Outside the workshop, two little brothers threw a basketball at a bare hoop, mostly missing it. Scamp, their Border Collie mix, jumped and yapped at the boys. Calvin smiled to himself and jogged across the weeds toward the back stoop. He let the screen door slap the frame behind him.
His mother stood by the stove in the kitchen, blonde, plump, and busy, turning fried chicken with a fork. Calvin’s twenty two-year-old sister, Peyton, carried a big pot of something from the stove to the sink.
“Is Tyler staying for supper?” Mom asked without looking up.
Starchy steam billowed from the sink as Peyton drained what smelled like potatoes. Mom’s sizzling chicken tugged at Calvin as if he were connected by a bungee cord. “Um, I’ll ask him. We’re taking the bikes out for a bit.”
“Now?” Mom banged her fork on the edge of the pan then waved it at him. “Supper’s nearly on the table. I won’t have you riding all over creation while the rest of the family is sitting down to a meal.”
What would it hurt if he was late for supper one time? Really. He’d only be taking a short ride through the woods.
“Hey, Mom, where’s the parsley for these potatoes?” Peyton called, her face stuck in the refrigerator.
Mom turned her head. “Used the last of it a week ago. Get the dried stuff out of the pantry.”
Calvin grabbed the moment of distraction and whirled toward the door.
“Calvin, I said—”
He pretended not to hear and made it outside.
Calvin rushed to the workshop and grabbed his helmet off a shelf. He rammed it onto his head as he swung his leg over the seat of the Yamaha. “Let’s go! Once around the field. That’s all the time I got.”
The Yamaha started on the first kick. Grinning at this small triumph, Calvin shot out of the garage. A check in his rearview mirror revealed Tyler took it a little slower on the loose gravel of the driveway. Calvin laughed and swerved onto Victory Church Road.
They traveled two hundred feet along the street then veered off onto a dirt access road at the north end of the cotton field. Packed soil in the ruts from Dad’s truck provided good traction, and the golden sunlight gilded the newly leafed trees beyond the field. The temperature would drop quickly with the sunset, but for now it was perfect for riding. Calvin popped the clutch, and his front wheel lifted for one awesome moment.
He sped through the left turn at the back of the field. His rear tire skidded in the sandy soil between the truck ruts. Calvin muscled the bike upright and accelerated.
The deep-throated buzz of the Kawasaki engine undercut the Yamaha’s two-stroke whine. Its green fender flashed in Calvin’s peripheral vision.
Not happening, dude!
Calvin shifted his weight back and cranked the throttle. The Yamaha surged ahead.
He flew past acres of sandy, trenched soil, giving Tyler something to chase. Staying ahead took half finesse and half insanity, especially on this path. Tyler challenged him every few seconds.
A trail ahead led into forest. There, he and his old Yamaha would outshine the newer bike. Gritting his teeth, Calvin cut right to climb off the access road. Too much throttle; his front wheel lifted at the top of the ridge, and the rear skidded in the loose dirt. Calvin stuck out his left foot, and a lightning bolt of pain shot up his leg. Upright but moving too fast, the Yamaha plunged into the underbrush, where vines snagged the front end and flopped the bike over, tossing Calvin onto his hands and knees. The engine choked and died. Calvin lurched to his feet. The pain in his ankle sent a metallic taste to the back of his mouth.
“Ah-ohh … moron!”
Tyler sat puttering on the trail. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
All concern left Tyler’s eyes, and he snickered. “Why didn’t you slow down, man?”
The question didn’t need an answer. Calvin, Tyler, and Flannery had all done idiotic stunts to stay ahead in a race. Limping, Calvin went to pick up his bike. He grabbed the handlebars and pulled back, but weeds had snarled under the fender. He yanked hard and stumbled backward when the bike came free. Hobbling on his twisted ankle, Calvin hissed a curse.
And then the Yamaha wouldn’t start.
He slammed the kick-start lever over and over while Tyler sat on his Kawasaki and stared. Calvin didn’t need this. Not at the very start of spring break. Not with all the other junk he had on his mind. He dropped the bike on its side and kicked weeds and dirt for several strides along the hillside.
