Running Lean

by Diana L. Sharples

  Calvin crossed his arms and sank deeper into the chair. He shoved his legs out, taking the weight off his feet—so he couldn’t bounce up and slug his best friend.

  Tyler groaned and stepped toward the tent. “I’ve had enough. I’m going out. You can sit here and cry if you want.”

  Calvin swallowed a lump the size of a walnut. He pushed out of his chair so forcefully that the thing fell over, and stomped back to his motorcycle. He’d borrow some Stick Weld from somebody and seal up the entire engine and exhaust if it would get him back on the trails. Flannery and Tyler were right—sitting around moping would kill him.

  He knelt beside the bike and stared at the engine. His breath puffed in and out, and his insides trembled. The fins of the piston casings blurred in his vision. But even if he could see perfectly, his task was impossible. A miniscule crack could be sucking just enough air into the engine to mess up the fuel/air mix. Maybe he could find it if he were in the workshop at home or at Dad’s auto shop. But out here?

  He heard footsteps in the pine straw on the other side of the bike. Tyler took hold of the handlebars and eased the Yamaha upright. “Want me to start it?”

  Calvin sniffed, rubbed his wrist across his nose. Thank God for Tyler’s loyalty. “Uh, not yet. I need to think about this.”

  His own meager set of tools sat in an open metal box by the rear tire. Torque wrench, a few sockets—could he tighten down the cylinder heads, maybe? Was he strong enough that it would even make a difference?

  Pebbles popped under large tires, disrupting his thoughts. Calvin looked up to see the white SUV pulling into the campsite. He stood, and Tyler eased the Yamaha back onto its kickstand.

  Nigel flew out of the passenger side. “Dad caught a fish, like, this big!” He held his hands as wide apart as they would go.

  Calvin shoved his hands into his pockets. Dave’s big-fish story could be a welcome diversion.

  Dave got out of the SUV and circled the front. “Nigel, you left your door open.” A grin played on his lips, though, as he closed the passenger door.

  Nigel ran to the camper while Dave went to the back of the SUV and opened the rear hatch. His grunt, as he lifted out a big, battered cooler, sounded exaggerated.

  The little boy dragged his mother out of the camper by her hand. Even Flannery followed, though she crossed her arms and refused to look at Calvin. Her father lifted something monstrous out of the cooler. Calvin gawked. Everyone in the campsite—and maybe a neighbor or two—gave exclamations of amazement. The catfish measured at least thirty inches long and its head was wider than Dave’s fist.

  “Eh? Eh? Pretty nice, huh?”

  “Fabulous!” Patty said. “We going to cook it or mount it?”

  “Eww! Tell me you’re not going to put that thing on the wall!” Flannery whined. Just like a girl would. Calvin shook his head and looked back down at his bike, not ready to grin at her yet.

  Patty laughed. “Not at home. In the camper, maybe.”

  “Oh no. Please. No. I beg you, no.”

  Nigel jumped up and down. “Yes! Yes! It’ll be like having a pet.”

  “Pets are furry and cute and alive,” Flannery said.

  Calvin knelt down and grabbed his torque wrench.

  “We’re not leaving until tomorrow,” Flannery said. “It’ll stink up the SUV in that old cooler.”

  “No, it won’t. We’ll pack ice around it real good.” Was Dave seriously considering mounting the thing? “Get the camera, Patty. Let’s get some shots o’ this sucker.”

  They took pictures. And Flannery stood on the other side of Calvin’s bike, chatting with Tyler. Calvin sat on the ground and crossed his legs, gently tapping his torque wrench against the crankcase. Maybe eventually someone would notice him.

  Selfish thinking, but he couldn’t help it. They were all having fun, and he couldn’t. With everything that had happened—was happening—how could anyone expect him to laugh?

  “All right, we’re gonna have some good eatin’ tonight,” Dave announced. “Start gutting this bad boy and filet it, Patty-girl.”

  “Ugh. I just knew you’d make me do the nasty work.”

  “Oh, come on now. I’ll carry it in for you, then I’m going to see what’s up with this young man’s motorcycle that’s got him all sour-pussed.”

  Calvin almost smiled.

