Running Lean

by Diana L. Sharples

  “Apples, honey. Fresh from the store yesterday. Good for you. And those cookies? Baked them myself from scratch last night.”

  Stacey seemed to shrink into the sofa a little. She fingered her hair, pulled a hunk of it in front of her mouth as if to make a protective screen against the food. Her trembling embarrassment overflowed onto Calvin. His mother wouldn’t come out and say that Stacey was too thin. She’d just provide the solution coated in sweetness.

  Stacey brightened. “Wow, Mrs. Greenlee. You made those last night and you’re cooking again today? Do people around here ever let you sleep?”

  Mom grinned. “Feeding a family this size takes a lot of doin’. I get my reward when people enjoy what I make. So you enjoy those cookies!”

  She hustled away, and Calvin felt like giving a low whistle. Mom had put Stacey in a tight spot. Eat, or insult. Calvin reached for a cookie and bit into it. He wiggled his eyebrows in appreciation.

  Stacey stared at him. The trembling sensation Calvin had picked up on a moment ago increased, like a low current of electricity vibrated between them. He mostly felt his own nervousness, but a flicker of movement in her eyes, and an unsteady whisper of a breath passing between her lips, showed the tension wasn’t his alone. They were locked in an unspoken standoff. I’m watching you. Eat the cookies.

  He’d happily be wrong about her, if only she would eat.

  Stacey pulled herself up from the corner of the couch at last, and reached out to take a cookie from the plate. She nibbled at it, confessed softly that it was indeed good, and actually finished it. She followed it with an apple slice, while Calvin held her hand on the cushion between them and privately rejoiced.

  He was just about to sneak a little closer to Stacey, maybe steal a kiss, when Peyton let the front door slam as she left for the store. With that, chaos broke loose inside. The boys upstairs yelled, sounding as if the pretend galactic battle had become a little too real. Mom called Lizzie’s name three times before the girl snapped, “What?” Somehow Scamp slept through the noise, curled into a tight ball in his bed beside the television. And standing in front of Stacey with one hand on her knee for balance, Emily munched another apple slice, juice and baby saliva dribbling down her chin and glistening on her pudgy fingers.

  “Did you polish that silver platter like I told you to?” Mom asked Lizzie from the kitchen.

  “Mo-om, I’m … on the computer with—”

  “You can get off the computer.”

  “Calvin’s got his girlfriend over. Why can’t I spend time with my friends?”

  “Calvin did his chores this morning. You haven’t started yours.”

  “I’ll do it later.”

  “You’ll do it now. I’m going to yank the plug out of the wall in a moment.”

  “Mom—”

  “Now, Lizzie!”

  Plastic clattered against wood veneer as Lizzie threw the headphones down. Calvin sank into the couch cushion, avoiding Stacey’s gaze. Lizzie had closed herself off from the family since the funeral. Calvin tried to be patient with her, even understanding, but the prima donna act was wearing thin, and he had enough drama to deal with already.

  He looked at the food on the coffee table. Stacey had eaten another apple slice with a thin coating of caramel sauce. Maybe they should go outside with the food and sit in the gazebo at the back of the yard, where it would definitely be quieter. Stacey might complain that it was a little chilly, though.

  Something large—maybe the size of an eight-year-old child—thudded on the floor upstairs. Of the two voices Calvin could hear, muffled by the beams and plaster of their almost historical farmhouse, one of them sounded a bit whinier than the other. Jacob would come downstairs crying soon. The kid cried a lot.

  Calvin took another cookie and shoved it whole into his mouth. He and Stacey hadn’t made specific plans for the day, although she had suggested they go one place or another. Stacey liked to plan things, which was cool with Calvin most of the time. Today he’d just wanted to spend time alone with her. Maybe when Peyton got back home and relieved them of the baby watching duties, they could get in Stacey’s car and just drive around. Maybe end up at the mall in Dawson, or a pavilion at the park in Clarksville, or parked somewhere along the Tar River at a spot that would look great in another month. The last one sounded perfect; they could sit on the hood of her car and cuddle the chill away from each other.

