Running Lean

by Diana L. Sharples

  “Come on, Stace. It’s just a few days. I didn’t think you’d want to come because—”

  “Because I can’t ride a motorcycle, right?”

  “Well, yeah. You’d probably just be bored. I mean, unless you like fishing, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say you like fishing.”

  She sighed. “I don’t. Actually, I’ve never been fishing. But I’m not really comfortable thinking about you going off somewhere with another girl. I mean, I know you’re just friends, but it’s … not right, somehow.”

  “Her whole family is going. Dave, Patty, and Flan’s goofy little brother. And Tyler will be there. We’re just going riding, Stacey. It’s no big deal.”

  “I-I know, but …” Was she crying? Already? “The thing is, Calvin, it isn’t so much that I’m jealous of Flannery, it’s that I feel like, like, she has so much more in common with you than I do. Like, maybe she would be a better girlfriend for you than—”

  Calvin thrust his index finger out, as if she were standing in front of him and could see it. “Stop right there. That’s not true. If I wanted to be with Flannery, I’d be with her. But I don’t. I’m with you. Because you’re the one I want to be with. And you need to get that straight.”

  She whimpered. Definitely crying now. “I’m sorry, Calvin. It’s just … you deserve someone better—”

  “No, I don’t. Shoot, Stacey, I didn’t even think I deserved you before we started dating. You’re so beautiful and amazing, and I don’t get why you put yourself down so much.”

  “It’s because—”

  “Because people teased you before. Because your uncle was a … major … scumbag. Because your dad put you down. I know all that. But here’s the thing, Stacey. I love you! I love you just the way you are, and it doesn’t matter to me that you can’t ride a motorcycle. I’d still love you if you weighed three hundred pounds—”

  “No you wouldn’t! You wouldn’t even talk to me if I was fat. No one would.”

  “You really think I’m that shallow?”

  “It’s not about being shallow. People are just like that. They make judgments based on what people look like before they know anything else about them. It’s simple psychology, Calvin.”

  “Whatever. Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change the fact that my feelings for you are based on who you are, the person I know inside. You need to get past this insecurity about yourself and about me. I’m not interested in anyone but you.”

  He loved her, but anger tightened his spine and made him practically yell into the phone. Weird. He had to get out of this conversation and regain his sanity. “Look, if my going camping with Flannery is going to make you crazy, I won’t go. Okay? I just won’t go. It’s cool. I can ride at home, or go to the MX track with Tyler. I don’t have to go camping.”

  Her only response was a wet-sounding sniffle.

  “I’ll make that sacrifice for you, because I love you.”

  “Don’t … don’t decide right now.”

  “I have to tell Flannery something.” Ugh. The girl would freak.

  “It’s okay, Calvin. Tell her you’ll go. You’re right, I have to get control of these insecurities. I’m sorry.”

  Calvin sighed and grabbed a hunk of hair. “You’re sure?”

  She huffed a sad laugh. “No. Can I think about it?”

  She’d hang up with him and immediately dial Zoe. Whatever.

  “Sure. Go ahead. I gotta go back inside.” And figure out what lie he could tell his best friends so they wouldn’t think he was a total wimp.

  Chapter 18

  Finally able to pull off US 264 after a rather scary ride from Raleigh, Stacey rolled into a Waffle House parking lot, eased the Honda into a space, and leaned back in her seat. She placed her hand over her chest and released a long breath. “Thank God that’s over!”

  “I thought we were going to get squashed by that one truck.” Zoe yanked her hands from her eye sockets as if the near-accident had just happened.

  One truck? Try six or seven before they were able to get off the Interstates. Daddy would kill her if he knew what she and Zoe had done—she wouldn’t need an eighteen-wheeler to do the job. But they were at last back in Bentley, a couple of miles from Zoe’s house where they were supposed to be having a sleepover. The trip was so worth it, though. Zoe’s antics in the malls drowned out all her guilt about Calvin for a while.

  “So, what are we doing here?” Stacey asked. “This is definitely not a low-cal eatery.”

  “Don’t worry, I got it covered. Bring your sketchbook.” Zoe jumped out of the Honda—escaping the nightmare—and started toward the door of the narrow yellow building.