  With the cylinder head tightened down and every inch of the engine and exhaust inspected by Dave’s more expert eyes, the Yamaha ran a little better. Just not enough that Calvin felt confident following Tyler and Flannery on one of the trails rated “difficult.” Besides, he wanted to be alone. An easy ride through the woods would clear the angry thoughts from his head.

  With Tyler’s cell phone secure in his back pocket, Calvin followed a rolling trail weaving southeast. Toward a cell tower, he hoped.

  The Yamaha’s exhaust still sputtered. He tried to think of another reason. Condensation in the gas tank? Could be something that simple. Or not. Because the work they did this morning wouldn’t have changed anything.

  A split-rail fence divided the trail from a gravel parking area. Calvin glided to a stop next to the fence and put the bike in neutral. It popped and coughed, but kept idling. He didn’t dare turn it off. If the engine died and he couldn’t start it, he’d be sorely tempted to abandon the bike rather than push it back to camp.

  He removed his helmet and balanced it on a fence post, then pulled the phone from his pocket. Two bars; good enough. He dialed Stacey’s cell phone. Like before, the call went straight to voice mail.

  Okay, okay … home phone.

  A tremor ran through him as he listened to the ringing. He willed Stacey to answer. Not her father. “Hello?” a woman’s voice said.

  Calvin released his breath. “Mrs. Varnell. Hey. It’s Calvin. May I speak to Stacey?”

  “I’m afraid she’s asleep, dear.”

  Really? “Well, um, c-could you wake her? I mean, I’m still at Badin Lake and I had to ride away from the campsite just to get a cell signal.”

  “Um, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’s been through a lot and she needs her rest.”

  “Yeah, I understand, but—”

  “Calvin …”

  There was a long pause and a sort of whooshing scrape. Then another scrape, followed by a thump. Sounded like she’d opened and closed the sliding glass door to their back deck. So someone in the house wouldn’t hear?

  “Calvin, I don’t think it’s your fault, but Stacey did run away from home to find you at that campground. Her father doesn’t even want her driving far from home because she’s only had her license a few months. Stacey knows that. And it’s clear now that she’s sick, that she’s got this eating disorder.”

  Calvin cut into her parental speech. “So you know about it. Good.”

  “Yes.” A short pause. “Calvin, I agree with my husband. I think it’s best if you and Stacey have some distance from each other for a while. At least until we can get this problem under control. Stacey doesn’t need anything upsetting her right now.”

  “Upsetting her? But—”

  “Dear, I’m very sorry. Maybe it’ll only be a little while. Right now we need to focus on her health more than anything else. I’m sure you understand.”

  Her words pressed down on Calvin’s shoulders like thousand-pound lead weights. Suddenly the smell of the Yamaha’s exhaust made him nauseous. “Yes, ma’am. I do. But, could you at least tell Stacey I called?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

  Appreciate it? Like he was inquiring as to the wellbeing of an elderly neighbor or something, not his girlfriend of eight months. Real sweet.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Have fun with the rest of your camping trip, dear.”

  “Uh, yeah. Bye.” He hung up, and stared at Tyler’s phone for a long time. They weren’t going to let him see Stacey. He shouldn’t be surprised. He still couldn’t believe that Stacey had driven all that way to fin
d him. Dumbest thing she’d ever done. Yet for a moment, ever so brief, when she looked into his eyes and touched his chest over his heart, he’d dared to think …

  Forget it. Her parents knew everything now, and they were calling the shots.

  Calvin shoved Tyler’s phone into his pocket and jammed his helmet back onto his head. He grabbed some throttle and skidded the bike onto the trail. An easy trail. But he rode it hard and fast. This could be his last ride of the summer. Maybe his last ride forever if, like Dave suggested, the Yamaha really needed an engine rebuild. That alone was reason enough to be angry. Losing Stacey too … He might as well beat the bike as much as it could stand without falling to pieces in a mud puddle.

  Chapter 33

  Morning sunlight bled through Stacey’s eyelids, making sleep impossible. Her vision foggy, she peered at her bedroom, met by the white furniture, her dresser top, and the shelves neatly stocked with little-girl memorabilia. A utopian illusion.

