She wanted to cry, but there didn’t seem to be a rational reason why she should.
With her first reading, she’d been stunned. Weren’t they going to talk about that trip? He hadn’t mentioned it in a long time, and she’d forgotten about it.
With her second reading, anger darkened her vision. Nothing in his message suggested that he really cared what she thought about him going away and leaving her behind, about him going away with another girl.
With the third reading, fear crept in. Other than his closing declaration of love—which could have been obligatory or just a habit—the message could have been written to anyone, a friend, family member, or someone he knew casually at school.
With successive readings, a feeling of loneliness had settled over Stacey like Calvin was already gone.
Maybe he was. Maybe the camping trip was actually irrelevant.
For days after Calvin’s ultimatum it seemed they were together but just existing in the same space. If they looked at each other in the eyes for more than a second, hurt surfaced, and they turned away. Their private moments had become awkward and their kisses rare.
He didn’t press her to answer any of his questions, didn’t beg her again to see a doctor or ask if she’d eaten anything. Rather than feeling relief, she knew the peace wouldn’t last. The conflict between them had fallen back, and meaninglessness had moved into that vacant battleground. The conflict would lie hidden, like a patient predator, waiting for the smallest cue to roar into action again.
Stacey leaned back against her pillow and let her eyes rest, gazing at the gentle movement of her curtains over the air conditioning vent. A lavender-scented candle flickered on her bedside table. Her body settled into her mattress, calling her back to sleep.
Not yet. She needed to respond to Calvin’s message with something that would matter. She had to pull him back. Maybe a poem.
Stacey forced her lethargic muscles to move. She sat up, settled the laptop in a workable position again, and opened a new document. Then she breathed, waiting for inspiration. Should she pour out her heart to him in hopes that he would understand? Or tell him how much she loved him, so he might forgive and forget? What could she say that would reverse time and take them back to the place where their lives danced together?
Dancing. Maybe something with dancing as a metaphor.
Pas de duex is a dance of two, but my heart dances alone.
Not right. They weren’t really alone. They were just … not moving. Stuck. Paralyzed.
Pas de duex, a dance of two, a maiden and her prince.
Erg. Not happening. The lines were as meaningless as the time they’d spent together over the weekend, watching television and hardly speaking to each other.
A fog settled over Stacey’s mind, while parts of her body twitched involuntarily. A muscle in her leg. A twinge in her back. Her fingers, jumping off the computer keys for no reason at all. She gave in and closed her eyes.
In what seemed like a second later, the door of her room opened. Stacey’s body jumped at the sound. She shut her laptop before anyone else could see the screen.
Her mother came in with a tray. “Here’s your supper, sweetheart.” She first slid the tray onto Stacey’s dresser so she could set up a TV table beside the bed. “Have you taken your temperature again?”
Stacey nodded. “Normal. I think I can go back to school tomorrow.”
“Ah, good. I made you some soup. Hopefully you’ll be able to keep this down.”
As her mother moved the tray down onto the TV table, tomato broth rolled up the side of the bowl and left a liquid red stain on the white stoneware. Too thick to ebb back into the bowl, which meant there was something fatty in the soup. Stacey pulled her pajama sleeve down to cover her knuckles, then placed the back of her hand against her mouth.
“I added cauliflower and garlic to tomato soup,” Mom said. “I read in a magazine that certain veggies are especially good to boost a person’s immune system.”
That’s all she needed, medical advice from a supermarket tabloid. “Mom, you know I hate cauliflower.”
“Don’t worry. I cut it up small and added a touch of brown sugar to sweeten it. You’ll hardly taste it. Try to eat it all, sweetie. You can’t get better without food in your stomach.”
Stacey fell back against her pillow. “I’m tired. Can I eat it later, please?”
Mom arranged a napkin and the silverware on the tray. “Eat it now, then you can go back to sleep.” She then lifted one side of Stacey’s rumpled quilt off the floor and smoothed the whole thing across her bed. “You don’t need to be missing any more school. I’m sure to be hearing from the principal’s office soon.”