  Stacey’s snacking had turned to excruciatingly slow nibbling. Tired of being ignored, Emily toddled up to Calvin’s knee. He picked her up and put her on the couch beside him. A smell reached his nose, more powerful than the baking aromas. His baby sister needed a diaper change.

  And then another more pungent, chemical smell cut through all the others.

  “Ugh. What is that?” Stacey murmured, covering her nose with her sleeve.

  Calvin leaned forward to peer into the dining room. Lizzie sat at the table, making angry little circles with a rag against a lightly tarnished silver platter big enough to hold a Thanksgiving turkey.

  “Silver polish,” Calvin answered. “She should open the back door, let fresh air in here.”

  They hadn’t used that platter last November. At that time, Mom had barely enough energy to heat chicken and noodle soup. Dad recruited Peyton and Calvin to put together a meal, although no one in the house felt much thankfulness that day. Yet it was a turning point for Mom. She became Super Mom from that point on, like her inability to serve her family was a huge personal failure. But when things didn’t go right, she’d revert to a sobbing lump. Easter brunch was going to be a challenge.

  Stacey stood up. “Excuse me,” she said, squeezing between Calvin’s knees and the coffee table. She walked to the steps, probably heading for the bathroom upstairs. Her delicate hand gripped the wooden banister until she disappeared behind the slope of what was once the roofline of the old house.

  Calvin played with his baby sister, launching tickle attacks then sitting as still as a statue until her giggling subsided. Light flowed through the dining room, along with a draft of cool air. Someone had opened the back door at last.

  A high-pitched wail upstairs made Calvin jump. He breathed out as he realized it was just Jacob having another fit. His brother came flying downstairs, his pale, angelic features twisted in agony. “Mom! Mom!”

  “What happened now,” Mom said, coming around the wall from the dining room.

  Jacob grabbed Mom’s shirt hem and pointed upstairs. “Somebody’s throwing up in the bathroom!”

  Chapter 6

  “What’s that deal where they stick their fingers down their throats?” Tyler’s question stuck in Calvin’s head as he stood outside the bathroom, listening to water running in the sink on the other side of the door. Mom hovered behind him, her breath coming in quick gasps from her dash up the stairs. Jacob peered around her hips, clearly grossed out and terrified. Zachary, all wide-eyed curiosity, stood across the hall in the doorway of the bedroom he shared with his younger brother. Calvin thought he heard Lizzie’s voice from the stairwell. Great. Almost the whole family was there for the unveiling.

  The door opened, and Stacey came out, her head lowered. She nearly collided with Calvin and let out a yip of surprise as she jumped back.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “What? Oh. Um.” Her eyes darted around to all the staring faces. Then she turned toward the wall, pressing her fingertips to her forehead. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel well. I think I might have caught something.”

  Even in the dim light of the hallway, her skin glistened. Like at school the other day. Calvin sighed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I thought it would go away. I didn’t want to ruin our plans.”

  Calvin’s suspicions wavered. Passing out at school and now this … What if she was really sick?

  Mom came around Calvin and put her hands on Stacey. “Oh, sweetheart. Poor thing. Lizzie, go down and get a glass of water for her to sip. Then I need you to watch the baby
for a moment. Boys, don’t just stare at her. Go into your room for a bit.”

  Calvin’s shoulders slumped. “Are you feeling any better now?”

  “Uh …” Stacey leaned toward Calvin. He remained immobile, unable to push aside the nagging questions in his head. But she looked miserable. What kind of jerk would he be to hold himself back from her? He pulled her into his arms, and she in return pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay.” He tangled his fingers in her hair. “I don’t want you to be sick.”

  She stiffened. He tightened his grip on her, to hold on until he got the answers he wanted. “Talk to me, Stace. Please tell me what’s going on.”

  Mom came out of the bathroom with a wet cloth in her hand and dabbed it against Stacey’s forehead and cheek. “Has she been sick before this?”

