Pumpkin Run

by Mary-Kate Thomas

  I hurried down the hall to the media center. Who had written that note? With a sick feeling of dread, I wondered if my stepmother had told Mr. Adamson to assign me to cleaning chores while I was at Saturday detention. By the time I reached the top of the stairs and headed toward the glass doors of the media center, I was certain I’d be spending my day scraping gum off of the bottom of tables and chairs.

  With a sense of inevitable doom enveloping me, I pushed my way through the doors, then stopped, my hand falling at my side and my stomach knotting as I realized who had asked for me to come to the media center.

  Leaning against the main desk stood Coach Z, arms crossed, face scowling.

  Pointing to the pair of overstuffed chairs that stood between us, he pushed away from the desk, cracking his knuckles.

  “Sit down, Norwell,” he said, his scowl deepening. “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I sank into the chair, letting my backpack slide to the floor between my feet. Coach Z took the other chair, perching on the edge of the seat. A long, whistling sigh escaped his nose as he stared at me for a few seconds.

  “So,” he finally said, “that was either the smartest play I’ve ever seen or the dumbest one, Norwell.”

  I shook my head, confused. “What do you mean?”

  Coach Z tapped his toe and let out a little snort. “‘What do you mean?’” he repeated. “I mean that bonehead decision of yours to illegally exit school property and practically smile up at the trail cam as you row, row, rowed your way to the other side of the creek!” He shook his head, the scowl relaxing from his face. “Getting thrown in Saturday detention on purpose. You found the one way guaranteed to keep you off the cross-country team. I don’t know whether to congratulate you on your ingenuity or make you run laps.” Then he let out an abrupt laugh. “Course, you are stuck in Saturday detention for the next month with Wild-Eyed Walinski and his latest crew of troublemakers.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get kicked off the team!” I said in a rush, feeling my temper rising. “I just needed to get home on time!”

  Coach Z looked at me again, taking his ball cap off and rubbing his forehead with the back of his palm before putting it back on. “Yeah, well, that’s another thing you and I need to talk about. See, the AD and Vice Principal Adamson weren’t too happy to hear from your stepmother. They get scared every time someone even hints at lawyering up and suing the school district. And since I was the coach in charge of overseeing tryouts and making sure my athletes were healthy, they’re furious that I even let you touch your toes without a high school sports physical on file.”

  He stared for a lengthy pause at me, and I simply stared back, biting my tongue. What could I say? That I didn’t have a mysterious health condition? That my stepmother was a raging liar? Who would believe me? All she had to do was cue the crocodile tears and start sniffling about not wanting to violate my healthcare privacy and the AD and Adamson would wave the white flag of surrender as fast as they could to keep her from finding some infomercial lawyer to make a few phone calls to the school board.

  Finally, Coach Z shook his head one more time, clapped his hands together, and jumped up out of his chair. “Meeting expectations, as always, Norwell.” He stepped briskly toward the desk, calling back over his shoulder. “I didn’t call you here just to waste time gabbing. I’ve got a job for you to do.” He stopped and looked back to where I still sat and raised his eyebrows, tossing his hands in frustration. “Well? Unless you’d rather hang out with Walkinski and company until five?”

  I sighed and stood up, grabbing my backpack. So much for getting a head start on my homework. “What job?” I asked, strolling over to the main desk.

  “Ahh, she finally speaks,” Coach Z said, a sarcastic smile creasing his face. “Consider this another favor from me to you, Norwell. Since Vice Principal Adamson blames me for the missing physical and that nightmare meeting with your stepmother and the AD, he gave me an extra job to do, one that I am passing on to you out of the goodness of my heart.”

  “What job?” I asked, wary but curious. Anything sounded better than eight hours in Walinski’s room.

  “All of this,” he said, opening his arms and weeping his hands outward at the shelves of the media center, “needs to be sorted into three categories: keep, trash, donate.”

