Running Lean

by Diana L. Sharples

  Someone behind her rattled plastic wrap, opening a box of candy. She could hear people chewing their snacks. A voice in the back of her mind screamed for control. Don’t give in! Fight!

  Stacey held her breath so she wouldn’t smell the calories; soon points of light burst in her peripheral vision. She shouldn’t have agreed to come to this stupid movie. Blowing out the stale air from her lungs, she gave up. Just one handful of popcorn would end the private abuse.

  She eased her hand over Calvin’s lap and probed into the bag. He’d eaten most of it so she had to reach deep. Calvin turned his head to look at her then tipped the bag toward her. Light from the screen glowed on his face, his smile.

  “It smells so good,” she whispered.

  “Take it. Finish it.”

  “No. I just want a taste.”

  Warning!

  There wasn’t much left. Stacey dipped her hand into the container and touched the puffed morsels. One handful. Just one. She munched it slowly and licked the salty butter from her fingers, then leaned her cheek against Calvin’s shoulder. She’d lost the plot of the movie but didn’t care what was going on. The lingering taste in her mouth had opened a floodgate of evil desires. Her stomach churned, both rebelling and needful, and the single handful of popcorn seemed to expand like a Mylar balloon.

  “I’ll be right back,” she whispered.

  She lumbered over Calvin’s knees and tried to keep her posture straight as she walked down the aisle to the exit.

  Calvin would figure out what she was about to do. All his sweetness would turn to anger and their date would be ruined. Why? Why did all this have to be so hard?

  Stacey studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Calvin had gazed at her with longing. Tyler supposedly said she looked hot. Was it true? She breathed in, and the lace top squeezed her bust and torso. Her stomach begged for freedom from the popcorn, from the creamy dressing on her salad and the bits of chicken she’d eaten. All congealed together like a lava lamp rolling, dripping. Glub, glub.

  Heat rose to Stacey’s face. She ducked into a stall and stuck her fingers down her throat.

  Out of money and time, they headed home. Stacey held Calvin’s hand as he drove his father’s rattling old pickup truck. She tickled her lips with wilted flower petals that still smelled sweet.

  Calvin let go of her hand to turn the steering wheel, heading north on Turner Creek Road. They’d be at her house in just a minute. The clouds were painted peach on the horizon, which meant they had fifteen minutes or so before it would be dark. And soon after that Officer Varnell and his peers would be on the lookout for teens with provisional licenses cruising around and getting into trouble on a Saturday night.

  Stacey gasped. Daddy was working. He wouldn’t be home.

  “What? You okay?” Calvin asked.

  She turned and gave him a sly smile. “We don’t have to go home yet.”

  “We don’t? But your dad said—”

  “I know, but he has a shift tonight. So, can we stop somewhere for a while? Just to talk?”

  “Uh, like where?”

  “Pull over here and we’ll decide.”

  Ingersol Produce Company. The parking lot was empty, the building a hulking gray cube against the vermillion sky. Calvin swerved off the road, shoved the shift lever up into park, and left the engine running.

  Stacey played with her lower lip. “No, um, drive around back. If my dad is on patrol and he sees us parked here, he’ll come banging on the windshield.”

  “Chuh, yeah! And slap me in handcuffs for messing around with his daughter.”

  “Calvin Greenlee, are you telling me you’re afraid of my father?”

  “Afraid? No. I’ve been in back of this building, though. It’s a stinkin’ loading dock. You’d hate it.” A crooked grin slid onto his face. “I know where we can go.”

  She narrowed her eyes playfully. “What are you thinking?”

  Calvin pulled the shift lever back into drive. “You’ll see.” He drove the truck back onto Turner Creek Road, going the other way.

  Stacey couldn’t keep her eyes on the road or the landscape outside the truck. Calvin sat on his side of the bench seat, wearing that quirky grin on his face. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel and sometimes drifted up to tug his hair. Nervous?

  Stacey trembled inside. Calvin wouldn’t try anything. Maybe he’d take her somewhere they could watch the sunset together.