  Stacey’s eyes widened and she gave her head a little shake. Calvin understood. Don’t tell. Okay, not yet. Which was fine—he wanted to talk to Stacey alone before he said anything to Mom or anyone else.

  “It was that smell,” Stacey muttered. “The polish. I thought I’d be okay today, but then that smell just made me feel sick again.”

  Plausible. Still …

  A glass with tinkling ice appeared next to Calvin. Mom took it and pressed it into Stacey’s hand. Taking command, fixing the sick child. “Drink slowly, hon. Little sips.”

  Stacey muttered thanks and took a swallow. Holding the glass in one hand, Stacey reached over to stroke his forearm down to his wrist. Calvin jerked away and tugged the hair at the front of his head toward the bridge of his nose. Was she actually sick? And if she had the flu or something, why not admit it? This was also a girl who was so phobic about dirty silverware, who carried hand sanitizer in her purse along with a little package of disinfecting wipes just in case she had to use a public restroom. Wouldn’t she lock herself away in her room if she was infected with something?

  Calvin hated that this rush of reasoning only fed his doubts. He forced himself to look back into Stacey’s eyes. She held his gaze while Mom went on dabbing. Though pale, she didn’t look weak. There was stiffness in her stance, like she was warning him through her body language not to push her for answers.

  “Maybe Calvin should drive you home,” Mom said. “Use your father’s truck, hon.”

  Brilliant idea. He’d get Stacey alone in the pickup truck, talk to her—beg her if he had to—until she revealed the truth. Calvin took a step toward the stairway. Dad’s keys should be hanging on a hook by the back door.

  “How will I get my car home?”

  Calvin stopped, his balance teetering on his sore ankle. Think fast. “I’ll drive your car, then your mom or dad can bring me home later. We’ll sit at your place and watch TV or something.” Or talk. A lot.

  She blinked, black lashes fluttering up and down, like she was trying to think fast herself. “M-my parents aren’t home.”

  “You can’t be hanging out at her house without one of her parents there,” Mom reminded him.

  Thanks, Mom. Not helping.

  “I’m okay,” Stacey said, moving away from the wall. “I can drive home. Maybe I just need more sleep. Zoe and I were up really late last night.”

  Calvin followed her out to the front porch then grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Stace, I can’t let you go until we talk about this.”

  “Please don’t ruin our spring break by arguing.”

  “Me? I’m ruining spring break?”

  She whimpered softly. Her eyes glistened, and she started to sway. “Don’t you trust me anymore?”

  His hand tightened around pronounced bones. What could he say? There was no truthful answer he could give that wouldn’t devastate her. Then a sliver of anger stabbed him. Why should I worry about her feelings? She’s the one not telling the truth. By turning on the tears, she was manipulating him, making him feel guilty.

  Yet if he’d read all this wrong, if she was actually sick—

  Calvin let go of her wrist so he wouldn’t accidentally break it. “People don’t pass out or throw up for no reason. I just want to know what’s going on.”

  Stacey blinked again, her lashes now clumped with tears. “Me too,” she whispered.

  The tears demolished his suspicions again. Maybe she had some kind of terrible, undiagnosed disease.

  Calvin caved. He squeezed his eyes tight and closed the gap between them. Stacey clung to him as he hugged her and pressed his lips to her cheek. Her hands tugged the fabric of his shirt, while her body trembled.

  Scared. She was scared of something.

  Maybe he should be too.

  He could hold her all day, if that’s what she needed. But she broke free from him and fled down the porch stairs.

  “Stace!” He leapt down five steps, landed hard on the ground. Pain jolted through his ankle and he staggered into the weedy grass.

  “I’m fine! Just leave me alone for a while,” she called over her shoulder.

  Leave her alone? A net of confusion snared Calvin’s mind and his body went numb. He stopped moving and stood with his arms limp as Stacey made it to her Honda. She fumbled her keys, fell into the driver’s seat, and cranked the ignition until her starter motor screeched in protest.

  Calvin swallowed, pulled air back into his lungs, and watched her roll down the driveway and speed away.