Things got quiet. Calvin looked over his shoulder.
Tyler had cut his engine. He set the Kawasaki on its kickstand, climbed the ridge, and strolled past the Yamaha, his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“Huh? Th-the bike. Won’t start.”
“Don’t mess with me, man. I can see the bike won’t start. Something else is going on, or you wouldn’t treat it that way.”
Calvin turned to face the woods, blowing out each breath.
“Michael?” Tyler asked. “Or your dad again?”
“Yeah, like I’m going to dump all that on you,” Calvin muttered without thinking. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping his friend hadn’t heard.
In the shadow of Tyler’s visor, hurt flickered through his eyes. Then he shrugged and looked away. “Just trying to help.”
Tyler couldn’t help. He’d tried before, but their conversations always ended up with Calvin talking and Tyler not knowing what to say. With Tyler looking uncomfortable and Calvin feeling just as lost. Maybe even more. Because it seemed like something had changed between him and his best friend as well. They couldn’t go through the grief together. Tyler just couldn’t understand. Calvin’s world had changed; Tyler’s hadn’t.
Calvin made a lame gesture toward the Yamaha.
Tyler slapped a hand against his thigh. “Probably something simple. Come on.”
Together, they lifted the bike. Calvin straddled the seat and put his foot on the kick-starter, but Tyler thumped his arm and stopped him.
“Dude.” Tyler reached in front of the handlebars and lifted the throttle cable.
Broken. The black casing had ripped apart, laying bare a section of stretched-out metal coils. A branch had probably snagged it, and the old, dried-out casing gave up. A sick feeling grabbed Calvin by the throat again.
“Bentley Cycles ought to be able to get you one of these right quick,” Tyler said.
Calvin shook his head. “Dave can only get parts for my bike if he finds them on eBay or in a junkyard.” Calvin ran his hand under the mutilated coils. No way could he repair this.
“But it’s just a cable. There should be one for another bike that’ll fit.”
“Doesn’t work that way.” Calvin sighed and dropped the cable. “Great. Just great. My spring break is toast.”
“Nah, come on—”
“Forget it.” Calvin took hold of his handlebars and rolled the bike back onto the access road. “Finish your ride. See you at the house.”
“It’s okay,” Tyler said. “I’ll walk my bike with you.”
The Yamaha wasn’t a burden to push, but Calvin’s feet slipped in the sandy dirt and his sprained ankle throbbed. In spite of the cooling evening air, he and Tyler were soon puffing.
“You’re limping,” Tyler said.
“Twisted my ankle. It’s not bad.”
“Want to ride my bike home?”
He was already late for supper. Didn’t matter if the bike was broken, Mom would have Dad lock it up for a week as punishment anyway. Might as well delay the lecture a little longer.
Calvin forced a grin. “It’s okay. I’ll make it.”
Tyler leaned into the Kawasaki’s handlebars and grunted as he pushed up a slope. Still at the bottom, Calvin stopped, watching his friend. The guy could be riding, having fun, or on his way home to a happier family and his beloved electric guitar, instead of slogging through the truck ruts with Calvin.
Desperation clamped down Calvin’s chest. He had to let somet
hing out, or choke. Calvin took a deep breath to steel himself then pushed the Yamaha up the slope. At the top, he swung his leg over the seat and sat to take a break.
“Ty, have you noticed anything … different about Stacey?”
Tyler huffed a laugh. “Yeah! Her hair. It’s neon.”
“Well, yeah. But, I mean, at Oliver’s yesterday she acted like she didn’t want to be there. I mean really didn’t want to be there.”
Letting his bike lean against his hip, Tyler took off his helmet. Sweaty blond hair clung to his head. “Looked to me like she was ticked off at Flannery.”
“Yeah, that was stupid. But what I mean is, she wouldn’t eat anything, and she acted like she’d get an infection if she touched anything. And yesterday morning, she almost passed out in the hallway before class.”
“I heard about that! But I didn’t know it was Stacey.”