  Chilled in spite of the sun, she tugged her quilt up to her face. Could she stay here? Disappear under her blankets? Would anyone miss her?

  Calvin would be sitting around a fire with his friends, fixing sausage and eggs for breakfast with dented cookware and long-handled utensils. Birds would be singing. She could envision a breeze lifting the soft curls off his forehead, his chin and lip unshaved, dappled sunlight glinting in his hazel eyes. Earthy, scruffy, happy.

  Snaking her hand out from under the quilt, she reached down to the cubby of her bedside table. Almost nothing there now, but by stretching her arm and fingertips she found her sketchbook, which was “safe” enough for her to keep. She teased it out until she could grasp it, then tugged it under her quilt. She pulled a pencil out of the drawer and propped the sketchbook up so that just enough light hit a fresh white page for her to write.

  What word could she use as inspiration? Rugged? No, that wasn’t right. Calvin’s face was too soft for that. If she closed her eyes, she could see him clearly. His smile tore at her heart. Was he having fun while she lay here suffering the worst days of her life? A weight settled upon her, heavier than the quilt, seeming to press her into the mattress.

  Yes, the weight of what she’d become if she did what everyone—including Calvin—was telling her to do now. Eat more, become the roly-poly princess she used to be when she lived in Rocky Mount.

  Stacey threw the sketchbook and pencil away. The pages fluttered and fell to the floor somewhere near the foot of her bed. She battled the compulsion to go pick the things up and put them away properly.

  Someone tapped on her door. Before Stacey could answer, Mom charged into the room. “Do you know where Renee is?”

  Stacey jerked the quilt over her chest again. “How should I know? I haven’t been out of bed yet.”

  Mom didn’t even blink. “I don’t think her bed’s been slept in.”

  Oh, that’s hilarious. Even now she has to be the center of attention. “Probably spent the night with Preston.”

  Mom’s face hardened. “Get up and get dressed. You’re not skipping breakfast, and I have to go back to work.”

  Good morning to you too.

  Stacey folded her quilt back and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Cool air hit her, sending goose bumps across her bare arms. She smoothed out her capri-length pajama pants then ran her hands up her shins to her knees. Hard knees, no longer padded and soft. But her calves—she poked her fingers into the flabby flesh behind her shins. How could anyone think she was too skinny?

  Porcelain dolls with round faces, chubby hands, and thick ankles taunted her from the bookshelf. Aren’t we cute? Aren’t we precious? Come back, Chubbikins!

  “I’ll never go back.”

  Stacey made her bed, then found the sketchbook and pencil and put them back in the drawer. She slipped into the bathroom, locked the door behind her, took off her clothes, and promptly stood on the scale. Tears blurred the digits on the scale. Half a pound heavier. Stacey staggered into the shower.

  Calvin! Put me on the back of your bike and take me away from all this.

  But he wasn’t her hero anymore. Ultimately, he was on the same side as her parents. And running away with him would be a crime under the North Carolina juvenile code, unruly child statute, for which—Daddy had reminded her twice now—she had already received a citation.

  She dressed, putting on the simple floral dress she’d worn to meet Calvin at church weeks—months?—ago. Pretty lame, but it did a good job of hiding her body from the world. She pulled on some thick black tights and found a pair of ballet flats from last year. They fit comfortably, even a little loose. Miss Frump. Sort of emo, though. Still chilled, she topped the dress with her pink zippered hoodie. Why was it so cold? In early June, the mornings should be warmer.

  The smell of brewing coffee both enticed Stacey and turned her stomach hollow as she headed downstairs.

  Mom’s voice coming from the kitchen had a melodic edge, like a cat’s threatening yowl in the night. “Maybe she isn’t a child anymore, but we’ve got to do something to save that girl from herself.”

  Talking about me? Again?

  Something banged to announce Daddy’s response. “What? Lock her in her room and shove meals in to her? Even without a car she’ll find ways to get away from the house. We can’t control that boyfriend of hers.”

  Stacey slunk against the living room wall so they wouldn’t be able to see her. She stilled her breath to listen.

  “Keep your voice down. Stacey will hear.”

  Daddy muttered something.

  “Stan, let’s find a counselor.”

