“Whatever!” Brielle huffed, flipping her ponytail as she and the other girl stomped off, leading the circle of girls toward the middle of the grass infield.
“Told you those two were just a bundle of sunshine and giggles,” Emma said. “Seriously though, that was awesome watching you beat those two.” She took a deep breath and puffed it out in a whoosh. “As much as they bug me, they still outrun me in every race. The looks on their faces when you blasted past them today. Priceless.”
“Thanks,” I said, sipping my water. Emma peered at me across the rim of the cup, waiting. When I said nothing, she nodded to herself.
“I remember you never did say much in Honors World Lit last year, either,” she said. Then she shifted gears. “So why are you coming out for cross-country in junior year?”
I sputtered, water threatening to drip down my chin. “Uh, well,” I started, keeping my eyes on the inside of my cup. My voice sounded muffled as it echoed against the side styrofoam cup. As I swallowed and looked up, I had a flash of inspiration.
“College applications, you know?” I said in a rush. “I don’t have a lot of extracurriculars and I heard that balancing a sport with a heavy class load looks good.”
Emma nodded twice. “Smart. My brother just graduated a year ago, and he told me the same thing.”
Across the track, the boys had finished their sprints and had joined the girl’s circle to finish stretching. Emma pointed her chin at the group.
“I could tell you didn’t know what you were doing when you came down here today, so the college application thing makes sense. Still, I’d keep that to yourself if you want to make the team.”
I almost told her that my plan was to not make the team, but something kept me from saying it out loud. Instead, I nodding enthusiastically, eyes wide. Emma continued.
“Here’s the deal: you have to get down here by three-fifteen and warm up a few laps on your own before practice officially begins at three-thirty because when it does, Coach Z expects everyone to be loose and ready to sprint.”
“Okay,” I said, still nodding.
“Second,” Emma said, “You’ve already crossed Brielle and Mallory -” she looked toward the two pony-tailed girls pacing around the group stretching on the infield grass, then looked back at me. “So you can’t really fly under their radar now - too late for that.” She grinned then, her freckles crinkling in mischief. “But that wasn’t going to happen, anyway, with the kind of natural speed you have.”
I smiled despite myself. I’d never thought of myself as a natural at anything.
“It’s like this,” she finished after pausing, “Last year’s seniors treated everyone else like garbage and the girls could get away with it because they were good. I mean, like go to State good, you know? So Mallory and Brielle think that’s the way they need to treat people, too, since they’re the seniors now.”
Emma snorted, chopping her hands in the air, right hand slapping into her left palm.
“But what our fearless girls XC captains don’t realize is that they are nowhere near State finals fast like last year’s seniors. And,” she said, brushing her hands off, “Just because seniors have always been jerks to underclass doesn’t mean it has to stay that way.”
I nodded. I understood better than Emma realized. Mallory and Brielle sounded like the cross-country versions of my stepsisters, with the same snide looks and nasty comments.
Before I could reply, I saw Castlewood’s athletic trainer’s four-wheeler bumping our way over the open field between the football practice field and the track. The trainer wasn’t alone; there was someone sitting next to him in the passenger seat.
Someone with a distinct orange glow to her skin, one that perfectly matched my tanner-dyed fingers.
My stepsister had her eyes glued to the side-view mirror as they bumped over the field toward us. Her eyes glanced our way, then slid to the mirror again, hands sliding past her eyes as she smoothed back her hair and readjusted her headband for the umpteenth time.
What is she doing down here? I wondered in a panic. Drew spent her afternoons at voice lessons and practicing the right way to walk and turn on a pageant stage. Stacie might be down here, practicing with the cheer squad, but Drew disdained any activity that might cause her to break a sweat or mess up her hair and makeup.
It doesn’t matter, I thought. I can’t let her see me.
I turned and looked at the treeline, thinking of escape and Ditcher’s Lane, but I couldn’t risk it. Not now, not with so many witnesses, not with Coach Z just yards away, armed with a bullhorn.
But the funny thing was this: part of me didn’t want to escape. The part of me that had flown past Brielle and Mallory to finish first wanted to stay and do it again. And another part of me wanted to stay and talk and laugh with Emma.
And maybe, too, if I was honest with myself, part of me wanted to stay just for the chance to see Deke again.
I hopped up and turned my back just as Emma turned to see the trainer coming too and reached her arm up to wave her.
“I’m feeling fine now,” I said in a hurry, heading toward the crowd of girls that had lined up at the start. Across the field, I saw the pack of boys head over the grass, legs pounding, as they headed for the running trail that led into the woods. Coach Z’s whistle tweeted three times as he prepped to send the girls off on the same course.
“But -” Emma started to say, but I grabbed her arm and dragged her with me. The trainer’s four-wheeler was thudding to a stop, and I heard the shrill piercing sound of my stepsister’s whiny voice.
“Ugh!! My hair!! Slow down, would you?” she whined, but her voice faded as I trotted up toward the start line, Emma trotting behind me.
“Cici, you just fainted,” Emma insisted, but I just shook my head, pulling her toward the back of the pack of runners.
“I’m fine,” I said, letting go of her arm and we pushed into the middle, ignoring the muttered complaints of the freshmen girls grouped in the back.
