“Shut up!” Tyler snagged a napkin from the table, wadded it, and tossed it at Flannery’s face. It bounced onto her plate.
Stacey crossed her arms and turned toward the house.
“Come on.” Tyler touched Stacey’s shoulder again. “Let’s sit back down and pretend none of this happened. Just be cool, okay?”
Stacey settled back on the bench and stared at a crack in the concrete. As they waited silently for Calvin to come back outside, video clips of the argument replayed in Stacey’s mind. Flannery had to know Calvin’s parents couldn’t buy him a new bike. Yet what did Tyler say? That it wasn’t the entire reason? Did Tyler know something that neither Flannery nor Stacey knew? Had something happened over the weekend that Calvin was keeping from her?
Bro-friend before girlfriend.
She blinked at tears, forcing them back just as she heard the patio door slide open behind her. She swung off her seat and went to his side to take his hand. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He shrugged. “I’m not upset. I had to go to the bathroom.”
“Oh.” Pretend nothing happened … That’s what Tyler said.
“Hey, I just want to eat this watermelon, go to the cycle shop, and have some fun with my girlfriend and two best friends on my one and only day off this week. Is that okay?”
She licked her lips. A little sweetness from her two bites of watermelon lingered there. She forced a smile, pretended nothing was wrong.
“‘Kay.”
“Dude, check it out.” Flannery slung her leg over the narrow seat of a bright blue motocross bike. “A 2012 Yamaha YZ250, practically brand new. Soon as I saw it, I thought, that’s Calvin’s bike. No doubt.”
Stacey walked with Calvin up the aisle of the motorcycle shop. The moment the bike was in front of them, Calvin’s grip on her hand slackened, and he brushed his fingers along one of the silver levers on the handlebars. Stacey looked down at the aggressive-looking lines of the front fender and the square treads of the tire, then up at the smile spreading on Calvin’s lips. Maybe Flannery was right; motorcycles were Calvin’s cure.
Which meant Stacey had guessed wrong. The thought stabbed her as Calvin squeezed the lever against the grip.
Flannery got off the bike. “Have a seat.”
He released the lever like it had sprung back on him. “Thanks, but, uh … no. I’ll fall in love with it and be depressed because I can’t ride it.”
Flannery’s shoulders slumped.
“Maybe later. I’m just going …” Calvin took a step back and pointed toward the sales counter. “I need to talk to your dad about my throttle cable.”
He tugged Stacey along. Another customer stood at the counter, so Stacey wrapped both her hands around Calvin’s one and brought him to a stop. “It’s okay. You can sit on the bike if you want.”
“I can’t afford it.”
Something like inspiration flickered through her mind. She smiled. “Do you feel you’re betraying your old motorcycle by looking at a new one?”
Calvin’s eyes widened. “Huh?”
She gave a coy shrug. “It’s kind of sweet. Being loyal to your first bike.”
He laughed. Much better!
Calvin pulled his hand from her grip and draped his arm across her shoulders. “Actually, it’s like I have to choose between going to college or riding motocross or becoming a farm boy.”
Too much to process in a rush. “What do you mean?”
He took a deep breath. “The farm and Dad’s auto repair place don’t bring in enough money for anything extra, including college. That’s why Michael joined the service. And that’s probably where I’m heading too, unless I want to stay on the farm and work with Dad in the shop—which I don’t. I mean, it’s okay for a summer job, maybe, but …”
So that was what Tyler was hinting at.
“When I told my father I was worried about getting my bike fixed, he was like, ‘Oh well. It’s an old bike.’ Like it’s just over and I should move on with my life. So what if the Yamaha only cost two hundred bucks at somebody’s yard sale. It was mine. I got it running again and it was mine. You’d think he’d get that, you know? The way he loves cars and stuff.”
“Ouch.”
“He and Michael used to go to scrap yards all over the place, looking for parts for the Mustang.” Calvin shook his head. “I mean, I know he cares and feels bad, but …”
Stacey wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. I get it, her thoughts cried. I hear you. Maybe I don’t ride motorcycles, but I know exactly how you feel. It’s like you want something so bad and then your father shoots it dead with his personal version of reality. I totally get it.