  “Wait, what? Why?” I looked around. There were fewer books on the shelves than at the public library, but there still had to be hundreds - no, thousands - of books collecting dust. “Today?” I added, my voice panicked.

  “Castlewood High’s trying to go fully digital, so they want to just keep a few books for looks on the shelves and ship the rest off to be someone else’s problem.” Coach Z shook his head. “Short-sighted if you ask me, but no one did. Anyhow, I told Adamson it would take me weeks to get this done, and he said fine, as long as I had it done by Thanksgiving break. So here’s the deal, Norwell. I promise I’ll spring you from Saturday detention for the rest of the month if you can promise me you’ll get the job done by then.”

  I looked around again. There were a lot of books, sure, but there were a lot of empty and half-empty shelves, too. Adding books to the media center had clearly become a low or no-priority item over the last several years. Castlewood High didn’t even have an official school librarian anymore, just two teachers who taught a few classes and spent the other half of their day as the Media Specialists, mostly helping kids working on college applications and job searches online.

  Coach Z looked up at the clock behind the main desk and cleared his throat. “Listen, Norwell, if you’re not interested, you can head back to Wild-Eyed Wally’s room for the rest of the day, heck for the rest of the month for all I care. I’ve got to get down to the field. My runners,” he said with emphasis, “Are waiting on me for practice to start.”

  “Fine,” I said, ignoring his pointed stare and stifling the urge to sigh. It was the story of my life; I couldn’t even go to Saturday detention without getting stuck doing someone else’s work. “I’ll do it. But how do I decide what books go in each pile?”

  “Easy,” Coach Z said, sliding a three-ring binder across the main desk toward me. “The media teachers already created a master list of what’s supposed to go in each pile. They’re supposed to be doing some sorting during the week, but I’m guessing once Adamson tells them he tasked me with the job, they’ll be more than happy to sit back and watch me do it for them.”

  I pulled the binder closer and now I did sigh out loud. It was an oversized one and the pages inside had to be an inch thick.

  “Chin up, Norwell. I’m sure you can figure out how to get this done fast. You’re a natural when it comes to finding a way to work the system.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder and turned to go, calling over his shoulder, “You’re doing me a solid here, Norwell. I won’t forget it.”

  Then he pushed through the doors, whistling, leaving me alone, binder in my hands, staring at the shelves of books, and wondering how much worse my life could get.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By mid-morning, I’d skimmed through the binder pages, then walked around the media center in a daze. There were more books on the shelves than I’d realized. When I flipped to the red tab in the back of the binder and read the instructions for the books in the storage rooms, I sat back down in the comfy chair by the main desk feeling utterly overwhelmed.

  Not one storage room, I thought, but storage ROOMS. Plural!

  “I’ll never get this done,” I said aloud, looking around. I sat there for another few minutes, trying to come up with a plan, but all I could focus on was the sound of the clock on the wall behind the main desk ticking away the seconds. I finally pushed myself to my feet, flipping the binder to the first page as I walked toward the main desk. FICTION KEEP, read the top of the page. It was as good a place as any to start.

  Pulling a re-shelve cart loose from behind the desk, I unclipped the FICTION KEEP pages from the binder and took the first two, then rolled the
cart toward the fiction section. I was halfway across the worn carpet when the fire alarm started blaring.

  Fire drill on a Saturday? I thought, stopping and looking over toward the glass doors and the hallway. A haze of smoke made it difficult to see the lights. Just as I realized this was no fire drill, the sprinklers in the library went off, soaking me to the skin.

  “Seriously?” I said, pushing the cart away and bolting for the main desk where I’d set my backpack. I grabbed a shoulder strap and ran for the glass doors, coughing from the smoke as soon as I pushed through into the hallway.

  Heading for the stairs, I found the railing and raced down, two at a time, until I came to the bottom where the red EXIT sign was lit on both sides by emergency lights. I pushed through the heavy door to the outside, still coughing as I walked across the grass and in a wide circle around to the front of the building. I looked up at the roofline, searching for signs of smoke or flames, but the building looked fine. Out front, several small groups of people stood, all talking animatedly about what was happening.

