Abi and the Boy Who Lied

by Kelsie Stelting

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Just like promised, I waited for Nikki at the entrance to my dorms. I wasn’t sure what one wore for an ice bath, but I’d dressed in my one-piece swimsuit under shorts and a T-shirt. I definitely wasn’t skinny-dipping. Or ice cubing. Whatever the hell you called it.

  She pulled up in a beat-up pickup. One girl rode in the passenger seat, and one sat on a wheel well in the bed.

  “Hop in the back!” Nikki called.

  Too tired to worry about riding without seatbelts or where we were going, I threw my bag in and climbed over the tailgate. At least a plastic mat covered the floor and it was relatively clean.

  As Nikki pulled away, the girl in the back grinned at me, showing off pink braces. I thought I recognized her as one of the sprinters. “Hey, I’m Jayne,” she said.

  “Abi.” I smiled back, but it probably looked more like a grimace. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Yeah.” She grinned. “Nikki’s dad set up a stock tank with ice water for us. It’s about thirty minutes from here.”

  “Like, a tank, for cattle?”

  She laughed. I was beginning to wonder if all she did was laugh and smile. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s clean, though. They just have it in their backyard. And her mom usually brings us these bomb recovery shakes. You’ll love her.”

  I forgave her for using the word “bomb.” Probably because her smile was so contagious I already felt my mood lifting and my nerves easing.

  “That’s awesome,” I said.

  “What classes are you in?” she asked.

  Over the next half hour, I found out Jayne was a nursing major, a sophomore, from North Carolina, and that she wanted to work in a children’s oncology unit someday. That she had a little cousin who died from osteosarcoma—a bone cancer—and that she broke up with her boyfriend to come here on scholarship. The real stuff.

  It made me wonder what her smile was hiding or if she was actually that happy. That dedicated to living life to its fullest.

  Nikki parked the truck next to an old farmhouse lined with blooming flower beds and vines climbing white lattices. A black and white dog came running up to the pickup and jumped on Nikki the second she got out.

  After giving it a scratch and pretending to be annoyed that it slobbered all over her face, she started toward the house. I followed her and the other girls to the back porch, where a silver tank waited, brimming with ice.

  I came to a stop beside Nikki, staring at it.

  “Welcome to paradise,” she said.

  The other girls walked to a bench on the porch, pulling off their shirts and shorts to reveal sports bras and spandex. I felt a little over (under?) dressed in my swimsuit, but I went with it, too tired to be self-conscious. No one commented on my attire anyway. They were already slipping into the ice, shouting expletives as they sank lower into the freezing cold water.

  I followed suit, trying to resist the urge to jump out and have them committed. The liquid felt like a million needles poking into my skin. This was torture on par with line sprints and pop quizzes.

  “You ladies watch your mouths!” a southern voice called from the porch, but there was humor in her voice.

  A woman who looked almost exactly like Nikki, but only slightly older, came out carrying a tray with four cocktail glasses that had umbrellas sticking out and fresh pineapple slices wedged over the edges.

  She smiled at me—with her eyes and her mouth—and said, “Now I recognize Jayne and Mollie, but I haven’t met you yet.”

  “Abi,” I said over chattering teeth and took a glass from her. “Thanks.”

  “Cheers, darlin’.”

  I lifted the cup and then cautiously took a sip. Jayne hadn’t mentioned alcohol when she told me about the “recovery” shakes, but I couldn’t be too certain.

  All I could taste, though, was a blend of fruit and what I guessed was protein powder.

  Nikki groaned and sank down to her chin with her eyes closed. “God, getting started again is such a bitch.”

  The other girls mumbled their agreement.

  “Tell me it gets better,” I begged.

  “Oh yeah,” Mollie said. “Like a million times better. Especially when meets start.”

  A relieved sigh escaped my lips, making steam pour over the uneven surface.

  “I saw that.” Nikki laughed. “Coach Cadence is rough, but she’ll make you the best you can be.”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “This will be my third year on the team, and she got me to place at nationals last year,” Nikki said. “I was nowhere near that level when I started.”

  Mollie nodded. “I kind of wish I had her for a coach.”

  “Coach Mel isn’t bad,” Jayne offered.

  “Yeah, but not great like Cadence,” Mollie retorted.

  Nikki’s mouth twisted to the side. “If she recruited you for the team, Abi, it means something.”

  I ran my shivering hand over the bumpy surface of the water, making ice cubes rattle against each other. “Actually, the boys’ coach recruited me.”

  “Huh?” Mollie asked.

  “It’s kind of a long story.”

  “Spill,” Nikki said.

  So I told them about Jon and how he’d gotten his coach to come to our meet and how it had gone from there. How he’d worked a deal for us both to go to Upton because Jon refused to run there if I didn’t get admitted. We were a package deal.

  My smile was bittersweet. “He said he’d run at a community college if that’s what it took for us to be together.” I had felt guilty he was sacrificing for me, but now I had the double consequence of feeling like I didn’t belong amongst the other runners. Like I hadn’t earned it. They were all so talented.

  The girls gushed, though.

  “That is so sweet,” Jayne said.