The Yamaha’s hard rubber handgrips gave Calvin something solid to hang on to, something real and simpler than the rest of his life. He stared at the pits and scratches in the orange gas tank. “She hardly eats anything anymore. She’s always on a diet. Always. I thought it was a girl thing, because Peyton is always, like—” He went into a falsetto voice to quote his sister’s frequent whine. “‘I need to lose weight to fit into my wedding dress!’ But Stacey’s different. I think … I think it’s starting to affect her.” He squinted at the sun, now a ball of fiery red peeking over the treetops beyond the neighbor’s fields.
“I don’t get why girls do that,” Tyler said. “Stacey’s already thin. She doesn’t need to lose any more weight.”
Calvin recalled Stacey telling him she was chubby as a child. She’d been sick as a baby, had a couple of surgeries, and her mother never let her exercise, afraid she’d damage something. But she wasn’t heavy when Calvin met her. And she’d gone from dieting to … some kind of extreme.
“Something’s wrong, dude,” Calvin said. “Something major.”
Flexing one hand against the handlebar of his Kawasaki, Tyler sucked in his lips and looked at the ground.
“What?” Calvin asked.
“Maybe she’s, like, anorexic. Or what’s that deal where they stick their fingers down their throats?”
Calvin couldn’t breathe. Anorexia. That word had seeped into his thoughts before, but he’d shoved it away. It couldn’t be. Why would anyone starve themselves when they were already skinny?
Calvin shook his head and got off his bike. He pressed against his handlebars and dug his toes into the loose soil to get the Yamaha rolling again. “Tell you one thing though,” he said as Tyler caught up with him. “Zoe knows what’s going on. The two of them are hiding something.”
Saying it out loud to Tyler brought a rush of heat to Calvin’s brain. Secrets. When had there ever been secrets between him and Stacey? He could tell her anything. Why did she feel she had to hide anything from him?
“That Zoe chick is scary,” Tyler said.
Calvin grunted in agreement. With the road ahead, he pushed harder and kicked his heels higher, and reached the pavement before Tyler. Back and arm muscles already burning, he puffed out his breath and struggled up the gentle grade toward home. The Kawasaki engine revved to life, and Tyler roared past him, his helmet looped over the handlebars.
Calvin squinted and watched Tyler make a tight turn on the road to line his bike up with the carrier behind his father’s SUV.
Victory Church Road leveled out, giving Calvin’s arms a break, and he pushed the Yamaha to the grassy shoulder in front of his house. Tyler eased up to the bike carrier until his front tire nudged the narrow ramp.
Calvin set his Yamaha on its kickstand. “I was supposed to ask if you’re going to stay for supper, but everyone’s probably finished eating by now.”
Tyler dismounted and, with a grunt, rolled his bike up the ramp. “Thanks anyway, but I should get home. You wanna come over to my place tonight?”
“Mom’s going to shoot me for being late. I’ll call you later if I’m still alive.”
Tyler chuckled. “Hey, can you grab the strap for me?”
Calvin fetched a cargo strap that had fallen to the ground under the SUV bumper. He snaked it over the Kawasaki’s triple clamp then hung onto the bike while Tyler secured the strap on the other side. The motorcycle’s front forks compressed as Tyler winched the strap tight. Another strap secured the rear wheel of the bike.
Tyler flopped his arms over the seat of his motorcycle. “Cal, I don’t know about the not-eating stuff, but the way Stacey’s acting lately … it’s like she doesn’t even want you to talk to other people. And the thing is …” Tyler’s voice softened. “When Stacey gets all needy and uncomfortable, it’s like you fold. I don’t want to say this, dude, but it’s like she rules you when you two are together.”
“She does not!”
“Sorry, bro. That’s how I see it. Flannery thinks so too.”
Calvin’s mouth hung open and his brain fogged. The hour they’d spent at Oliver’s Burgers yesterday afternoon seared through the haze. Stacey had hung on to him the whole time, saying little and eating nothing, even when he playfully touched a fry to her lips. Dirty looks hovered between her and Flannery. And she talked about leaving long before he’d finished his food. Calvin had to remind her that he couldn’t carry a drink cup on the motorcycle.
Had she always been that insecure?
“Tell you what,” Tyler said, shrugging his shoulders. “Call her and invite her to hang out with us tonight. You, me, and Flannery. See what happens.”
