“None of you have the endurance yet to run a full ten miles,” Matt says to the group. “But I want you to get used to the long distances, so we’re going to walk a lot today. Don’t push yourself into running too much, okay?”
I’ve never gone that far before. What happens if I get stranded five miles out on the trail? Will Matt have to cart me back somehow? How embarrassing would that be?
Matt makes us warm up by doing this ridiculous move called “Ali jumps” where we jump around and pretend we’re boxing like Muhammad Ali, and then I jog out onto the trail, my sneakers smacking the dirt. Then it’s just me and ten miles.
What was I thinking, touching Jeremiah’s arm like that? He must think I’m a complete Creepy McCreeperson. On the other hand, he did patch up my blister and give me a Little Mermaid Band-Aid when we were complete strangers.
But isn’t that what we still are? Strangers? Sure, he gave me a ride to my car, and I know a few tidbits about him, like he’s twenty and only his grandparents call him by his full name, but I still don’t know anything real. Is he in college? I never see him with friends, but I did see his Delta Tau Kappa frat T-shirt. Is he a party animal or just addicted to running and working out? Why is Matt giving him a chance? A chance for what?
I take a sip of water and focus on my feet. Point my toes forward. Swing my arms like scissors. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Pray for the running to make me forget I skipped my senior cruise. I manage to run six miles, but then have to slow to a shuffle walk. I’m proud I made it this far.
Right about then, Jeremiah and his client flash by. I can’t believe they’re already on their way back in on a twenty-mile run! Damn, he’s fast.
I figure that’s the last I’ll see of him today, but at mile marker 2, I see his wicked smile approaching, his long hair bouncing all over the place. Again that urge to dig my fingers in it. When he rejoins me, he slows to a pace matching mine. He finished a twenty-mile run, then came back out to run with me? He must be certifiable.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wheezing.
He takes a long sip from his water bottle, looking at me sideways. “I was thinking about you.”
I suck in a gasp, scramble for air. I was already panting in the humid morning, but now I can’t breathe at all.
His breathing slows to steady, because maintaining my pace is nothing for goddamned Superman, and when we reach the wooden footbridge that marks mile 1.5, Jeremiah gently takes my elbow and leads me off the path and way down to the stream. Wait, I shouldn’t leave the trail without Matt’s permission—and I haven’t finished my run yet. But the break sure is nice. Floppy willow tree branches cocoon us, offering much needed shade. Pink, yellow, purple, and blue flowers explode everywhere, like in a psychedelic dream—or Willy Wonka.
“It’s hotter than blue blazes outside,” he says.
I wipe sweat off my forehead. “That water is tempting.”
“Let’s jump in.” He grabs me and starts to pull me toward the water—and I pound on his chest and giggle like a seventh grader.
“Jere—no! If I get wet, I’ll have to run back in soggy clothes and I’ll get chafed—”
“Wouldn’t want that.”
“I’d finally get to take your brother up on his kind offer of Vaseline.”
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”
My hands switch from pounding on his chest to tentatively exploring it. He’s strong. I miss resting my head on a solid chest. I move my fingertips in tiny circles. His eyes flash. He takes my hands, weaving his fingers in mine. Leans forward. Steals a kiss.
He pulls back and searches my face—for what I don’t know, and once the shock wears off, I find myself up on tiptoes reaching to return the kiss.
My arms and legs turn against me. My knees sink and he has to grab me to hold me up. His tongue teases mine. I clutch the hair at the nape of his neck. Cup his cheeks with my hands, enjoying the way his stubble scratches my skin.
Our hands are everywhere. He pushes the CamelBak off my shoulders and unclips his water fanny pack thing, letting both drop to the ground. At first I try to push him away because my underarms are sweaty—hell, everywhere is sweaty, but he won’t let me go and then I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but his hand on my jaw and the other kneading my hip. His lips trail over my ear and neck, then hungrily find mine again. He tugs my bottom lip between his teeth and bites until I moan.
