Running Lean

by Diana L. Sharples

  Because he’d panicked and clicked away from everything, like any guilty person would.

  “What did she see?”

  “Ah … I don’t know.” He reached up toward his hair then dropped his hand and slapped his thigh. Just like a guilty person would. “A popup ad. A woman in a bathing suit. I can’t control stuff that pops up. I was looking for motorcycle parts.”

  Dad drew a slow breath through his mouth then blew it out. “Motorcycle parts. Yeah, they got some raunchy stuff on some of them sites.”

  “Yes, they do. But Peyton wouldn’t believe me, and she started screeching and woke you up.”

  “She can be a little high-strung.”

  Calvin thrust two index fingers toward his father. “Exactly.”

  “Why couldn’t you sleep? Something bugging you?”

  “The bike! Tyler and Flannery want to go riding this week.”

  “Hmm. Your mama said Stacey got sick yesterday.”

  Calvin jiggled his head. Switch gears. He’d spent more time that morning thinking about how to defend himself than what he could say about the truth.

  “I-I don’t know. She’s just … sick lately. She almost passed out at school Thursday.”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. Suspicious questions were coming. “She pregnant?”

  Calvin gulped and choked on air tainted with motor-oil stink. “Dad—no. No. That’s not even possible. Besides, she’s losing weight, not—”

  Female problems? Passing out, throwing up—not possible. No way. Not unless she had some other guy … No. Not possible.

  “You can tell me the truth, son.”

  This can’t be happening.

  “I am!” He took a step toward the bike, turned back, wished he could feel the throttle in his hand and the wind in his face. Anything but standing here telling his father he was being honest when he couldn’t be fully honest because … because he just didn’t know. That was the truth. He didn’t know for sure what was wrong with Stacey. Maybe she had cancer or something. Could he talk about that before he knew for sure?

  “Dad, we’re not having sex, and I’m not looking at pornography. I promise. Yeah, I’m still having a hard time with stuff because of Michael. But that’s it! All I want to do is fix my bike and go riding.”

  Dad narrowed his eyes and moved his jaw like he was rolling tobacco around his mouth, a habit he’d given up years ago. “Hmm. All right. I believe you.”

  Okay, just breathe now. “Thanks.”

  “Think Dave Moore will be able to get you a cable?”

  “Hope so. He found me some brake pads on eBay last time.” He turned toward the bike and allowed himself to tug on his hair. Stupid habit. “I just want one more season with the bike. You know?”

  Dad’s hand settled on his shoulder again. “I hear you. Listen, son … sorry ‘bout this, but I need you to work the fields for me this week. Joe at the shop has taken sick and he might need surgery. That means I can’t take time off to do the planting.”

  Rainbow colors shimmered and swirled behind Calvin’s closed eyelids. Roast lamb and butternut squash casserole felt too heavy in his gut.

  “I know it’s your break from school,” Dad went on, “But I don’t know when Joe’s going to be good to come back to work, and that cotton needs to get put in the ground. Now, I figure you can take one day off, maybe two if you push it.”

  “Stacey …” Calvin muttered.

  “You can see her in the evenings. Your girl has got to understand, we work this farm as a family.”

  We? This year, apparently, it’d be all Calvin. He’d eat up his whole spring break working alone. Just him and the rumbling tractor and the squawking crows.

  Kill me just a little bit more, Dad.

  Chapter 8

  Tyler laughed about something. From her location in the backseat, Stacey couldn’t tell if Calvin responded. With the throbbing bass of Tyler’s rear speakers and the muscle-car roar of the Camaro’s engine, whatever the guys said didn’t reach Stacey’s ears. Maybe they’d forgotten about her.

  They cruised through downtown Bentley, past the hundred-year-old storefronts, the police station, and the country café with its collection of teapots in the windows and rocking chairs out front. Some of the doors were open, inviting in the fresh air and bright sunlight of a perfect spring day.

  Perfect for motorcycle riding, as a herd of noisy bikes going the other way demonstrated. Maybe that explained why Calvin wasn’t saying much. He’d rather be on his motorcycle than watching other people ride theirs. But that didn’t justify his absolute silence about what happened Saturday. He hadn’t responded to her email either—the one that had kept her awake all Saturday night and fidgeting through the day on Sunday, unable to concentrate on the sermon at the church Mom found in Clarksville, unable to touch the dried-up turkey breast she made for dinner.