  Stacey grabbed her big purse, with her sketchbook inside, and hurried after her friend. A warm blast of bacon-scented air swept over her as she stepped inside the building. The contrast to the cool night sent a shudder chasing down her spine. She clenched her arms against her body. Late April; why was it still so cold? Zoe had lunged into spring with flip-flops and layered tank tops, while Stacey fought the urge to bring her Uggs back out of the closet.

  The sight of someone in a police uniform standing at the counter jolted her. She swayed, caught Zoe’s shoulder to regain her balance. City cop, not county.

  The cop sent a scowling glance at them as he turned away from the cash register, but he walked past and out the door. Stacey let herself breathe again.

  Three men sat at the counter, empty stools between them. A couple at a booth shoveled food into their mouths. Seemingly unfazed by the departing cop, Zoe strutted to an empty booth by the windows. Showing off her makeover for the truck drivers. Head down, Stacey followed.

  Those makeup consultants sure knew how to push a sale. Let me show you how to make your eyes look big without that heavy eyeliner. Look in the mirror! See how beautiful you are? You’ll be breaking hearts for sure. Buy this mascara, this foundation, this color, and look gorgeous every day.

  And spend three times what similar stuff cost at Kerr Drugs.

  Stacey caught her reflection in the window beside her. She smiled at the new Stacey staring back. Maybe if she turned up the sex appeal a little she could turn Calvin’s thoughts away from Flannery, and away from how much she did or didn’t eat. Maybe he’d even get a clue about what she was trying to achieve and give her a break.

  Not likely.

  “Just order water,” Zoe whispered as the waitress approached their table.

  “Y’all ready or you need a couple minutes?” The smiling, pony-tailed waitress held her pen and pad ready to scribble down their order.

  Zoe sat up straight. “We’re ready. Scrambled eggs, but use egg substitute. And tell the cook no butter. Two slices of turkey bacon, again no butter. Or grease. And a salad. No cheese.”

  The waitress wrote. “Dressin’?”

  “Just some lemon slices.”

  “Toast? Grits?”

  “No, thanks.” Zoe turned her face toward the window, showing she’d finished her order.

  “What you want, honey?” the waitress asked.

  “Oh. Uh, I’m not hungry. Just water, please.”

  A quick scowl creased the woman’s forehead. She shrugged and turned away.

  Zoe reached over and squeezed one of Stacey’s hands. “Size five! You’re doin’ it, girl!”

  Stacey gave Zoe a grin she didn’t feel. She’d hoped for size three. And the little skirt she’d bought to go with Zoe’s lace top made her backside look bigger than a size five.

  “When the food comes, we’ll share it. That way we cut the calories in half. Okay, inspiration time.” Zoe slapped her sketchbook open. “When I say go, start drawing the first design that comes to your mind.”

  Stacey dug a pencil out of her purse and opened her book. “Ready.”

  “Go.”

  They’d seen so many amazing and beautiful things in the high-priced stores, ranging from soft and flowing contemporary designs to glittering retro glam. Why not a combination? Stacey lightly sketched
geometric shapes and lines to create a humanlike form. She glanced at Zoe’s paper; Zoe worked the opposite way, drawing clothes first. Stacey rushed her sketch, taking the blocked forms to a feminine shape in a few strokes.

  Sleeveless, strapless, tight. Little dots and lines forming stars to hint at sequins.

  “Wow, y’all are so talented.” The waitress set their drinks on the table.

  Stacey smiled and said thanks. Zoe kept drawing.

  Bodice finished, Stacey moved to the skirt. Light material flowing in the wind, long in the back, short in the front. Leggings ending in lace just below the knees. Tiny high-heeled shoes on the model’s feet.

  Pausing to sip her water, Stacey considered the head. She couldn’t leave it blank. Hair was so much a part of the total look. She sketched an oval face with a tiny nose and mouth and one large eye. Sweeping, layered hair, blowing in her imaginary wind, concealed the other eye.

  The waitress carefully set their food on the table.

  “Done,” Zoe said.

  Stacey held up a finger and finished her drawing with wristbands, adding a bit of the sparkle treatment. “Okay.”