Coach Z’s whistle blasted, long and loud, and the pack erupted into legs and arms flying. I picked up my pace and stayed firmly in the middle of the pack as we ran past the trainer’s four-wheeler, off the track, and onto the path toward the treeline. Once I was sure my stepsister hadn’t seen me, I started edging forward, the twin ponytails of Brielle and Mallory in my sights.
“Go,” said Emma, already panting as she tried to match my pace. “Get up there.” She fell a step, then two steps behind as I kicked harder, my stride growing wider and wider.
Gasping for air, she added, “I’m just going to slow up so I can enjoy watching the second episode of the Beat Mallory and Brielle Show. Now GO!”
I didn’t even answer. I just kicked up my feet and started to fly.
Chapter Eleven
I woke up early the next morning. Through the high oval window in my attic room, I saw bright stars sparkling in the still-inky sky.
Reaching under my pillow, I pushed the off button on my alarm clock and pulled it out. The red numbers read 4:45 a.m. and I yawned widely as I sat up, my eyes watering from exhaustion. As I set the alarm clock on the sidetable, I saw the pile of books I’d left on my desk close to midnight when I’d finally finished my Stacie and Drew’s homework and climbed into bed.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stifled a groan. Every muscle in my body hurt, from my eyebrows straight down to my toes. Practice had gone until five and I’d completely abandoned my plan to underperform. Instead, I’d run as fast I could, beating Brielle and Mallory on the course run with an ending sprint that had put me so far ahead of them that I couldn’t hear them as I finished alone.
As I’d finished first, alone.
Coach Z had clapped me on the back, then ordered me to walk and cool down before stretching. I’d been smiling as I walked a lap on the track, feeling wobbly and relieved, when I had caught sight of Deke across the way. He had finished and had been waiting with the rest of the boys before he had given me a thumbs up
as he walked toward me.
“You’re fast,” he had said. “You recover well.”
He had glanced down at his shoes, then up at me, grinning.
“I’m so sorry,” I had said, flustered. I had started talking in a rush. “Will your shoes be ok? I’ve never done anything like that before.” With a nervous laugh, I had looked around, sweeping my hand at the track and had added, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“No?” he had asked, eyebrows up. “You run like you’ve been training your entire life.”
“Not really...” I had started to say, then stopped. Memories had flashed across my mind - running with my mom on the beach, running the bases with my dad when he coached me in t-ball, running across the big field at recess in grade school and laughing when I touched the soccer goal first.
I had swallowed hard at the memories; they were good, but bittersweet. I didn’t need to ask myself where that girl had gone because that girl was gone - she belonged to a life with a mom and dad who loved her and who were very much alive. A life that wasn’t mine, not anymore.
Deke had watched me, eyes expectant, and I had realized I had stopped talking a few seconds ago.
“Sorry,” I had said with a small sigh. “I guess I did run a lot when I was a kid but life got in the way. I haven’t run like that for a very long time.”
“Yeah, I get it,” he had replied, and had looked past me, his eyes focused on something only he could see. “Life has a way of messing things up.” After a few seconds, his eyes had shifted back to mine. Seeing the confusion on my face, he had shrugged his shoulders, his grin and dimple reappearing as he gave a short laugh. “Listen to me, Mr. Philosopher. Guess I just meant to say life is simpler when you’re a kid.”
He had started to say something else, but Coach Z had blasted his whistle and everyone had circled up for the last stretch. I had kept my distance from Brielle and Mallory and worked my way through the cooldown drills, feeling my muscles already beginning to ache with the effort of running.
As we had stood up to go, Emma had tried to catch my eye, but I had pretended I didn’t see her. I couldn’t afford another minute at school; I had less than an hour to get back home and get dinner on the table by six o’clock and I had to figure out a way to get cleaned up and back in my school clothes, too.
As soon as cooldowns had finished, I had grabbed my backpack, waving bye to Emma and had raced across the field to the parking lot. Even though cutting through the trees to Ditcher’s Lane would have been the fastest way home, I couldn’t do that in front of everyone, especially Coach Z, or I’d be in Saturday detention for sure.
I hadn’t wanted to get caught again, that’s for sure. Still, crossing the creek was the fastest way home. Luckily, I had remembered the rumors about the other way to cross the creek from school property. But it was supposed to be dangerous when the water was high.
My heart had been pounding as I had neared the edge of the parking lot. Here, the exit road from Castlewood High hugged the treeline on the southeast edge of campus. Through the treeline, part of the cross-country course wound up and down on a path that included a scenic wooden bridge which was a favorite backdrop for senior pictures on crisp and colorful autumn afternoons.
Under the bridge ran Fox Run Creek at the bottom of a deep and narrow ravine. The bridge straddled the part of the creek that made a sharp ninety-degree turn to the north before turning again, running west at the bottom of the ravine, widening and shallowing out as it hugged the exit road leading out of the parking lot.