And then she reached for Stacey’s laptop.
“No! Mom, please. Leave it there.”
“But you’re going to sleep after you eat. You don’t want to risk kicking it off the bed.”
“I’ve got the flu, not a broken leg. I can move it when I’m ready.”
Her mother tilted her head in disapproval at Stacey’s tone then pointed at the tray. “Eat that soup. I want to see the bowl empty when I come back.”
“Yes, Mom.”
No big deal. A little while after her mother left, she could sneak into the bathroom and dump the stinky soup in the toilet. Even the small mountain of crackers next to the bowl would go down easy if they were crunched up. The veggies by themselves didn’t have a lot of calories, but Mom had to add all kinds of junk to the soup to make it taste better. Brown sugar? Really?
Yet the woman wouldn’t be so easily dismissed. She stood there at the foot of Stacey’s bed, her arms crossed, as if she would supervise the eating of the miracle soup. Stacey groaned and pushed herself up. She swung her legs over the side of her bed. Cool air hit her skin laid bare by her bunched-up pajama pants. Somebody had turned the air-conditioning up full blast, and when Stacey complained Mom just said her chills were because she was fevered. With her fever gone, so was the excuse. Stacey rubbed her legs. The movement brought her nose too close to the soup, and the smell of cauliflower made her stomach lurch.
“Ugh, why did it have to be cauliflower?”
“Stacey …”
“What? I’m sorry. I’ll eat it.” She picked up the spoon. “See? I’m eating.”
Mom came around the side of the bed, her eyes wide and her brow pinched. “Stacey, baby …”
“What?”
“Your legs! Your … your feet!”
She looked down, then jerked her legs back under the quilt. She bumped the TV table in the process, and soup sloshed out of the bowl and into the plate beneath it. “They’re cold, Momma, just cold.”
“They’re blue! And so thin.”
Mom reached for the quilt to pull it back, but Stacey fought her, tugging the quilt tight over her body. “I told you, I’m cold. Can you please turn the air-conditioning down? Please? Or at least close the vents in this room?”
Mom straightened, but her face was flushed. She raised trembling fingers to her face. “I’ll talk to your father. Just … eat that soup. I’ll be back.”
She left. As soon as the door closed behind her, Stacey flung off the quilt and dove down to the floor to look for her slippers under the bed. Better yet, she could put on those thick wool socks Grandma Jenny knitted for her for Christmas. She planted her arm on top of the bed to brace herself, but as soon as she pushed upward, the familiar dizziness attacked her and rocked her backward. She fell onto her butt, and the impact rattled up her spine to her skull.
Stacey lay on the floor while the room spun. Tears flooded down the sides of her face and pooled in her ears. Her heart jumped around inside her ribcage. She’d fallen too hard. She needed to still the panic. Breathe in, breathe out, slowly, deeply. It was okay. The pain eased some, and Stacey rolled to her side. Gripping her bedpost, she carefully pulled herself up, then settled on her bed by the TV tray and breathed to still the swaying in her brain.
The floor creaked in the hallway outside her
room. Stacey tugged her quilt over her legs and filled her spoon with soup. She raised it up toward her mouth just as her doorknob turned.
Daddy entered the room before Mom. His scrutinizing eye passed over her. “What’s going on in here?”
Stacey blinked. “I’m eating my soup.” She lifted the spoon, a whitish lump sitting in the pool of red, as irrefutable proof. With Daddy watching, she daintily sucked the tomato portion into her mouth and swallowed it.
Behind her father, Stacey’s mother held on to the door frame as if for support. Her eyes were red rimmed. “It’s all those fashion magazines she reads,” she said softly.
Daddy’s lips pursed for a moment. “Your mother says you’re not eating enough, and you’re getting too thin. Is that true?”
“What do you mean? I’m sick. I’ve been throwing up, so I haven’t had much of an appetite. But it’s coming back. See?” She took another bite to prove it.