  Calvin’s silence screamed in Stacey’s heart. She’d told him to trust her, to not press for explanations. She didn’t mean that he shouldn’t talk to her at all! Finally, this morning, he called and simply invited her to hang out with him and Tyler. Like nothing had happened. Just an ordinary day off school.

  Anxiety fluttered through her like a wild thing caged in her chest. Her arms ached to reach around the leather bucket seat and shake him.

  A poorly maintained set of railroad tracks sent a violent rattle up Stacey’s tailbone and made her head flop around.

  “Ty-y-ler! I’m back here, you know.” She pushed hair out of her face.

  “Sorry.” He turned his eyes toward her in the rearview mirror. “Those tracks are killer.”

  “Try slowing down next time.”

  “I did slow down. I—Whatever.”

  Though the music continued at the same volume, a kind of heavy silence permeated the car. Neither boy spoke or looked at her. She was an intruder into their sacred guy time and she’d dared to complain. Why did Calvin even invite her?

  Stacey pulled her knees up. Holding her cell phone in the space between her thighs and stomach, Stacey typed out a text message to Zoe.

  Help. I’m going crazy.

  They crossed the four-lane intersection where downtown Bentley officially ended. The Camaro zoomed along country roads, and with the acceleration came wind whipping through the open front windows that tossed Stacey’s hair into her face again. She barely heard Zoe’s text coming back.

  Sup?

  Stacey scrunched herself into a ball as her thumbs flew over the letters.

  I’m trapped in a metal cage with two gorgeous guys and neither one is paying attention to me.

  Zoe’s answer came back quickly.

  Kinky why dint u nvite me?

  Stacey pressed the back of her hand against her smile. Zoe was always good for a laugh. Before Stacey could answer, another text came through.

  Wat guys?

  Calvin and Tyler

  The CD ended, and in silence Zoe’s answer came back. At the chirping message alert, Tyler’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again. Stacey stared back at him, wanting to stick out her tongue.

  tyler dorset is hot!!! dont u dare tell hm

  Stacey snorted. Oh, evil! “Someone thinks you’re hot, Tyler.”

  That had his eyes dancing back and forth. “Who?”

  “It’s a secret. I can’t tell you.”

  His big white teeth appeared in the mirror. Thousands of dollars in orthodontics had gone into that amazing smile.

  Stacey’s phone chirped again.

  Hes 2 preppy tho

  Tyler muttered something to Calvin, the words lost to the wind. Calvin snapped off his seat belt and twisted around, making a grab for her phone. Stacey squealed and jerked away. The cell phone fell to the floorboards, and they both scrambled to get it. Stacey’s hand found the phone first, but Calvin’s fingers changed course and found her ribs.

  “No-no—Ah!” She fought against the giggles and Calvin’s tickling.

  He overpowered her, snatched the phone away,
and flopped back into his seat. Stacey tried to reach around him, but her seat belt restrained her, giving Calvin the time he needed to check out the phone.

  “Zoe,” he announced.

  Tyler groaned.

  Calvin reached over his shoulder to pass the phone back. Stacey snatched it from him then looked out the window at a tractor rumbling through an open field. The game wasn’t fun anymore.

  Tyler made a left turn while Stacey typed another message.

  Calvin hasn’t said a word about my email.

  Jerk

  Stop it. He’s not a jerk. Maybe he didn’t get it.

  Or maybe he was making a point of giving her just what she’d asked for, punishing her for telling him not to bother her.

  Talk about a plan backfiring.

  Tyler turned onto a driveway between two concrete eagle statues. In the center of the wide front lawn, large rocks bordered a circular garden filled with daffodils and decorative birdhouses on stakes. Winter pansies still bloomed in twin planters on either side of the beveled-glass door of the ranch-style house. The homey country feel stopped at the carport, where at least three motorcycles shared the space with a massive clutter of parts and equipment. Another metal carport in the side yard sheltered an RV.