  “Switch. Let me see yours.”

  They exchanged books. Zoe’s drawing was less stylized and detailed. Her model wore a sleeveless hoodie with a long, diamond-shaped cutout over the chest. The top fit snugly over the hips, then flared in bunched fabric that looked like a ballet tutu. Tight leggings with diagonal slashes, and stiletto boots. Trashy chic.

  “I like this a lot,” Stacey said.

  “Yours is amazing. So, you ready to make it?”

  “We’re actually going to make these?”

  “Yep. That’s the challenge. You gotta make it. In one week. Then we’ll go again. By the end of summer we’ll both have new clothes that no one else is wearing. We’ll rule that school!”

  “One week?” Stacey took her sketchbook back. “I don’t have money for fabric. I spent too much on makeup and that skirt.” She’d be doing a whole lot of begging and babysitting this summer to keep up with Zoe’s project.

  “Dang, that’s really good!”

  Stacey jumped and whirled toward the person who’d spoken over her shoulder. For an instant Noah Dickerson’s brilliant smile dominated her vision. Stacey blinked, and two other guys she didn’t know materialized behind him. They glanced at her sketchpad without comment and moved on down the aisle to another booth.

  Noah stayed, leaning on the back of Stacey’s seat. “So, what are y’all doing?”

  “Designing new clothes,” Zoe blurted.

  Noah stretched to glance at Zoe’s drawing. “That’s cool.” He gestured to Stacey’s paper. “Looks like manga.”

  Stacey pursed her lips. Her drawing did look like Japanese comic art. She’d have to break that habit to do fashion design.

  Noah sat beside her. His musky boy-smell sent a thrill through her. Stacey held her breath and scooted over to make room for him. “Uh, aren’t your friends going to miss you?”

  Zoe kicked Stacey’s foot under the table.

  “Nah. Let me see the rest of your book.” He took the sketchbook and flipped to the front.

  Everything from doodles to fully rendered manga panels to serious drawings interspersed with awful to adequate poetry covered the pages. Noah studied a half-finished portrait of Calvin.

  Zoe jiggled in her seat, her eyes never leaving Noah. The plate of eggs and turkey bacon, and the little bowl of salad, sat untouched on the table. Every nerve in Stacey’s body rattled like dry grass blown by the wind. She sipped her water but couldn’t think about eating.

  Noah’s knee touched hers. The sensation seemed to stick there after he’d moved.

  “You’re really good,” he said. “I mean it.”

  “Really?”

  He handed the sketchbook back. “It’s awesome. I didn’t know you write poetry too.”

  “Thanks.” She hugged the book to her chest.

  “So, what are y’all doing tonight? Other than drawing pictures at Waffle House. Wanna hang with me and my friends?”

  Stacey glanced at the other boys, who’d claimed the booth near the elderly couple and had them looking nervous. Scruffy gamer/skater types. Not the kind of boys Stacey would want to “hang” with even if she wasn’t dating Calvin.

  Across the table from her, Zoe wiggled in her seat like she had to pee.

  Something like frigid air grabbed hold of Stacey’s intestines. “Oh, um … Noah? I already have a boyfriend. That—that was his picture you were looking at.”

  Zoe slapped the table with both hands. “Sta-cey!”

  Eyes wide, Stacey leaned toward her friend. “Zo-ee!”

  Noah was grinning when she looked back at him. “My bad luck. You know, if I had a girl drawing me pictures like that, no way she’d be sitting at Waffle House with another girl on a Saturday night.”

  “We—I—uh, we were out last night.”

  “Last night, huh?” He plucked her pencil from the table, took her sketchbook out of her hands, and scribbled something on the last page. “There’s my number in case … you know.” He flipped his black hair to the side and slid out of the booth. Her pencil rolled slowly off his fingertips, as if reluctant to part from him.

  “See ya,” he crooned. He glided past Zoe down the aisle to join his friends. Tight pants, like Calvin would never—could never—wear.

  Zoe slowly turned in her seat to face Stacey. Her gawk turned to a glare, clearly saying without words, Are you out of your freaking mind?