  Guys never say they love you unless they want sex.

  Zoe’s words came back to her. Isn’t this what the day had been leading up to? Hadn’t she started it with her sexy outfit, so he’d look at her and forget about Flannery or any other girl? He’d never tried anything with her. Ever. Why not?

  He drove past the high school and turned onto Victory Church Road. Stacey sighed and settled back in her seat. He was taking her to his house, where they could sit inside the backyard gazebo. Sweet. Safe.

  Maybe he didn’t really want her.

  “I can’t be too late,” she said. “My mother will tell my dad.”

  Calvin ran his tongue over his lips. “I can turn around.”

  “No! It’s okay. I’ll just call her and say I’m at your house for a little while.”

  “We’re not going to my house.” He shifted in his seat as if he couldn’t get comfortable. “No privacy there.”

  He turned left, and the truck rattled down an uneven dirt path. In the dimming light, Stacey wasn’t sure where they were. The cotton field by his house? Yes. In the distance, maybe a quarter mile away, was the silhouette of his house with tiny rectangles of light at a few windows.

  Stacey rocked side to side as the truck bounced along the path. Dark woods loomed ahead. No sunset watching. It was nearly gone.

  “Calvin?”

  He tugged his hair and looked at her. “Just for a few minutes.”

  She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell if he still smiled. He turned the headlights off as the road curved toward the house. No one would see them there.

  Was this really happening? Stacey quivered inside, pressed her knees tight together, and smoothed out her skirt and the lace top.

  Calvin stopped the truck beside the woods, put it in park, and turned off the engine. He was a shadow behind the wheel now, but she heard him take a deep breath. He unsnapped his seatbelt, the click loud enough to make her wince.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She undid her seatbelt too and scooted to the middle of the bench seat. Calvin wrapped his arms around her and pulled her the rest of the way to his side. He kissed her so deeply that her back slid against the vinyl seat, pushing her off balance. His fingers brushed the skin at her waist then slipped beneath the blouse. She gasped, and a giddy thought entered her mind: the blouse wasn’t so tight that his hand wouldn’t fit.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His breath warmed her cheek. “So beautiful. I love you, Stacey.”

  Beautiful! Say it again.

  His curls at the back of his head were soft and lush in her fingers. “I love you too.”

  Stacey shifted to get more comfortable but instead slipped farther down the seat. Calvin caught himself before his body could squash her, but his new position left Stacey’s knees bent at an extreme angle, both feet still touching the floor. Suddenly, all the musty smells of the old truck were stronger. Motor oil and gasoline, cracked vinyl and dirt.

  Germs. Not here. Surely he won’t—

  She could barely see Calvin’s face above her in the dying light. This whole thing was crazy. Calvin said they’d only be a few minutes. They’d laugh about it later. Remember when we were in the truck and we tried …? Were we stupid or what?

  But he continued kissing her deeply, and her stomach convulsed. His dark form covering her, he could be Uncle Murray, fondling, telling her he liked a little extra flesh on a woman.

  No, no. This so wasn’t happening. This was Calvin, and Calvin was safe.

  He moved, trying to maneuver around the steer
ing wheel, and the truck’s shocks squeaked. No way. Not here. Not anywhere.

  Stacey closed her hand on the fabric of his shirt. Her fist pushed weakly against his chest. She wiggled her other arm beneath him then pushed his shoulders upward with both hands. “Calvin, I don’t think we should.”

  “It’s okay. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I love you, Stace.”

  His fingertips brushed her ribs, probing higher. He gasped the same moment she did.

  “No. Calvin—” The icy sensation in her veins reverted to hot, for a different reason. Was he paying any attention to what she said? Had she just become a sexy body for him to do with as he pleased? She pushed harder.

  He made a strangled sound and lurched away, slumped behind the steering wheel. Some part of him thumped the driver’s door. He grunted like he’d been punched.

  Stacey crab-crawled back to the passenger side. “I’m sorry. You just, kinda, forced yourself on me.”