God, these kisses are hot, his mouth hard, then soft, then wanting. We lie down on the grass—it’s still slick with morning dew, and still kissing me, he presses his body to mine, rocking his hips in a rhythm until I’m seeing spots. It’s been so long. So long since I’ve felt this good, with a guy’s heavy comforting weight above me and my body on fire. I let out a sob.
Gasping for breath, he pulls himself to his knees and settles between my legs. “Annie.” He swallows. “You okay?”
“Don’t stop.”
I reach for his waist and we tug at our running clothes until they’re heaped beside us. His toned body is sculpted like a statue, and when I set my chin on his shoulder so he can kiss my neck, I discover another tattoo on his shoulder blade—it’s a black lightning bolt superimposed over a black circle.
And then his hand dips between my legs. I let my body relax, and he gives me what I didn’t know I needed so bad. I cry out and he quiets me with his mouth, kissing me until I feel sated all over, like after a Sunday afternoon nap. I don’t think a thing till I feel him pushing against me.
“We don’t have a condom!” I whisper loudly, and his eyes pop open and he rolls off. From the corner of my eye, I watch him wipe the sweat from his face and clench his eyes shut. Shit, what was I thinking? I’m not on the pill anymore. I don’t know this guy. I haven’t even told him my last name. He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t love him. He’s not Kyle.
Another sob, a different kind from before, builds in my throat.
I rip away from him and work to turn my clothes the right side out and jerk my panties and shorts back on. I untangle my sports bra, shove it over my head, and force my arms through the holes. Slap away the blades of grass stuck to my knees and elbows.
“Annie?”
Ignore him.
“Sorry, I got carried away. You’re just so pretty,” he says, grabbing his T-shirt up from the dirt and wiping his hands with it. “I never do it without a condom. Seriously, I’m sorry.”
So he does stuff like this often? I’ve only kissed one other boy my whole life. I yank my sports bra down over my chest and reach for my tank top.
Following my lead, he dresses quickly, even though he’s still raring to go, if you know what I mean.
“Please don’t tell my brother about this,” he says with a distressed look toward the trail. “I can’t mess things up this time. Please don’t say anything.”
“I won’t,” I snap, more at myself than at him. He looks taken aback, running his hands through his hair, swallowing.
I leave him behind, hurry back onto the trail, and resume my glacial pace. And of course, two minutes later, he overtakes me, darting through the tunnel of trees, leaving me in his dust, streaking toward the sun.
•••
At home, I rush for the bathroom.
I peel my damp, sweaty clothes off and let them fall to the tile floor. My panties come off last.
Kyle’s laughing voice rings in my mind. “I don’t care what kind of underwear you wear as long as I can get them off you.”
Even so, I always wore cute lacy sets anytime I knew we’d be together. I wanted to feel pretty for him.
I look down at the plain white panties I wore today. They’re good for running—they keep wedgies at bay—but they certainly don’t make me feel pretty. They make me feel gross. I am gross. What I did today was skanky and selfish.
I wanted to feel someth
ing new, to connect with someone, but all I feel is more confused. And scared. Tired. More alone than when I go to the drive-in by myself.
I turn the shower nozzle to ice cold and climb in. Water rains down on me and I pray it will make me clean. “Forgive me,” I whisper.
Guilt changes as you get older. I cheated on a spelling test when I was eight and beat myself up over it for months. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I kept imagining the correct answer was still written on my hand in black ink. Then, freshman year, Kyle touched me down there for the first time on the school bus on our way back from a field trip to the Cumberland Science Museum. He draped his jacket over my lap, unzipped my jeans, and made me feel like a totally new girl. It was exciting until I got off the bus and started freaking out mentally. Was Kelsey looking at me funny? What if someone saw us? What if a rumor went around and people at school made fun of me? What if it got back to Nick? What if he told Mom? What did it say about me that I let my boyfriend touch me in a public place? Was I dirty?
There are levels of guilt, and today I entered the big leagues.
I lean my head against the shower tile as water pounds my back.