“Hey there, Cal! Stacey.” Dave Moore, Flannery’s father, grinned at them across the sales counter. “Ah!” he cried, holding up a finger. He ducked down and then reappeared, flashing a book in the air. “Picked this up off eBay, just for you. Figured you’re in here so often looking for parts for that old bike, I ought to have it handy.”
Calvin let go of Stacey and moved to the counter. He took the book in his hands. “Yamaha 250DT service manual. Sweet! Thanks, Dave.”
“You owe me ten bucks.”
Calvin’s smile dropped. “Oh …”
“Nah, don’t sweat it, boy. You and Ty are practically family. I ain’t worried about it.” Mr. Moore winked and nodded his head toward the showroom area. “Hey, Ty! We gonna get you on a street machine today?”
Tyler, sitting astride a gleaming red and chrome motorcycle, flinched as if he’d been caught dipping his fingers in birthday cake icing. “Oh, ah, no. Just … nice. Nice ride.”
“Bring your pa around, I’ll make you a deal.”
“I’d have to sell my car.”
“Is there a question in there somewhere?”
Stacey laughed a little at the joke, although she thought it was possible for Tyler to do just what Mr. Moore suggested, to come in with his father and leave with a new motorcycle, without having to give up a thing.
Calvin leaned his elbows on the parts counter. “I need a new throttle cable. Any chance of finding one?”
“Well, let’s see.” Mr. Moore made a show of touching his finger to his tongue and flipping the pages in a Yamaha service manual one by one. “Throttle cable, throttle cable. Here it is. Hmm.” His face turned serious as he studied a page in the book. Muttering a part number, he turned to a computer. His thick fingers thundered on the keyboard.
Flannery joined them and leaned on the counter with her upper arm pressed against Calvin’s. Like she’d forgotten Stacey was there. “Tyler really wants that Street Bob,” she muttered.
Calvin turned the service manual around on the counter to look at the page Mr. Moore had left open. “Of course he wants it. It’s cool and fast and gorgeous.”
Flannery turned to lean her back against the counter. Words passed between the two of them, almost like whispers. Stacey toyed with some bells hanging from a cardboard display. Guardian ride bells. She wondered what they were for while her nerves screamed at the distraction.
Calvin straightened suddenly. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Nuh-uh! I heard y—”
“Shut up, shut up!” Flannery pressed her hand against Calvin’s mouth, but he mumbled behind it and his eyes danced with amusement as he tried to back away.
They tussled together, and Mr. Moore jokingly told them children had to behave in his store.
Forgotten and dejected, Stacey wandered away from the counter.
Motorcycles, helmets, clothing, tires and oil, and a wall of gleaming accessories crowded the small shop. The rich scent of leather drew Stacey to a rack of jackets and vests. She found a black fringed vest, too skimpy to be anything more than a sexy showpiece. Would Calvin keep his eyes on her if she wore a vest like that? She looked at the size, at the price tag. Too small and ridiculously expensive.
Tears stung her eyes as she ran leather fringe
through her fingers. So not her style, anyway. Nothing here was. And despite her earlier revelation, she could only pretend to understand Calvin’s world. What was she doing in this place? How could she hope to fit in?
Calvin came up behind her. “Dave’s going to try and find a throttle cable online. He says we might be able to use a 400DT cable. We can clamp it if it’s a little long.”
Whatever that meant.
Stacey sniffed and blinked at the fluorescent lights overhead. She forced a smile, grabbed the fringed vest off the rack, and held it against her body as she spun around to face Calvin. “Think this would look good on me?”
Calvin’s eyebrows shot upward. “Whoa.”
She twisted side to side so the fringe swayed. “It could be your birthday present.”
Calvin chuckled, and his cheeks reddened. She grabbed his hand, but he laughed and swiveled away. He practically ran from her and then acted like he was interested in riding gloves.