“You’ve been dieting a long time. Don’t you think you’ve lost enough weight? You’re probably sick because you don’t have enough energy to fight things off.”
Stacey looked down at the tray and gently slid the spoon into her soup. Daddy wouldn’t buy denial. Maybe another tactic, just to satisfy him. “Maybe that’s true. But Daddy, everything Mom cooks is, like, really fattening. Sorry, Mom, but I just have to say it. Can’t we try to eat healthier? I’m so afraid I’ll get fat again.”
Mom eased farther into the room until she stood beside Daddy. Unity. This was going to be bad. “Sweetie, you’re not one of those girls who refuse to eat, are you? Like, what’s her name? That singer. Karen Carpenter?”
Stacey winced. “Who?”
“Anorexia,” Daddy said. “That’s what the disease is called. Back in Rocky Mount, I got called to a house where a young woman died from it. That better not be what’s going on here.”
The tears sprang out of Stacey’s eyes again. “It’s not, Daddy. I promise. I’ll start eating more. Please believe me.”
Daddy puffed a long breath out of his nose. He nodded toward the bedside table. “Get rid of those magazines,” he told Mom.
“But I use those so I can learn about fashion design. Please don’t—”
Daddy held up his hand to silence her. “For a while. When I’m convinced that you’re eating properly, you can have them again.”
Mom bent to collect everything that was in the cubby of Stacey’s nightstand, including her sketchbook. She shuffled the magazines into a pile in her arms and turned to leave the room without a word of apology. Daddy remained where he was. He stared, and his lower lip quivered before he spoke again. “Eat your dinner. When you’re feeling better, we’re going to sit down and talk about this.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Beneath the TV table, Stacey clasped her hands together to stop their shaking and squeezed until it hurt.
He glared down at her for another long, agonizing moment, then finally turned to go. He left the door hanging open.
Worst thing ever. She didn’t care about the magazines. She wasn’t afraid of what her parents would find in her sketchbook. But now they were watching her. Like Calvin had been watching her. Nowhere was safe anymore. Her privacy had been invaded, and if she knew her father, it wouldn’t end with the magazines.
Stacey tried to spoon soup into her mouth, but her hand shook too badly. How could she eat anything when she stood on the verge of a total collapse of everything that mattered to her?
What if Daddy confiscated her laptop and read Zoe’s emails?
Or Calvin’s?
Stacey pulled her laptop under her pillow, then forced herself to eat the soup. It was worse than she’d thought. She managed to down half of it. By the time Mom came back to collect the tray, she’d curled up under her blankets and pretended to be asleep. As soon as Mom blew out the candle, turned off the light, and shut the door, Stacey rolled onto her stomach and pulled out the computer.
She kicked her heels up and down, up and down, burning off soup calories while she went from one program to another on her computer, deleting all the evidence.
Chapter 23
The scents of a May morning ride, of dew and fresh grass and honeysuckle in the woods, lingered on Calvin’s clothes. They wouldn’t last, though. Soon the closed-in atmosphere of the school building, with its noise and schedules and the heavy smell of floor polish in the hallways, would demolish all the sensations from his five-minute ride. Especially the sense of freedom.
He leaned against the wall opposite the administrative offices, his jean jacket still on and his helmet dangling from its strap in his fingers. More and more students passed in front of him on their way to morning classes as Calvin watched through the office windows, waiting for Stacey to reappear. The secretary behind the high partition scuttled back and forth, handing out passes and forms and answering questions for other students and a couple of parents. Stacey had hoped she could simply hand in the note from her parents explaining why she’d been out for three days. Instead, the assistant principal had taken her past the partition and into the inner sanctum of the administrative offices.
This couldn’t be anything but bad.
The large clock suspended on a bracket above the office door reminded Calvin he had only three minutes until class. He still had to go to his locker. He pushed away from the wall and paced four steps one way, five steps back. Stacey would understand if he left. But he just couldn’t, not until he knew she was okay.