Calvin swung away, paced in a circle, then came back. “It’s just, I mean, she doesn’t ride a bike, man. We ride and talk about bike stuff, and she feels left out. That’s gotta be it. And maybe she’s jealous of Flannery because Flan can do stuff she can’t. You know?”
“Ask her. I bet she won’t come. Even if all we’re doing is watching television.”
Calvin looked toward the house, avoiding a response. A light clicked on by the living room window. Dinner was over and Dad was probably settling in to watch his shows. Outside, the colors were fading, the golden light turning gray fast.
“I gotta go in,” Calvin said.
Tyler took an audible breath and pivoted toward the SUV. He lifted his helmet off the Kawasaki’s handlebars and fidgeted with the vent holes on top. “I hope I’m wrong. Maybe something at home’s got her messed up right now. I hope all this turns out to be no big deal. I’m going to pray for that.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Calvin mumbled, turning his gaze toward his boots. Tyler’s answer to everything: he’d pray about it. Maybe it wasn’t very Christian of him, but Calvin wanted answers, not more of Tyler’s prayers. Prayers hadn’t helped him feel better about Michael—
“I gotta get home,” Tyler said. “Thanks for your help. The bike’s running great.” He edged backward along the side of the SUV. “Really, I hope Stacey’s okay and that y’all can work this out. Call if you want to go do something tonight. I’ll pick you up.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Standing next to his busted motorcycle, Calvin watched Tyler drive off. When the SUV and its small trailer disappeared around a curve, Calvin sighed and turned to push the Yamaha up the driveway. He parked it next to Dad’s big tool chest in the workshop, set his helmet on the shelf, and closed the workshop door. Finally he slumped against the rough wood siding of the building.
His first real girlfriend. What did they have in common, really? They’d seen each other in the hallway by their morning science classes, chatted online, and he’d invited her to a youth event at his church. Her family didn’t go to church much, so Stacey started coming with him on some Sundays. She was funny and sweet, and so talented and pretty that at first Calvin felt she was out of his league. When he asked her to Homecoming and she said yes, he walked around grinning for a week. Then Michael got killed in Afghanistan. Stacey became like an appendage, always at his side, always willing to listen and cry with him. Flannery and Tyler tried, but most of th
e time they didn’t know what to say or do.
I’ll pray for you. I’ll pray for your family. May the peace that passes all understanding …
Stacey never promised anything. She was just there. Always. She loved him whether he was angry or moody or doing crazy stuff on his bike to run away from the pain.
But she didn’t rule him. No way. And this super strict dieting stuff was too weird. It was making her sick, and it had to stop.
Mom poked her head out the back door. “Where have you been? You were supposed to be right back. Is Tyler still here?”
“No, he had to go,” Calvin grumbled. He banged his fist against the siding then walked toward his house, ignoring the ache in his ankle so his mother wouldn’t notice.
Mom held the door as he went in. “Your supper is in the microwave. You’ll have to heat it up if you want it hot.”
“Fine. I’ll heat it up.”
“Calvin, what’s the matter with you?”
He plodded toward the microwave in the kitchen. “My bike’s busted, okay?”
She followed him, her hands on her hips. “You’ll keep a civil tongue in your mouth or you won’t have that bike at all.”
“Sorry. How long should I heat this for?”
“Two minutes should be plenty.”
He punched in the numbers. “I’m sorry I was late. We had to push the bikes back.”
Mom hummed. “Tell your father what happened. I’m sure he’ll help you fix it.”
Calvin nodded. He watched the digits on the microwave tick down. Sure, maybe Dad could help him rig up a throttle cable, if Flannery’s father at the bike shop couldn’t find one. Provided Calvin could get his father to focus on anything but work and the television for ten minutes. Maybe working on something mechanical would get his attention, but if Calvin tried to talk to him about Stacey, Dad would probably grunt and move his lips like he was chewing something while his eyes glazed over. He’d been like that since the funeral.
Michael would’ve given up sleep to get the Yamaha running again. And Michael would have listened to anything Calvin needed to talk about.
Calvin squeezed his eyes shut. He had to focus on what was important now.
Running Lean Page 3