  The parking lot by the front entry was packed with three fire engines, an ambulance, and a police cruiser. No one was running into the building, though; most of them were milling around, chatting, while two of the younger officers were herding the few students and staff away from the building entrance.

  “Cici!” The voice was familiar, and I turned, shading my eyes from the bright sun overhead. A straggling group of cross-country runners was headed up toward school, coming from the direction of the track. Emma was at the front, waving at me, and I waved back once before dropping my hand.

  “Is there really a fire?” Emma asked as she came to a stop a few feet away from me, breathing a little fast from sprinting up the hill. “There’s no one in there, is there?” Her voice was loud enough to attract the attention of a group of firefighters that was chatting near us.

  “No building fire, just smoke from some kid burning something that set off the system,” one of them said as he pulled away from the group and strolled in our direction. “You ok?” he asked me once he saw I was drenched. “Were you near the gym?”

  “No, I was upstairs,” I said, “in the media center. The sprinklers went off.”

  He nodded. “Makes sense. The gym and the media center are both in the east wing of the building.” His walkie crackled, and he straightened up, giving us a wave as he walked away, answering as he left, “Jeffers here, go ahead.”

  Emma turned to me. “Why were you in the media center?” Her face was puzzled. Over her shoulder, I could see the rest of the cross-country team walking up from the track and mingling with the rest of the students who were here for Saturday practices. I tried to turn away when I caught sight of a familiar tan face and glossy black hair, but Deke had seen me first and was already walking our way.

  “Cici!” Emma’s voice startled me and I jumped slightly, surprised at her tone. She sounded upset. “I just asked you if you’re ok.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, trying to edge away, but she stepped closer. Her face looked angry, and she crossed her arms over her chest as her red curls bounced around her shoulders.

  “Why didn’t you come back to cross-country practice after tryouts this wee. Are you not doing it now?” She looked at me, waiting for an answer. When I didn’t reply right away, she sighed, dropping her arms. Her face relaxed as the anger faded. She tried to smile.

  “Look, I know Coach Z is kind of a gung-ho nut job, and Mallory and Brielle are super annoying, and running for miles every day after school really, really bites, but I was hoping you might stick with it.” She tried to laugh. “I’m not really selling it very well, am I?”

  Before I could answer, Deke walked up to us, nodding toward the firefighters. “They got here fast. Heard the sirens screaming down at the track.” He glanced over at me, then did a double take when he saw my wet hair and dripping jeans. “And I thought I was having a bad morning running sprints. What happened to you?”

  I laughed; I couldn’t help it. He smiled at me, his dimples flashing, and for a split second I forgot just how impossibly awful my life was. I surprised myself by joking back. “The only sprinting I did today was from the building.” I held up my left foot, my blue Chuck spattered with water. “Just wet from the sprinklers.”

  “I’ve seen worse things on shoes,” he joked, eyes crinkling as he smiled at again, and I felt my cheeks redden as my pulse quickened.

  Emma looked from me to him, an eyebrow raised. She opened her mouth to say something, then paused, her forehead crinkling. She raised an arm and pointed toward the entry road to the school campus. “Looks like the news was listening to the police scanners. There’s at least four news vans in that bunch and I bet more coming.”

  Emma turned back to me, glancing once at Deke who had stiffened, watching the news vans drive past us and park on the curb in front of the main entrance. She looked at me and her face had lost any trace of anger; in her eyes, I saw a pleading look.

  “I know I’m making out cross-country to be just another glamorous sport where the main goal is to not get lost in the scary part of the woods, but it really can be fun.” Emma paused as her face grew serious and her voice quiet. “Honestly, I wouldn’t bug you like this but the thing is, Cici, we could win with you on the team. And being part of a winning team in high school looks amazing if you’re hoping to walk on in college.”