  Mollie nodded. “I’d kill for my boyfriend to care that much.”

  Nikki whistled. “Boy must be crazy about you.”

  I decided to voice my fear, even if I couldn’t meet their eyes. “I can’t help feeling like I don’t belong here, though.”

  “No,” Nikki countered, her voice firm. “You wouldn’t be here if Cadence wasn’t okay with it. And I saw you in practice. You have some real potential. You’ve just got to get your form down and your diet on point.”

  I wanted so badly for her words to be true. If that was what it took—hard work and good nutrition, I could do it. I promised myself I would, for the team, for Jon, for me.

  After half an hour in the ice bath, we got out and dried off. Back in high school, I might have wanted to make a night of it, but now I was spent. My body thoroughly used and ready for a break.

  Judging by the way the other girls moved slowly, stiffly, they felt the same way. Nikki dropped us back at the dorms around midnight. Anika was already asleep, so I took my things to the community bathroom to change and get ready for bed.

  As I took in my reflection, I couldn’t believe how much I’d changed in the last year. I still remembered looking in the mirror at Grandma’s and hating everything I saw. My face wasn’t round now. It had lines and contours. My collarbones actually showed on my shoulders. My stomach wasn’t flat, but it was strong. I still had the same dishwater blue eyes though, the same mousy blond hair. I considered getting highlights, but I didn’t have that kind of money, and I couldn’t imagine asking Grandma for more than she’d already given me.

  With a sigh, I stepped into a stall and changed into pajama shorts and a tank top. Somehow, I managed to do all of that without dropping anything in the toilet—impressive considering how completely exhausted I was. Thankfully, I didn’t have class the next morning. Just my appointment with the nutritionist.

  When I got into the room, sending a sliver of light over Anika’s bed, she rolled over. I hurriedly shut the door as silently as I could, hoping I wouldn’t wake her. After a few moments, her breathing turned heavy again, and I continued to my bed, bringing my phone with me.

  Curled i
nto my pillows and comforter, I checked my messages for a goodnight text from Jon, but instead saw nothing. My fingers itched to text him, but I needed to prove to myself, to him, that I wasn’t as desperate as I felt. I fell asleep aching for him, but knowing I couldn’t do anything about it. Not right now.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The nutritionist held the door open, her sleeveless blouse showing off toned arms. “Come in, Abi.”

  I walked into the small office, papered entirely with photos of her, a handsome guy, and two small children, along with Upton gear.

  “I’m Deborah,” she said.

  I nodded. What else was there to say to that?

  “I have some ideas for us, but I wanted to hear from you first. What are your goals for the season?”

  “To deserve my spot here,” I said. “I want to be the best I can be. I worked hard in high school, but I know I have a lot to learn.”

  “And I’m here to help you do that. What you did in high school may have gotten you here, but it isn’t going to take you to the next level.”

  I nodded eagerly. “I’m ready.” I couldn’t wait to get her take on this. To do what I’d promised myself I would the night before.

  “Let’s start with your existing diet.” She handed me a few slips of paper with slots for every meal. “Go ahead and fill out everything you’ve eaten for the last few days. Every cookie, every snack, every mustard packet, I want to know about it.”

  The thought of putting my flaws on display for her made my stomach turn, but I needed this to get better.

  I began writing my breakfasts—usually grapefruit or eggs and skim milk. My lunches—some salad with protein, no dressing. And supper...my pen hovered over the page. I hadn’t even eaten supper the last two days, being so preoccupied with the letters and Jon and practice. I could have put my “typical” meal, but I decided to be honest and left them blank.

  I handed the pages back to her and sat on the edge of my chair as I waited for her to read them over. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t the furrow that crossed her brow.

  “Are you sure you’re not forgetting something?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No, the first day I gave you is what I usually do. I’ve had a rough couple of days, so that’s why I missed dinner.”

  She set the pages down and got out a laminated sheet and calculator. The keys crackled as she began a calculation. “Even with supper...” Her frown deepened. “You’re getting maybe a thousand calories in a day. Maybe.”

  Suddenly, I felt two hundred pounds again with the scale staring back at me, reminding me of my shortcomings. “I’m not starving myself or anything.”

  Her lips settled into a frown, and she pushed her glasses into her hair. “Abi...” She gave me an even look. “Have you ever struggled with anorexia?”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Me?” That was the most ridiculous thing I’d heard all day. “I’m the last person you should be asking that. I weigh a hundred and forty pounds. I’m not a stick by any means.”

  “You know, you don’t have to be emaciated to have an eating disorder.” Without so much as a smile, she asked, “Have you always weighed that much?”

  The seat suddenly felt uncomfortable, and I shifted. “No. I used to weigh more.”

  “What did you weigh?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “A little over two hundred pounds.”

  Her eyebrows lifted, but she quickly lowered them. “You have worked hard to be here, haven’t you?”

  “You have no idea.” It was the truth. I’d been going on early morning runs, doing the track workouts Coach sent home, every single day.

  “Do you ever do extra workouts on top of practices?”

  “I mean, yeah? Sometimes.” What kind of question was that? I assumed everyone else playing sports at the college level had done the same.

  “Abi, can I level with you?”