  Stacey sighed. “Zoe, I keep telling you. I love Calvin. I don’t want anyone else.”

  “Calvin,” Zoe said through clenched teeth. Then she slumped back against the booth. “Even though he wants to go camping with that other girl—Okay, whatever. It’s your life.”

  The waitress went to the booth where Noah and his friends sat. Noah flashed that charming smile when he ordered. As the waitress turned away, her cheeks pinked and she nibbled on her lower lip. Amazing. Noah could make a forty-something-year-old woman blush.

  Stacey stared down at her sketchpad. There on the clean page, Noah Dickerson’s phone number. The first three digits were the same as Zoe’s, suggesting he lived near her. Noah’s handwriting reminded her of script, the straight lines on the five, nine, and sevens elongated.

  Was it possible Noah Dickerson really wanted to go out with her?

  Stacey dragged her gaze from the book and looked at Zoe. A hiccup-like gasp shook her. She smacked a hand across her grin.

  Zoe turned her eyes toward the ceiling. “Better not let Cal-vin find that number.”

  Calvin wouldn’t question her about a phone number with no name beside it. Maybe. But having it there on the page—she would think of Noah each time she opened the book to draw.

  Stacey creased the page to make careful rips around the number, then slipped the torn paper into the pocket of her hoodie. She sipped her water, but couldn’t eat. Her flip-flopping stomach wouldn’t accept it.

  Noah Dickerson. Another artist. Never happen, but tempting to think about. Noah was more like her than Zoe, even. And certainly he had more in common with her than Calvin.

  Just like Flannery had more in common with Calvin …

  Okay, kill those thoughts right now.

  Chapter 19

  Calvin stood at Stacey’s front door, holding a bouquet of white, pink, and purple flowers he’d bought at the grocery store. Around him, a profusion of flowering potted plants decorated the porch along with pristine white wicker furniture. Petunias and freshly mown grass scented the air. And the silk flowers on the door wreath looked better than the bunch Calvin held in his hand.

  Pretty lame. Should’ve bought the expensive ones.

  He cleared his throat and rang the doorbell.

  Show love and provide gentle encouragement. Don’t argue, because that only makes the person defensive. That’s what he’d read online. Stacey had already proven that little slights could lead to big fights. Lack of proper nutrients
, emotional denial, and an innate sense of wrongdoing battling her desire to be in control of her body and her diet made her sensitive to the slightest hint of judgment. At least that’s what the websites said.

  He was going to have to work past all those things and tread very carefully if he would convince her it was okay for him to go on that camping trip. And if he could keep their relationship from falling apart until he could convince her to go to a doctor for help.

  Renee answered the door and let him in the house. She yelled up the stairs, “Stacey, your boyfriend is here,” then disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Be right down!” Walls and doors muffled Stacey’s answer.

  The carpet beneath Calvin’s feet had fresh vacuum tracks. The plump cushions on the beige leather furniture in the living room looked like no one ever sat on them. A huge cabinet with carved accents and built-in lights covered the open wall leading into the dining room. Not a china cabinet, but a three-thousand-dollar computer desk.

  “Hello, Calvin, dear.” Mrs. Varnell glided into the room from upstairs, wearing a silky top and pressed khaki pants, her hair and face made up like she was going somewhere. She always looked that way, like at any moment someone would take her picture. Stacey said her mother ironed every stitch of her clothing, even her pajamas. She swept toward Calvin, touched her fingertips to his arm, and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  Everything about her felt fresh, like a crisp head of lettuce just plucked from the bin at the grocery store. Cool and lightly fragrant.

  “I’m fine, ma’am.”

  “And your mama? How is she doing?” Six months after the funeral, Mrs. Varnell still looked at Calvin as if he were standing beside his brother’s casket, her head slightly tilted, her eyebrows pinched upward on her forehead.

  “We’re doing fine, thank you.”

  “Oh, that’s good to hear. Stacey tells me the two of you have a special day planned today, but she didn’t tell me where you’re going.”

  “Um, it’s a surprise.”

  “How sweet. Y’all aren’t going too far, are you? I worry about you kids driving on the highways. Is that truck running well?”