  Flannery Moore’s house. Lovely.

  Stacey sent Zoe a final text:

  We’ve breached enemy territory. TTYL.

  She glanced at Zoe’s response as she followed Tyler and Calvin up the driveway.

  show no mercy luv u

  The filthy stench of gasoline and motor oil in the carport made Stacey wrinkle her nose and look away. Didn’t that smell drift into the house?

  Flannery came out the side door, barefoot and wearing shortshorts. Her sleeveless top rode up her torso as she slung her arms over Tyler’s shoulders for a quick hug. She didn’t pull the blouse down before turning to Calvin.

  Temptress. Tease. Polite words weren’t strong enough.

  Smile. Don’t cause trouble.

  Flannery glanced at Stacey then gave Calvin a tamer sideways hug. Would the girl jump on Calvin too if his girlfriend weren’t there? Stacey forced a smile and waved.

  Flannery waved back. “How’s it going, Stace?”

  Fine. Good. If I could be anywhere but here. Stacey merely nodded.

  “How’s the bike running?” Tyler gestured toward a yellow motocross bike near the brick wall of the house.

  “Great. Y’all bring your gear? No extra bikes right now, but we can take turns on mine.”

  “In the trunk,” Tyler said.

  They were going riding? Calvin had failed to mention that detail. Stacey crossed her arms and pivoted toward the front yard.

  “Stace?” His voice was near her shoulder.

  “Yes, my love,” she sang.

  “I brought the extra helmet for you. Want to try again?”

  She raised one shoulder. “I’m not dressed for riding. Besides, I can’t ride the …” She swung a hand toward the carport. “… the motocross bike. I can’t even sit on it.”

  She could sit on Calvin’s old Yamaha, but the seats of the newer bikes were ridiculously high. How did any of them—except for lanky Tyler—hold those bikes upright? Calvin had explained about necessary ground clearance and such, but didn’t they have to put their feet down sometimes?

  “Dave’s got an ATV you can drive. I’ll show you how.”

  She nudged a weed in the still-brown lawn with her toe.

  “Stace? Is that okay?” he asked.

  “Whatever. I just didn’t know we were going riding.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders. “We don’t have to. We always bring the gear to Flannery’s, just in case.”

  She met his placating smile with one of her own.

  “Last time we came over, Dave had an ‘09 Street Bob he picked up at an auction. It was for the shop, but he let us take it up and down the street.”

  “A what?”

  “Harley.” Calvin grinned. “I think Tyler fell in love that day.”

  Stacey laughed appropriately. She took a long breath of untainted air then turned back to the carport. Tyler and Flannery stood near another motorcycle that looked to be half the size of her car. White metalflake with as much chrome as paint.

  A woman in tight jeans and a T-shirt with the words Riding for the Son printed on the front appeared in the carport. A faded tattoo peeked above the neck of the shirt. Easy to envision Flannery’s mother in black leather with her long red hair braided and a bandana wrapped around her head, straddling a loud motorcycle. Today, however, she had a dishtowel in her hands.

  “Y’all hungry? I bought some watermelon this morning. You can eat it on the table out back”

  None for me, thanks. The words stood ready to spring from Stacey’s lips before her brain surged into action. Watermelon: only thirty-seven calories in a serving. It was a guilt-free food, as long as she didn’t pig out—which she would have gleefully done a year ago.

  Stacey went to the backyard and sat down at a picnic table on the patio. Flannery sat on the table, like a guy, beside Tyler, who’d straddled the bench. How could she be so pretty yet so clueless? Or was she making a point by sitting with her back turned toward Stacey?

  Mrs. Moore brought out a whole watermelon cut into four pieces. Apparently that was her definition of cut up. She handed Stacey a spoon. “Here you go, baby doll.”

  Baby doll? After a second of staring, Stacey took the spoon. “Thank you, Mrs. Moore.”

  “No need to be formal here, honey. You can call me Patty.”

  No, she couldn’t.

  The woman left spoons and paper towels and a salt shaker for anyone who wanted it, and went back into the house. Flannery shifted sideways to eat, but apparently saw nothing wrong with having her butt on the table at the same time. Stacey’s appetite for the watermelon sagged.