  Feeling exposed, I folded my arms over my chest. “Sure?”

  “With how much you eat and exercise, you are on the borderline for having an eating disorder.”

  The words sent a shock through my system. How had I gone from multiple desserts a day to having an eating disorder? And even worse, it minimized all the work I’d put in to get myself here. “So just because I’ve worked hard to lose weight, I’m anorexic?”

  “No. Because you eat little compared to how hard you’re working, you’re on the borderline. You can’t do that as a college athlete,” she said. “Your coaches’ practices are more than enough to get you in top physical shape, but only if you have the energy your body needs to build muscle and recover. No more skipping meals. No extra workouts, unless your coach gives them to you. And for the love of God, use some salad dressing. Vinaigrette at least.”

  But I hardly heard her words. My mind was still stuck on the words “eating disorder.” Did she have any idea how hard it was to choose salad when everyone else was eating pizza? How hard I’d worked to keep my sugar intake low, even switching fruits for those lower in carbohydrates?

  Did she know she was just echoing everything my mom told me before she spat at me and maimed my face?

  I stood up and put my backpack over my shoulder, livid. “I do not have an eating disorder,” I fumed, voice shaking from anger. Now I didn’t even see her. I saw my mom and her sunken eyes, her lips curled back with distain. “I have been dedicated to being the best I can be, and for you to even insinuate...” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Her eyes widened. “Abi, I said borderline.” She stood up too, holding out a packet of papers. “Look, I know being a college student is a big change, especially when you’re in a sport as demanding as distance running. Why don’t you try this meal plan I put together for you this week. If it doesn’t work, come see me again.”

  I turned my head away from her, not able to look at her without wanting to scream. No matter how far away I got from my mother, her words chased me everywhere I went. I bit down on my cheek, chewing hard just to keep my mouth shut.

  “Okay?” she asked.

  I released the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.”

  “Then, I’ll be seeing you again,” I said and got out of there as fast as I could.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The meeting with the team nutritionist followed my every thought for the next two days. I should have been enjoying my first week of college, making new friends in class, struggling through track practice just like everyone else, and here I was, sitting across from my perfect boyfriend in the dining hall, staring down at one of Deborah’s suggested meals.

  All of the research I’d done showed to cut fat and simple carbs in lieu of lean protein and complex carbohydrates. I had a salad, ranch dressing, a grilled chicken thigh with juice dripping from it, green beans with bacon, and a hefty hunk watermelon, which was one of the fruits with the most sugars.

  “What’s going on?” Jon asked. “You’ve been off.”

  I twirled my fork around one of the fatty strings of bacon. “Just tired, I guess.”

  His hand covered mine over the fork. “Not just now. You’ve been different for a while now. Since graduation.”

  My eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  He lifted his hands with his shrug. “I don’t know. You just seem more...closed off. Like there’s something you’re not telling me. You put that wall back up.”

  I chewed at my straw, trying not to fall apart. If only he knew all the messiness, the brokenness I was holding back. He deserved so much better that all of that, with his perfect life back home. Before he knew me, he had the life. Perfect, loving parents. Amazing talent at a sport that left him with plenty of options for friends and girlfriends. But then I came in with my past and vomited it all over his easy life.

  “I’m just me,” I said instead.

  “But what about us?” he asked.

  “Us is...everything to me.”

  “Is it?
” he asked, like he wasn’t sure.

  How could he not be sure?

  “It is,” I promised.

  “But every time I even mention being intimate, you freeze.” For a second, I saw his real feelings, the hurt and rejection lying underneath his easygoing surface.

  “Is that what you want?” I asked. “To have...” I couldn’t even say the word sex out loud in the dining hall with people going about their perfectly average lives all around us. Which was probably a sure sign I wasn’t even close to ready.

  No one had ever been interested in me enough for me to really think about it. To get close.

  And the thought—the possibility—of becoming a parent? How would I even know how to do that? It wasn’t like I had shining examples to go off of.

  Jon rubbed his arm, looking at me under his lashes. “I want you. In the morning when your breath smells like an old gym bag. When you have sweat dripping down your neck in track practice and your face is all red.”

  My cheeks were red now, alright. I barely stifled the urge to cup my hand over my mouth and check my breath.

  He reached out and rubbed his thumb over my cheek. “When you’re self-conscious because I just brought up morning breath and track practice.”

  I managed a smile, but it didn’t stay long. “It’s not an easy decision for me,” I admitted. “It means a lot. I need to be sure.”

  But that was the wrong thing to say, because his entire face fell. “You’re not sure about us.”

  He didn’t say it like a question. It was a statement in his eyes. An indisputable fact.

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “How would I know, though?” he asked. “This is the first real conversation we’ve had about it. And I know that’s not all that’s been bothering you lately.”

  I couldn’t keep his gaze, shifting my eyes to the table.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said, standing up.

  Doing the same, I asked, “Where are you going?”

  “I’m meeting with some people from class to work on homework.” A frown marred his features. “I’m not going to make you talk to me about anything.” He gestured between the two of us. “But that’s what a relationship is, Abi. We talk. We figure things out. I thought that’s what you wanted with me.”