I doubted I’d stay single forever. I mean, I want to have kids one day, and that generally requires a partner, but I never thought I’d nearly have sex with a stranger. And that I’d do it on the trail where I’m training to honor my boyfriend.
I turn the water up as hot as it will go, burning my skin scarlet red.
Today’s run forced the thoughts out of my head, but they’re screaming back now. Jeremiah. Kyle. I wish I could go back in time to that Sunday night. Silent sobs begin to shake my body.
When I first heard, I couldn’t sit still. Scrubbed the dishes. Poured Halloween candy into a dish. But an hour later, the shock wore off and I cried hysterically. Mom and Nick took turns holding me, to rock me to sleep. But the sleep didn’t come.
To get through the funeral, Nick gave me a tiny white pill. It calmed me down enough to sit through the service and hold Mrs. Crocker’s hand as they flashed pictures of Kyle on the wall. I’ll never forget how his six-year-old brother Isaac asked his father why I was crying so bad, and his father choked out, “Because she’s never gonna see Kyle again.” He was too young to understand what was happening, and the more I thought about it, I didn’t understand it either.
Nick never told me what the pill was exactly or where he got it. As homecoming and Thanksgiving came and went, I begged him for another tiny white pill because I was so sick of crying. But he said it was a one-time deal. That winter, every time tears filled my eyes, they leaked into my throat and caused a cold. I was sick from November to January. Then I decided I wasn’t going to cry anymore. I was too angry. Angry at Kyle for leaving me here all alone, for not taking me with him. Angry at the universe for not hearing my pleas: Take me, not him. If I can just have him back, I’ll say yes this time. Yes, I’ll marry you.
Angry I didn’t get to say good-bye.
Today is the first day I’ve truly cried since. I feel guilty for having shivers when Jeremiah smiled at me. I like how he took care of my blister. Made me laugh. Mostly I loved that glimmer of hope I felt for just a second.
That second before I remembered Kyle would still be here if I hadn’t refused him.
PART II
The Last Summer
CROSS-TRAINING
Four Months Until the Country Music Marathon
“Today, I want y’all to do the entire run without walking.”
At this announcement, a few people gasp and two women who always run together give each other looks. Matt is giving our team instructions for today’s nine-mile run by Marks Creek. Sure, we’ve gone that far before, but we were allowed to walk. Even so, an older man quit our team after the ten-mile training session. It’s getting more and more intense.
“I can run that far as long as I’m chasing him,” the lady next to me mutters.
I laugh. We’ve been running on Matt’s team for three months, but I didn’t gather the courage to ask her name until a couple weeks ago. It’s Liza, and she’s definitely older than Matt. I don’t think she really like likes him. She just likes looking at him. Who wouldn’t?
Matt makes us stretch and drink another cup of water before heading onto the trail. I start the run easy and gradually increase my speed as I go along. Having cool weather in June is weird, but I’m grateful for the breeze. I’m also grateful I took a few ibuprofen before the run started. I’ve found my legs don’t hurt as badly when I take it.
When I hit the 4.5-mile marker, Matt’s assistant Bridget passes me lemon Gatorade without asking. After three months of training, she knows my preferred flavor. “Are you feeling okay, Annie?”
I work to get my breathing under control. “Yeah.”
“Good. Get going.”
“I’m not allowed to rest while I have my d-drink?”
She smiles. “Nope. Matt wants you to learn how to run and carry a cup at the same time. You’ll be doing that during the race. Just throw the cup away when you see a trash can.”
Grumbling, I hop back on the trail, finish the drink, and toss my paper cup. Check my watch. Think about my foot placement. Swing my arms. Breathe, breathe, breathe.
This is the first time we’ve run this route, the Cumberland Bicentennial Trail. When I told Mom where today’s session was, she said, “I’ve heard the spring dogwoods over there are beautiful.” My mother does know a lot about plants even though she has a black thumb. And she was right about how gorgeous this trail is: pink and white flowers are everywhere. It’s like Valentine’s Day exploded.