  “Force—No, I didn’t! Ouch.” He massaged his left elbow.

  She finger-combed her hair. “I don’t mean forced, exactly. It was too much too fast.”

  He breathed out and shifted to a normal position on the seat. “Yeah, my bad. I thought you wanted to park somewhere.”

  “To talk. And make out a little. But not to have sex. Calvin, where did that come from? You’ve never been like that before.”

  Calvin wrapped his arms over the steering wheel and rested his forehead against them. “I just thought … I don’t know what I was thinking. The way you’re dressed, I got carried away.”

  “So it’s my fault?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You were about to.” She flipped her hair away from her face. “What happened to waiting for marriage, huh? One outfit drove all that talk out of your head?”

  “Hey!” He jerked upward, shot a look at her that was probably a glare. “I stopped, didn’t I? I didn’t force you to do anything. I’m just trying to show you that, that—never mind. My mistake. I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  Stacey tugged her clothes into place and peered at the cotton field. The plants looked like spindly weeds in the dark. Not a field she’d want to walk through if she had to leave the truck.

  Calvin cranked the engine and yanked the gearshift lever into drive. The truck lurched forward, and Stacey bounced and fumbled with the seat belt until she got it latched. The headlights illuminated a dusty trail. They flew past trees that seemed to lean and branch out over the path.

  “You can slow down, you know.”

  “I have to get you home.” His voice was flat.

  “So, what, you’re mad at me now?”

  “No. Kind of.”

  “What did I do?”

  “Just … nothing. It’s a lot of stuff.”

  “Which is it? A lot of stuff or nothing?”

  He made a right turn on the dirt track, the truck skidding.

  Stacey planted her hands against the dashboard. “Please slow down.”

  “I know where I’m going.”

  Sure he did. Because they were in the field his family owned. But did that mean he could get away with driving crazy? A big piece of farm equipment rose up out of the darkness, scaring Stacey. She held her breath as Calvin drove up a rise. At the road the front tires left the ground then slammed back, the shocks creaking and bouncing. Stacey’s hands flew up and her hair whipped around her face. And then the nightmare ride was over. Victory Church Road lay before them, a nice, smooth path.

  Stacey pulled a strand of hair out of her mouth. “Calvin, don’t be mad at me.”

  He shifted in his seat, pulled his seat belt over his lap. He just now put it on?

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “Get what? I wanted to look nice for you.” He looked at her, and the dashboard lights glinted in his eyes. “You always look nice. I tell you all the time. I tell you I love you, but you keep starving yourself. So today I wanted to prove to you that you don’t need to do that. That you’re sexy enough and …”

  So now he had all these noble motives for trying to put his hand up her shirt? Yeah, right.

  Calvin sighed. “Stacey, I’m not sure I can keep up with you. I’m trying. Really trying. But this anorexia—”

  “Calvin Greenlee, I am not anorexic.”

  He snorted. Like a laugh. “Okay, look, forget everything that happened tonight. I got carried away, okay? Blame me if you want. I don’t care. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

  With one wrist draped over the steering wheel, his hand clenching then unclenching, Calvin drove past the high school. Stacey focused on the dark landscape sweeping past Calvin’s head. It felt alien somehow. Unwelcoming. Because the guilt that invaded Stacey’s mind made her feel removed, a self-conscious spirit exposed, ashamed of her flesh. Ashamed that she’d let Zoe talk her into wearing this horrible lace top that turned her nice boyfriend into a drooling fool.

  “You’re right. I get confused sometimes. Zoe gave me this blouse. I knew I shouldn’t have worn it, I knew it was too skimpy and tight. I just wanted you to think I’m pretty and sexy. That’s all. I didn’t even think about, you know, going beyond kissing.”

  His heavy exhale announced his frustration. He made no other answer.

  Stacey collapsed in her seat and hugged herself. Tears burned in her eyes and stayed there while he navigated back toward her house. Would the day end in angry silence like this?

  For the second time, he turned onto Turner Creek Road.