What was up with that? She’d flustered him, for sure, but why couldn’t he play along? Maybe because Flannery was so close by?
Dizziness washed over Stacey. Trembling, she hung the vest back on the rack. She wove between the motorcycles, hands at her sides like a tightrope walker, heading for the wide windowsill at the front of the shop where she could sit down until the three motocross soul mates thought to look for her again.
Chapter 9
“I need the phone, Calvin,” Lizzie told him for the tenth or twentieth time. She plopped onto a chair at the dining room table and gave him the stare of death.
Hopeless. Calvin rolled his shoulder against the frame of the back door and gazed out at the dark woods beyond the yard. Lightning flickered on the horizon.
“I have to go,” he told Stacey for the fifth or sixth time. Maybe more. Calvin was afraid to hang up, but he’d explode if he couldn’t get away and catch a breath of air.
Tension had revved between Stacey and Flannery all day long. The drama really came to a head at Oliver’s Burgers, where they’d stopped for ice cream. Stacey had nothing. When Flannery said something about it, both girls bared their claws. Then Tyler got into it, and everyone went home angry.
Stacey had called twice during dinner. Mom told her she’d have to wait until seven o’clock—no sooner, no later—when they’d finished eating and the dishes were done. When the phone call finally happened, Stacey spent the entire time in tears. She still wasn’t done.
She sniffed. “Forgive me?”
“Yes. I told you. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”
“Promise?”
He stifled a groan. “I promise.”
What else could he say? Nothing made sense anymore. He either had to forgive her or dump her. The thought of dumping her made him feel like he was having an asthma attack or something.
“Calvin!” Lizzie wailed. “You’ve had the phone for an hour.”
He thumped his fist against the door frame and whirled toward her. “I have not! Give me one more minute, okay? Dang!”
“Ouch! You yelled in my ear,” Stacey said.
“Sorry. Look, I gotta go before Lizzie blows a gasket. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Just you and me.”
She sighed. “I love you, Calvin.”
“Love you too.”
“I couldn’t love you more if you stood inside a rainbow.”
“Huh?”
“What would that feel like? Standing inside a rainbow?”
“Uh … wet maybe?” He sensed a drawing coming. Or a poem. “I have to go.”
She said I love you again, and finally good-bye. Calvin blew out his breath and let his hand holding the phone fall to his side. Lizzie stood next to him now, palm out, waiting. Calvin set the phone in its cradle on the computer desk just to spite her. He ignored her furious yapping and strode through the living room and out the front door. A rain-scented breeze ruffled his T-shirt across his chest. The porch steps where he liked to sit were soaked, so Calvin slumped into one of Mom’s rocking chairs, his knees locked so it wouldn’t rock.
Girlfriends were supposed to be fun. Stacey had started out that way. Her quirky way of looking at the world sometimes—standing inside a rainbow?—amused him. She couldn’t ride a motorcycle, but he could fix that. More importantly, she listened to every word of grief, anger, or misery after Michael was killed, and never judged him even when he cried like a baby. They could sit together and not say a word, if that’s what he needed, and he never felt the awkwardness of a person saying they were sorry just because they didn’t know what else to say. Stacey always knew the right word and the right thing to do.
Had she suddenly changed and he didn’t notice? The weight thing … he’d just accepted her dietary quirks like all the other unusual things she did. She had all kinds of rules about food, but she’d convinced him there were legitimate reasons for them. Food allergies, too many calories or carbohydrates, studies showing cancer in lab rats—he’d bought it all. But today she’d taken tiny bites of watermelon like she was playing a game rather than eating. Calvin didn’t know much about dieting, but he did know watermelon was mostly water, and that meant it wouldn’t hurt her to eat it. She didn’t make any excuses this time; she just left it sitting on her plate. And he didn’t say anything because he just wanted to have fun, not fight. He let it go.
Staring at the black line of the road shining with the rain, Calvin sucked in a breath and held it.