  I’d kept my face neutral, just listening, until her last sentence. I felt my mask slip for a half a second.

  “You want to run cross-country in college?” I asked, my words tumbling out. Next to me, Deke shifted his weight from one foot to the other. From the corner of my eye, I saw his face darkening with anger as the news reporters got out of their vans, all of them looking for the perfect spot to shoot thier footage.

  Emma sighed, nodding, her curls bouncing wildly behind her head, a volcano of red ringlets popping up and down. “Yeah, I mean, not really.” Stepping toward me, she said in a low voice, “I know I’m not a top ten runner but I’m decent enough to get a walk-on spot at a couple smaller schools that might offer me a partial scholarship if I make the team.” She looked at me, honesty in her eyes. “It’s just my mom and me and she works three jobs just to pay the bills. I’m on my own to pay for college.”

  There was a commotion across the lot as the crowd of groups parted. Between the two sides, a line of microphone-bearing reporters and their camera-wielding sidekicks came striding our way. Emma snorted. “Looks like we’re going to be famous.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Deke said, spinning in a tight circle away from the encroaching reporters, head tucked down, as he hurried away.

  “Hey!” Emma called after him, then turned back toward me when he didn’t answer. “Come on!” she said, grabbing my hand.

  “I can’t -,” I started, but Emma was dragging me along down the hill. I looked back at the groups, trying to find Mr. Walinski. I didn’t want to risk leaving without checking in with him and get stuck with an extra week of Saturday detention.

  “Hey!” Emma called again, then, a little louder, “Deke!”

  He turned, his face still tight with annoyance, then walked over to where we had stopped. Emma waved her arms wide, then gestured toward me.

  “I thought we agreed to get her back on the team together and you just walk off on me? Not cool!” Her ears were reddening and her eyebrows had drawn together in a tight line of anger.

  Deke’s face was stony. “I thought you had it under control,” he said, his jaw clenched.

  “Well, I don’t,” Emma shot back, her voice rising and drawing looks from the crowd of cross-country runners that stood about twenty feet away, clustered around Coach Z. I gulped, wishing I could just shrink down and disappear. Coach Z looked over at the commotion and for a moment his eyes met mine; he simply stared, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  Next to me, Emma and Deke were nearly nose to nose, furious.

  “Listen,” I said, my voice loud enough to grab
their attention. I lowered it to a whisper. “Even if I wanted to say yes, I can’t. I just can’t”

  “Can’t? Really?” Emma said, turning her anger toward me. “Or just won’t?”

  Then she stalked away, avoiding the group of cross-country runners and Coach Z, leaving me and Deke alone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Deke looked away, not meeting my eyes. I couldn’t figure out why he’d gone from smiling and joking around one minute to distant and angry the next minute.

  It doesn’t matter anyways, I told myself, but I only half believed it. As much as I wanted to focus on just getting out of Castlewood, something inside me had shifted, something had changed. It wasn’t just meeting Deke and the way every nerve on my skin tingled when he stood close to me. That mattered, sure.

  But it was the thrill of coming in first at cross-country tryouts, at being the best at something I hadn’t even realized I had in me. That mattered, too. It was hard to focus on my plan to skip town when I turned eighteen when suddenly the things I cared about intertwined with the very place that kept me trapped.

  After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. I sniffed once, giving my head a quick toss.“I’m fine.” I said, holding my hand up before he could say anything. The last thing I needed was to ugly cry in front of him, especially with the reporters and their camera crews making their way down the hill, going from group to group looking for the best headlines.

  “She doesn’t know you got detention.” Deke’s voice was so low I almost didn’t hear it. I looked at him, surprised.

  “But you do?” I asked. “How?”

  He shrugged, his shoulders rolling smoothly in one fluid motion. “I was in the office getting some papers my parents needed to sign when they called you in on Tuesday. The school secretary told me.” He glanced at me. “You didn’t see me?”