeth and lift my knees higher in an effort to urge my body into sprint mode. I know the stupid shoe situation isn’t helping, but it’s more than that. My body will not cooperate!
There’s no doubt Jenny’s suffering by the sound of her labored breathing. I’m barely breaking a sweat. Pumping my arms, I finally get my legs to engage in a half-hearted sprint. Jenny quickly falls back and I move ahead to take the win with a few seconds to spare. It’s a relief to avoid embarrassment, but it’s not exactly a race to be proud of.
My time – 5:15 – isn’t what people expect from the national cross country champion.
Stuffing down my feelings, I congratulate Jenny on her awesome race and State qualifying time. Claire’s pleased as well, having hit the District qualifying time. Zoe joins us for a warm-down jog – it’s a warm-up for her next race – and I listen to the girls dissect the mile.
They tell me how much faster I would have been if I had my spikes, but I know that’s not the main reason I didn’t have a good race. I’ll let them believe that excuse for now. It’s too hard to explain what’s going on when I don’t understand it myself.
As we jog by the parking lot, I notice an object sitting on the hood of Zoe’s van. Two hot pink objects, to be precise.
“What the?” Picking up my pace, I run toward the van.
Sure enough, my spikes are sitting on the hood. With a sign in front of them that says “slut.” How original.
I hear the girls murmuring behind me.
“Who do you think would do this?” Claire asks. “Everyone likes you.”
“Not everyone,” I say through clenched teeth. This is petty and ridiculous but it’s getting its intended effect. I’m angry. Hurt. Annoyed. Embarrassed. And definitely on edge about what’s coming next.
“It was Dorothy!” Zoe exclaims. “I knew it! She’s always been jealous of you, Pepper. And did you know the tennis team is here today? She totally took those photos of you and Ryan in the fall and was hoping to have an opportunity to use them.”
Zoe is pacing and throwing her arms in the air.
“What a schemer!” she exclaims.
“We should do something to get back at her,” Jenny says with a nod.
“I’m kind of hoping if I just ignore her it will go away,” I tell them.
“Fat chance,” Zoe says with a huff. She snags the sign off the hood and rips it up before throwing it in a nearby trash can.
I grab my spikes and carry them while we jog back to the track.
“You really aren’t going to do anything about this?” Zoe asks.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Let’s come up with a prank. It’ll be fun!”
“You don’t really want to go there, do you? Stoop to her level? Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s doing this under Madeline Brescoll’s direction.”
“Madeline Brescoll? Why?” Claire asks.
“Madeline wants Jace,” Zoe explains.
“Even I know to avoid messing with Madeline Brescoll,” Jenny says. “Half of the freshman girls idolize her and half are terrified of her.”
“She doesn’t even go to our school,” Claire reflects. “Who cares about her?”
“The Barbies care,” I tell them. “They were anticipating something like this, and they seemed almost excited about it. They want to shut her down. Show her they’re more powerful or something.”
“You should tell them about your spikes,” Zoe says. “That will help fire them up. Don’t want nobody messing with our Brockton High Phenomenon.” She nudges me in the ribs.
“Don’t call me that,” I say moodily. “And I’m not telling them. Let’s keep it on the DL.”