All those boney women in the anorexia videos didn’t suddenly look that way. They probably started out normal, like Stacey, and over time they managed to get away with eating less and less. They probably made excuses that other people believed, but then got weirder and weirder … over time.
He didn’t want to believe it. What was he supposed to do with an anorexic girlfriend?
Calvin stared toward the sky and said as loudly as he dared, “I just want my happy girlfriend back.”
Headlights glistened on the road in front of the house. They approached and slowed, and a car pulled over to park on the grassy shoulder in front of his house. Mrs. Moore’s car, which meant the slender silhouette in the driver’s seat had to be Flannery.
“More bad news,” Calvin muttered.
Hoodie pulled up over her head, Flannery jogged across the yard and vaulted up the steps, then stopped when she saw him in the rocker. She crossed her arms in front of her and gave him a feeble half smile. “Mad at me?”
“Yes.”
She raised one shoulder until it almost touched her ear. “I’m sorry. Things got kind of crazy today.”
Calvin slumped forward, his hands limp between his knees. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Her sneakers left prints on the porch as she walked over to squat in front of him. “I don’t know what happened. She just got on my nerves, I guess.”
“Why? What did she do that was so bad?”
He knew the answer. It wasn’t one thing Stacey did or didn’t do, it was an atmosphere she carried with her. Everything had to be a certain way. Changes to the plan—whatever they might be—upset her. That day the tension had started the moment he and Tyler picked Stacey up at her house in the Camaro, and Calvin flipped the passenger seat forward so she could get into the back. She’d raised her eyebrows at him and heaved a loud sigh as she crawled in. What was he supposed to do? Sit in the back and make out with her while Tyler drove? She couldn’t deal with the situation for fifteen minutes while they drove to Flannery’s house?
“She doesn’t like me,” Flannery said. “I can see it every time she looks at me or I say anything to you.”
“Funny. She says the same thing about you.”
“What have I ever done to her?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“What should I do, Cal? Seems like I can’t say two words around her without saying something wrong.”
“Hey, I’m caught in the middle here. She’s my girlfriend; you’re my friend. Y’all have to find a way to get along because I am not going to choose betw
een you.”
Flannery eased down to sit cross-legged on the porch and was quiet for a long time. Calvin relaxed. Even with the day’s tension between them, sitting with Flannery was comfortable, like it would be with Tyler. Flannery didn’t expect anything from him. And the answers they both wanted had to come from Stacey.
“She loves you,” Flannery said.
Calvin sighed. “Yeah … guess so.”
“What? You doubt it?”
He smirked. “No. I know she does. Just seems sort of arrogant to say so, you know?”
She reached out to backhand his shin. “Want to know how I know?”
“Sure.”
Flannery uncrossed her legs and effortlessly got to her feet. She tugged something out of her jeans pocket. A tightly folded piece of paper. She handed it to him without opening it. “Read it and weep. I did.”
Calvin winced. “Weep? You don’t cry over anything. Even when you busted your ribs last year, you didn’t cry.”
She rolled her eyes and looked away. “This made me teary. A little.”
He unfolded the paper. The porch light glanced off numerous creases, making it hard for him to read. Calvin got up and walked closer to the front door.
The fancy writing was unmistakably Stacey’s. She’d written another poem. The lines didn’t rhyme and didn’t have the meter or iambic-whatever he’d learned about in freshman English class. She called the style freeform.
“ ‘Forever tumultuous, my heart. Gushing, spilling over. A violent wave of need crashing inside me.’ Flannery, where did you get this?”
“She threw it at you last Thursday. Remember? And you ran off and left it. I saved it for you.”
He remembered the wad of paper rebounding off his foot, but he didn’t think she’d thrown anything important.
“Read the rest of it,” Flannery said.
“ ‘A violent wave of need never quenching the heat that lingers where your fingertips …’” He slowly inhaled. This … this was what he loved about Stacey. Her depth. The beauty that came out when she created something. The emotion she brought to everything. The way she loved him. And he’d dared to think, for one second, that his life might be better without her?
Running Lean Page 9