  “I’m confused too, Stace. There’s some stuff we really need to talk about. I’ve been trying to, but it seems we never get a chance.”

  Something wedged in her throat, like a giant bug had flown into the pickup and got sucked into her mouth. Or like the scratchy feeling when she rammed her nails down her throat. She knew what “stuff” he wanted to talk about.

  “When do you want …?” her voice croaked.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  No. No. She had to put it out of his head tonight. “What if I don’t want to talk about it?”

  Had she really said that? A shriek of agony ripped through Stacey’s brain.

  The pickup jolted into her driveway so hard that the seat belt probably bruised her hips. Calvin jammed on the brakes. The only sound was the chugging of the truck engine taking a break after the crazy ride. Calvin stared forward. Stacey shivered in her seat.

  “I’m just trying to help you.” His voice was a low rumble. “I love you. I want to know that you’ll be okay.”

  “I love you too,” she mumbled. “Kiss good night?”

  Calvin sighed and rolled toward her. His hand touched her shoulder and his lips pressed against hers for only a second. He pulled away. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She made her hand move to the door handle. Forced her shoulder to push open the creaking door. Put her feet on the hard surface of her driveway. Pushed the truck door shut, tried not to wobble when her legs carried her back a step.

  Calvin backed out to the street. The pickup’s transmission groaned and clunked into gear, and she stared as the rattling vehicle moved down the street, turned a corner, and was gone.

  The force of will holding Stacey up slowly released her. She sank down in the grass, weak and gasping.

  Chapter 21

  He couldn’t sing.

  Peyton pushed the open hymnal closer to Calvin, and he felt the scrutiny of her glance. He stared down at the words on the page while voices swelled around him. He opened his mouth, but the words stalled, wouldn’t even form in his brain.

  He couldn’t pretend to sing praises to God when his heart felt like a football in his chest. The guilt of that, and of sitting through a sermon he’d already forgotten, added to the weighty shroud he’d worn since last night.

  Calvin’s eyes burned from little sleep. He dared not close them for more than the instant it took to blink, because the dark images would return. Stacey’s face, a landscape of shadows and what he thought was d
esire, against the cracked vinyl upholstery of his father’s pickup truck. If she’d protested, he couldn’t remember. The argument that followed was a blur. Shock had bashed aside all other sensations and emotions and overlaid a nightmare image upon her face.

  Bones.

  The hymn ended and Calvin closed his mouth.

  Girls were supposed to be soft. But his fingers had passed over bones so pronounced he could have counted them by touch.

  How could she hide that so well? How long had this been going on and he hadn’t seen it? Her parents—why didn’t they do something about it? Stacey’s mother, constantly wanting to know what, when, and where, had to have noticed. Her father, a cop—wasn’t he trained to look for details? Why was Calvin the first person to figure out what was going on?

  Mom touched his sleeve. “Excuse me, hon. I have to fetch the kids.”

  Calvin’s gaze snapped to hers. Her tone might not be so sweet if she had any clue what went on in the pickup last night.

  No, he couldn’t think about that. He would have stopped before he and Stacey went too far. Maybe. But it didn’t matter. It definitely wouldn’t happen again because … those bones. They just freaked him out.

  A wailing built in the back of his mind, like echoes in a canyon. How did this happen?

  “Calvin?” Mom said. “Move, please.”

  He found his voice and made his limbs obey. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  In the aisle he bumped elbows with other people, made his way out of the sanctuary and into the lobby, and waited there while his parents went to collect his younger siblings.

  Peyton stepped around to face him and leaned close. “Are you okay? You look like something’s really bothering you.”

  In her pale blue eyes, he saw compassion. She wasn’t trying to get into his business. She cared. Lizzie joined them, forming a tight circle. No sympathy in her expression, though. She wanted to be in the know.

  Girls. Either one of them might have something to say that would help him. But neither one was beyond taking his confessions to their parents.

  Even Michael would have judged him. A real man knows how to control his desires and respect a woman.