  A counselor. Someone else to take your side against me.

  “No,” Daddy answered.

  “Why not? Why are you so dead set against getting help?”

  “Because I’m not going to pay hundreds of dollars for some over-educated twerp to analyze our lives with a load of psycho-babble.”

  Because you have all the answers already, right, Daddy?

  A cabinet slammed. “This isn’t about money! This is about our daughter, our family.”

  Stacey couldn’t stay for the insults and blaming, this confrontation of two strong-willed people with differing ideas on how to save her. She had to escape this place before they dragged her into some treatment program where she’d be incarcerated and reconditioned to believe that fat was okay.

  Stacey’s limbs trembled, and her heart fluttered. The inner Stacey cried out, run!

  The slipper-like shoes enabled her to cross the room silently. She eased open the front door, closed it behind her just as quietly, and then let the adrenaline take over. She leaped down the steps. Her arms flailed as she ran across the front yard, but then she focused on pumping her limbs, speeding across the neighbors’ lawns. Her shoes flapped around her heels, tripping her up. She kicked them off. With one shoe in each hand, Stacey ran to the end of the subdivision.

  Daddy would come after her. He’d call his friends at the police department, and there’d be citations enough to lock her behind bars. She had to get out of sight and far away fast.

  Several cars carrying secretaries, dock workers, or shop owners sped past her on Turner Creek Road. She bounced on the balls of her feet and hoped no one noticed her tear-soaked face.

  Where could she go?

  Stacey’s feet slapped the asphalt as she crossed the two-lane road. She stumbled down a gulley, caught herself on her fisted hands. Weeds snagged her tights and scratched her legs, but she plunged into the woods bordering the actual Turner Creek. Think. Think. Breathe.

  Stacey ducked behind the trunk of a large hardwood tree. She sank to the ground at its roots. With her knees to her chest, she gasped for breath.

  I can’t live this way. Why are they punishing me? Why doesn’t anyone understand?

  Stacey covered her mouth with the back of her hand. She tasted salty tears. If Daddy had his way, he’d rule over her and force her through her rebellious “phase.” If Mom had her way, she’d send her to some therapis
t who would label her and push her into rehab. Isn’t that what they did with anorexic girls? Mark them insane and send them away?

  She had to get free. At least until she could think things through.

  Stacey gasped and stared at the shoes in her hands. What did she think she could accomplish with just some stupid shoes in her hands? She’d left her purse at home. Her cell phone was locked away, along with her car keys. Where could she possibly go?

  Not Zoe’s house—first place Daddy would look. Who else could help? Who would even listen? How long before Daddy had the whole police force out looking for her?

  One thing she knew for certain: She couldn’t stay huddled behind a tree a quarter of a mile from her house.

  Stacey thrust her feet into her shoes. She waded through the underbrush, going parallel to the road, and kept her ear tuned to the sound of car tires on the pavement. Hearing a vehicle coming, she ducked down in a patch of honeysuckle and curled her body into a ball.

  Thorny vines scratched her hands and snagged her clothes as she moved on. Her breath soon came in gulps of too-thick air.

  “Phone booth, phone booth.”

  There was an old convenience store miles down NC 19 with a rusty phone booth on the corner. Maybe the only phone booth left in the whole state. But she’d never make it. Even if she did, she didn’t have any money. Not even a single quarter tucked in the pocket of her hoodie from the last time she’d worn it. Only a scrap of paper and pocket lint.

  “This is crazy. I’m going insane.”

  The woods broke ahead at the edge of someone’s field. The tobacco plants weren’t tall enough yet to conceal her, though a wide truck path circled the field, just like the one around Calvin’s cotton field.

  Memories cast a veil over her vision. The path, the smelly truck, Calvin in her arms, kissing her, breathing against her face. Why did she have to make him stop? Would they still be together if she hadn’t?

  Stacey pulled her hair back from her face with both hands. She couldn’t think about all that now. Not until she found a safe place to hide. She turned left to follow the dirt road. The ground beside the tobacco field was sandy and soft. Soon her legs burned with exertion, and her shoes filled with grit. Her ankle rolled against a rock, sending a hot rush of pain to her brain. She yelped and went down on her hands and knees.