  Calvin scooped up a huge chunk and shoveled it into his mouth. “So, Flan, can we go see your dad today? I want to ask him if he could rig up a throttle cable for me.”

  “You busted your throttle cable?” Flannery held a piece of watermelon halfway between the table and her mouth.

  “Yeah …”

  So Calvin hadn’t spilled his troubles out to Flannery over the weekend. Good. Stacey carved out a sliver of melon that nestled perfectly in the bowl of her spoon. Maybe Flannery could take notes.

  “Sure, we can go.” Flannery chomped then dug in for another bite. But she dropped her spoon back, and juice splashed onto the picnic table. “Oh, hey! I meant to tell you. There’s a bike at the shop you’ve got to see. Would be just right for you.”

  Calvin groaned softly. “I can’t afford a new bike.”

  “Talk to your parents. Maybe they’d let you make payments. Or maybe they’ll be really sweet and buy it for you for your birthday.”

  Calvin huffed. “Yeah, right.”

  Was the girl completely clueless? She had to know that Calvin’s family didn’t have a lot of money. Maybe Stacey had misjudged the depth of their friendship.

  Calvin’s misery killed Stacey’s moment of triumph. She slipped her hand around him, cupped the gentle outward curve of his waist.

  “How do you know unless you ask?” Flannery pressed.

  Calvin winced. Stacey caressed his side and leaned her cheek toward his shoulder. At the same time she angled her face to lock eyes with Flannery. Shut up, girl.

  Flannery tilted her head. “What?”

  “Leave him alone.”

  “Huh? What’s wrong with me talking to him about a bike?”

  “Open your eyes. Can’t you see he’s upset about the one he’s got?”

  Flannery threw her hands out, and her eyes flashed. “Hey, I’m trying to help him feel better.”

  “Stop it.” Calvin surged to his feet but wobbled between the table and the bench.

  Stacey tried to reclaim her hold on him. “Calvin—”

  “Just forget it, okay? I’ll be right back.” He stepped over the bench and c
rossed the concrete patio to the back of the house. He eased open the sliding glass as if he was trying not to make any noise. Deliberate movements. Maybe so he wouldn’t slam it.

  “Nice. Good job, y’all,” Tyler muttered.

  Stacey turned in time to see Flannery wilt. Yet the glare didn’t leave the girl’s eyes.

  Though her fingers trembled, Stacey picked up her spoon and watermelon, which she could only stare at.

  Flannery straightened her back, which meant that long spine and the sliver of flesh above her jeans was all Stacey could see. “We talk about bikes all the time. Why is that suddenly wrong?”

  Tyler sighed and turned his gaze in the direction of the RV. “It isn’t. Picking a fight is.”

  “I didn’t pick a fight. She basically told me to shut up.”

  She. Like she wasn’t sitting there looking at that girl’s back. Like her opinion didn’t matter. Like she didn’t belong with them at all. Her presence alone had caused conflict.

  Tyler’s voice murmured in Stacey’s brain, but she couldn’t grasp it. She mustered all her will into moving gracefully as she stood and negotiated the bench. “Maybe I should go home.”

  “Stace, come on. Don’t be like that,” Tyler said.

  She raised a palm toward him. “It’s okay. Y’all are here to talk about motorcycles, and I don’t even ride one.”

  “You’re here because Calvin wants you here. Don’t—” Tyler bounded up and came around the table. He caught her by the shoulders. “Don’t make it any worse, okay?”

  Stacey trembled beneath the pressure of his hands. “Why is this my fault? Why am I the odd person out?”

  “You’re not, and it isn’t. It’s just …” His eyes shifted from her face, almost like the words he wanted were printed in the air behind her. “I don’t even know what this argument is about. It, like, came out of nowhere.”

  She tilted her chin up. “Calvin’s upset because he doesn’t know how he’s going to get parts for his bike. And his family doesn’t have the money to buy him a new one.”

  “That’s not … quite the whole story, but—” Tyler sighed. “Look, why can’t we all just have a good time today. No stress. Okay?”

  “Calvin asked to go to the shop,” Flannery cut in. “So I thought we were talking about bikes. She’s the one—”