With a minute and a half to go, Stacey finally emerged. She walked with her head down, her books held tightly to her chest, and a white business-sized envelope clutched in her hand. She wove her way through the remaining people by the front desk then turned left in the hallway as if she didn’t see him.
Calvin caught up with her. “Hey. What happened?”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Oh! I didn’t think you’d still be here.” Her face was wet with tears, and she backed away from him as if she didn’t want him to know.
“What happened, Stace. What did Mrs. Farley say to you?”
She sniffed and looked at the envelope. “If I miss any more days of school, I’ll have to do summer school, maybe even repeat my junior year.”
Calvin’s jaw dropped, and he was barely able to make it move to speak. “But—but you’re an honor student. How can they do that?”
Stacey sniffed again, and a renewed flood of tears gushed from her eyes. Still hugging her books, she leaned into Calvin to cry on his jacket. He could only hold on to her with one arm and wait for her to get control of her sobbing. Around them, the hallway cleared out, and the clock over the office ticked down toward the first bell.
“I hate this place.” Stacey’s voice was muffled by his chest. “I wish we never moved.”
The sting of that remark lasted only a second. She was upset and didn’t mean she wished she’d never met him. Calvin cupped her cheek in his hand and lifted her head up. “It’ll be okay. We’ve only got three weeks left. You can make it.”
“Calvin, you’re the only good thing in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He forced a smile. “I don’t know about that. But let me help you, Stace. I know you had the flu, but I think if you ate more healthy food, you might not get sick so often.”
She tried to shake her head, but he hooked his thumb under her chin to stop her.
“Listen, okay? Please? I’m not trying to make you gain weight or anything. A healthy diet. You need vitamins and stuff that you get from food. So let’s get together, either at my house or yours, and we’ll look up some good diets online. We’ll do it together, okay? I’ll even eat the same stuff as you.”
She lifted a shoulder coyly. “No more bacon cheeseburgers?”
“Blee-yuck. No. They’re history.”
The little smile she gave him disappeared. “How can we even do that, Calvin? Both our moms are in love with butter and potatoes and stuff. I’ve tried to cook for my family, and all they do is complain.”
He took a deep breath and plunged. “We’ll talk to them.” She shook her head and pulled away from him. He had to catch up to her again as she started down the hallway.
“I appreciate the offer. It’s sweet. But this is my problem, Calvin. I have to deal with it.”
“I want to help you!”
“I have a pass, but you don’t. You’re going to be late for class if you don’t run.”
She was right about that. “Okay, look,” he said, “we’ll talk about this later, after school. I’ll meet you in the parking lot, okay?”
Stacey blew him a kiss. “Run. You don’t need to be in trouble too.”
Nothing more he could do or say. He took off, walking fast and running when he thought he could get away with it. He skidded into his physics class before the teacher had closed the door, but his classmates were all in their seats and every eye was on him, his helmet still in his hand, and a big wet mark on the front of his jean jacket.
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Greenlee,” Mr. Atkinson said. “We were thinking we wouldn’t be able to start without you.”
A few of the students chuckled as Calvin swung into his desk along the wall, two seats back from the front. His helmet clunked as he set it by his feet and then rolled into the middle of the aisle, prompting more awkward laughter. At least the teacher hadn’t busted him. Mr. Atkinson resumed his opening statements for the class while Calvin rescued his helmet and dug into his backpack, trying not to make any more noise.
He breathed out, made an effort to rearrange the synapses in his brain to focus on school, not Stacey. But he couldn’t escape one thought: she’d shut him down again. No matter how understanding he was, how nice he acted, or how much he tried to “love her through it,” Stacey was the one with the power to say no. Now she was in trouble with the school. She might think herself fat or unworthy or unloved, but the one thing she prided herself on was her academic achievements. With those in jeopardy, maybe she’d wake up and change.
Running Lean Page 21