  The glaring white computer screen made Calvin’s eyes water. No other lights were on around him. After a late night coloring eggs for Easter baskets, Mom, Peyton, and Lizzie had finally gone to bed, and Calvin had been able to sneak downstairs for private time on the computer.

  He wiped his eyes, stretched his legs under the desk, and reopened the email from Stacey. No poetry or pretty pictures in this message. And no answers. Only more questions.

  I’m sorry I ran away from you today. I wish I could tell you everything, so maybe you’d understand. Things happened before I met you, before we moved here from Rocky Mount. Moving here was a fresh start. And when I met you, I thought I’d never be sad again. I can’t go back to what I was! I can’t even talk about it. Please don’t ask me to. It took me so long to get where I am now. Please believe me. I’m ok. I love you so much and hate it when we argue. I need you to trust me. You’ve been through so much since the funeral and I don’t want to put you through anything more. Please just trust me. I’m fine.

  I love you.

  Stacey

  What happened to her in Rocky Mount? What did it have to do with her getting sick months later? He didn’t have enough information, and Stacey sure wasn’t going to give it to him. But whatever had happened affected her now and was messing with their relationship. Didn’t he have a right to know?

  Calvin closed his tired eyes and tried to remember anything Stacey might have mentioned in the past. His body relaxed in the chair, ready for sleep, but he inhaled deeply and forced himself to sit up. He had research to do, and he couldn’t do it during the day with his family hovering around. Maybe he had a right to know what was going on, but no one else did.

  First, something to help him stay awake. Calvin got up from the desk in the corner of the dining room and carefully maneuvered around the long dining table and chairs on the way to the kitchen. If he even made one tiny yelp from a stubbed toe, his mom would be out of bed in a flash, wondering if Zachary was walking in his sleep again, or Jacob was crying from a nightmare. Calvin found a large plastic tumbler in a cabinet and pushed it against the refrigerator ice dispenser, hissing at the racket of the grinding icemaker and falling cubes. He filled the glass with Mountain Dew from a half-empty two-liter bottle, swigged the drink until he needed to come up for air, then topped up the glass and returned to the computer.

  He scanned Stacey’s Facebook page. She hadn’t posted anything new today, but Zoe tagged her with a cryptic message, which made Calvin think the two girls had been discussing things privately.

  fb wont ever get it cuz u no wat u got to do hes so out o
f it Im here 4 U {3

  They couldn’t be any more different. Stacey never used abbreviations and apparently Zoe couldn’t even bother with punctuation. Or words longer than four letters.

  FB. Facebook? No, farm boy. Zoe was referring to him.

  “Oh, I’m fixing to get it, girl,” Calvin muttered to the screen.

  He scanned down Stacey’s page, clicking farther and farther down her history of statuses and photos and likes until he realized he was stiff from not moving in his seat. All the eye strain wasn’t getting him anywhere. She’d told him once that she was careful about what she put on her social network pages because her father kept a close watch on those things.

  She had a page on an artists’ website where she posted her drawings. He’d looked at those images before, but scanned through them again to see if anything strange jumped out at him. Fantasy art, realistic drawings of people she knew and singers she liked, and some school projects. If Stacey used her art to reveal something deep about herself, the symbolism eluded Calvin.

  Calvin blew all the air out of his lungs and slid the cursor back to the search bar. His knee jiggled under the desk. His eyes burned and his head hurt. He took another long drink then typed in the only word he knew would give him solid information.

  Anorecsia.

  Did you mean: anorexia the search engine asked.

  “Shhh-oot. Yes …” Calvin clicked to continue.

  The search engine found millions of links. Millions! Websites for medical information and recovery programs. YouTube videos. Blogs and Wikipedia. Where could he begin? Which one of these sites would tell him whether or not his girlfriend actually had it?

  He clicked on the most official-looking link on the first page. Calvin shifted in his seat and leaned close to the computer screen to read the web page, a column of small text with ads on both sides. The small black type on the white background soon had him seeing double, and his mind stumbled and skimmed over the medical terms.