Soon I don’t have anything else to concentrate on. So I think about the real reason today’s run is freaking me out. I haven’t seen Jeremiah yet. And he didn’t call.
After last week’s run, after we hooked up, Jeremiah waited for me by my car. My thoughts were jumbled like multicolored gumballs in a jar, but I was coherent enough to give him my phone number when he asked for it. He gazed around the parking lot before punching the number into his cell. Was he looking to make sure Matt didn’t notice? His brother was dead serious about Jeremiah not hooking up with his clients. But he did it anyway.
At the time, I figured he was interested, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but it turns out it didn’t matter. Why ask for a girl’s number if you aren’t going to use it? Did he ask because he felt some sort of obligation? Or because he felt guilty? Did his brother find out and get pissed? Is that why he didn’t call? I’m pissed at myself for caring. I’m not sure why I do. Probably to give myself a reason not to feel so skanky.
“Gah!” I say to myself.
“What’s up?” a voice says. I nearly say the corny joke Kyle always said in response to What’s up?
Helicopters! he’d blurt.
When I turn to find Liza jogging up next to me, I’m really glad I didn’t say Helicopters!
“Did you hurt yourself?” she asks.
“Nah. Just talking to myself.”
She laughs and nods. “Running definitely gives you lots of time alone with your thoughts. I’m sure I’ll be talking to myself soon.”
For the past three months, I’ve had a hard time maintaining the same pace as other people on my team. Either they’re too slow for me or I’m too slow for them, but today Liza and I manage to stay together for several minutes. It would be nice if I had company for today’s final four miles. It would be nice if I didn’t have to run the entire marathon alone.
“How old are you?” Liza asks.
“Eighteen.”
“You seem older,” she says, looking me over. “You’re very mature.”
“Oh yeah?”
“My older sister has a couple of teen girls. I went to their house for Mother’s Day and my nieces giggled for an hour about absolutely nothing.”
When I went shopping at the Galleria with the girl
s a few weeks ago, we ate a snack at the cookie store, where Vanessa and Savannah giggled for like ten straight minutes about these cookies with Justin Bieber’s face on them. I still don’t know what was so funny about that.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ask.
“Thirty-two,” she says with a sigh.
“You seem younger.” That makes her smile. She’s very glamorous, with brown curls, full lips, and fancy sunglasses specifically for running. I wanted a pair of those, but I had to decide between them and gas for my car.
“So why are you running a marathon?” Liza asks. “You’re the youngest person on our team by a long shot.”
I look at her sideways and pull a deep breath. The only person who knows why I’m here is Matt—Coach Woods told him—and I want to keep it that way. When I don’t say anything, I guess she takes a hint because she changes the subject.
“I just moved to Nashville in January. I’m from New York.”
I’ve never driven that far north before. “Wow, that’s a big move.”
“My law firm transferred me down here for a major case.”
“And you have time to run?”
She glances over for a sec, then averts her eyes. “I don’t really know anybody except people at work. I needed to get back in shape and I wanted a fun way to meet people, so here I am.” She wipes sweat off her forehead. “But it’s getting harder and harder to make the time for these long runs. Last weekend, I was so pooped after that ten-miler that I just went home and watched TV the rest of the day. I didn’t do any work. I better be careful or I’ll lose my case.”
“Running d-does take up a lot of time.”
“You know what the worst part was, Annie? I was watching that movie Sweet Home Alabama on TNT. The one with Reese Witherspoon? And I was so tired, I bawled like a baby when Reese gets back together with her sexy ex-husband.”
I smile at Liza. I like her personality, and her rambling keeps me nice and distracted.
She goes on, “I guess the movie got to me—the whole realizing-who-your-true-love-is stuff and all that.” Liza suddenly goes really quiet, and I get the feeling she has more to say. “The training is good. I’m finding that it’s healthy for me to get away from the office. It clears my thoughts.”
Breathe, Annie, Breathe Page 6