The bridge hadn’t always been there; cross-country used to have to run down a wicked switchback path to the bottom of the ravine and back up until about ten years ago when a student broke their leg after slipping on a loose rock. The bridge had been quickly constructed after a series of finger-pointing articles in the local paper. The cross-country course now led west, over the bridge, then followed the top of the ravine and into the open clearing by the entrance where Fox Creek disappeared under another bridge on Main Street.
But, according to rumor and legend, it was possible to go down the ravine by the bridge, and get off of school property by crossing to the south side of Fox Creek, then climb back up the bank, going under the line of fencing that ran along the top of the ravine, marking the school property.
I’d heard that it wasn’t much of a big deal when Fox Creek was low. Rumor was you just splashed across, skipping from rock to rock.
But when the creek was high?
Then you had to swim or float on a board under the fence to reach the bank on the south side.
Could I trust the rumors? Trust the stories I’d heard over the years in the locker banks, in the cafeteria, in whispered conversations from the corners of classrooms? Did I actually know someone who had rafted or swam their way off school grounds?
That was a big fat no.
This is crazy, I had thought, shooting a glance over my shoulder to make sure no one had been driving out the parking lot exit as I had glanced at my watch and jogged down the trail toward the bridge. Only forty minutes until my stepmother would have been home. Going the long way around town, even if I had ran... well, I would never have made it on time.
My legs had ached, but I had known I’d need to run hard and fast to make it home in less than twenty minutes once I’d crossed the creek. And then once I’d crashed through the door, I’d need to take a shower and find something in the refrigerator to throw together in a hurry so dinner would be ready when my stepmother and stepsisters walked in the door.
No one had been on the bridge, but in a nearby tree, a squirrel had let off a stream of noisy chatter. Two birds had exploded from the leaves, scared off by the squirrel, and I had jumped, gasping and jittery. I’d caught hold of the edge of the bridge railing and peered over.
The water had been high and frothy, pushing quickly through the narrow ravine. I had hesitated, trying to think of another way across while the seconds ticked away on my beat-up old watch.
Leaning over again, beads of sweat had dripped down my forehead and into my eyes, burning. I had squinted against the pain and had seen what looked like a squared edge of gray wood swim into focus as my eyes cleared.
So there was something to the rumors of creek racing, I’d thought, picking my way down the slope. There, tucked well beneath the bridge and mostly covered with leaves, two boards of lumber had been mostly hidden, both about eight inches wide and gray and worn from exposure to the elements.
It’s not worth the risk! I had thought about Coach Z’s threat of Saturday detention, then I had straightened up, grim and determined. There was no one around to catch me this time and the reality was simple: if i didn’t get home on time, my stepmother’s punishment would probably be worse than anything Coach Z could hold over me.
Tightening the straps on my backpack, I had shoved the front edge of the board in the water. Staying dry was not an option, so I had belly-flopped down on the board, paddling and kicking as hard as I could. Halfway across, the current had caught me and threatened to spin me around, but with a burst of frenzied kicking, I had managed to get to the other side.
Exhausted and wet, I had pulled the board out of the water and tossed it on the leaves. I’d meant to cover it, but I’d left it, and had taken off running for home, thinking only of what lay ahead of me. A bubble of happiness had welled up inside of me as I had remembered Deke’s dimpled smile.
Lost in the thrill of running again, my mind replaying the conversation with Deke, I had raced home as fast as I could.
I hadn’t given the board, or the bridge, a second thought.
Chapter Twelve
Later that morning, sitting half asleep in my first period math class, I tried to think of any way I could be part of the cross-country team without my stepmother or stepsisters finding out and without losing my library job. Even in my sleep-deprived state, I could see the irony; only yesterday, I’d been frantic, trying to think of a way out of the cross-country tryouts.
Today, not even twenty-four hours later, my brain was trying to solve the opposite equation.
Running had surprised me, but coming in first?
Winning?
I felt powerful, invincible. I didn’t want to give that up.
And seeing Deke by the lockers that morning with his easy smile? Well, that certainly had helped to change my mind, too.
Fighting off a yawn that stretched my face until it felt like it would split in two, I nearly fell out of my chair, startled, when I heard my name over the school PA system.
“Cecelia Norwell,” said the school secretary, her voice nasal and vaguely disapproving. “Please report to the main office immediately.”
My face flamed red as, now wide awake, heart thudding, I gathered my books and headed out of the classroom. At the bottom of the main stairs, I slowed my steps as I crossed the lobby to the main office. Through the long line of windows that looked out over the hall, I could see the school secretary, her tightly permed gray hair nodding as she spotted me. She reached over and grabbed her phone as I entered the office, loudly whispering, “Cecelia Norwell is here, Mr. Adamson.”
She looked over the half-glasses that sat perched on the end of her nose at me, the chain clanging against the handle of the phone. “Don’t bother taking a seat, Cecelia. Tthey’re all waiting for you in the assistant principal’s office.” Her face was pinched with what passed for a smile, but I knew it wasn’t sincere; any joy she felt lay solely in the chance to be first with the latest scoop for the staff room gossip mill.
Tsk-tskng under her breath, she waved me through as I pushed through the swinging half door past her desk and headed back through the hallway that led to the administration’s offices. I kept my face blank. Wwhy give her more fuel? Inside though, I was a churning tsunami of nerves.
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