by Ali Dean
I clench my fork. “Don’t treat me like I’m naïve, Jace,” I say quietly. “He might have preferred we stay together instead of break up, but he doesn’t have it bad.” I don’t want Jace to think I’m oblivious to how my ex-boyfriend feels about me, but I don’t want to accept that Ryan is still in love with me because I don’t like how that makes me feel. Shitty. There’s nothing I can do to make him feel better.
Jace shrugs. “Relax, Pep. I’m not angry about it. I know how the poor guy feels. He was cool about keeping his distance when he was with Lisa. Hopefully he’ll keep that up.”
“Well, don’t worry, that was the first time I’ve seen him since school started.” I’m snappier than necessary. Jace isn’t being unreasonable. I’d feel the same way if Jace had an ex-girlfriend. Before me, he never actually had a real girlfriend.
I know my attitude doesn’t have much to do with Jace or Ryan though. It’s the burning sensation vibrating through my legs that’s pissing me off. I will go on a run today, no matter how much it hurts. And that thought makes me so frustrated I actually feel like throwing my fork across the diner. My inner toddler is raging.
When I get home I take twice the prescribed ibuprofen amount and lace up. Dave follows me around in anticipation but I give him a banana – his favorite treat – instead of bringing him with me. I need to be alone, and that includes my canine bestie, for this run, which I anticipate being torturous.
Miraculously, running with severe shin pain isn’t much worse than walking with it. At least for the first fifteen minutes…
By the time I get back to Shadow Lane an hour later I’m tempted to crawl up the stairs to our apartment. Instead, I use the railing to help me get to the top. Gran takes one look at me when I stumble into the kitchen and asks me what’s wrong.
“Can you run out to the drug store and get three large bags of ice?”
Gran nods solemnly and grabs her keys. She doesn’t ask any questions, and I love her for it.
I don’t want to say out loud what’s happening because then it will be true. Even Gran, who knows next to nothing about training, would tell me to take at least a few days off. But what if I take a few days off and my shins don’t get better? What if a few days turns into a few weeks?
Ten minutes later I lower myself into an ice bath. The pain of the ice water hitting my skin and practically stopping my heart is nothing compared to the ache in my chest. Regret. Anger. Confusion. I let the tears stream freely down my face. It’s an ugly cry with snot and gasps and I’m sure Gran can hear me out in the hallway. What have I done?
When I finally reflect on it, my shins started to feel tender before school even started. During the summer. I thought it was just an adjustment to ramping up my mileage, and that it would go away as the season went on. I kept telling myself that, even as the mild tenderness became increasingly painful. If I didn’t talk about it and didn’t think about it, I could pretend it didn’t exist. But that can’t happen anymore.
A text message from Ryan is waiting for me when I pull myself togetherenough to leave the bathroom.You were limping. Are you okay? I delete the message.
Gran pokes her head in my room, wringing her hands. She must have heard my meltdown.
“Pepper, why are you hurting yourself like this?” she finally asks.
I close my eyes, hating that question. If only she had tried to tell me to take a break, or that it was okay if I didn’t win Nationals, or anything that would allow me to yell back, “You don’t understand!”
But she’s right. I am hurting myself. And the answer to that question will sound stupid if I say it out loud. Because I have to. Who am I if not a runner? I need to be someone who matters. I want to be more than just some girl. I want to make a mark. I don’t say any of that.
“I don’t know,” I say instead.
After a long silence, Gran leaves me alone to bake cookies. The Christmas music comes on as I open my laptop to check my email. Gran always listens to Christmas music when she bakes. It’s almost as comforting to hear the music as it is to eat the goodies.
There are several recruitment emails from various schools, but I only click on the one from Oregon. An assistant coach has sent me an itinerary for my trip this weekend. I’ll only be there for 24 hours, leaving here on Saturday morning and returning Sunday afternoon, but they’ve got numerous meals, tours, and… my stomach drops as I take in the scheduled run with the team on Saturday afternoon. What will I do if I can’t run?
I slam my computer shut. I still haven’t told Jace that I’m leaving this weekend. He has an away game anyway, and I’d rather not bring it up. He’ll get all moody like he did last time I brought up Oregon. It’s not like I’m actually going to go there, so it might be best to avoid the confrontation all together. No, he’ll be pissed when he finds out. And he’s bound to find out. Brockton might have nearly 100,000 people living in it, but sometimes it feels like a small town.
A knock at my open door startles me from my contemplation. Gran stands there with a mixing bowl in hand. “You have a visitor.”
“Oh?” It can’t be Jace, because he would have just waltzed in here.
“It’s Ryan,” Gran says solemnly. I narrow my eyes at her. Did she call him over here to talk about my… I can’t say the “I” word.
“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t know he was coming. Maybe he saw you out on the running trail looking like you’d been hit by a truck and decided to come check up on you. Wouldn’t be the first time.” She hums knowingly as she patters back to the kitchen.
Ryan once found me on the trail in a blizzard, close to collapsing from exhaustion. And now I can barely walk to the kitchen. Thankfully my legs are still slightly numb from the ice bath and I’m able to fake a somewhat normal gait as I make my way to the kitchen table. Ryan is sitting with a glass of milk and oatmeal raisin cookies. Whenever he used to come over Gran would try to “bulk him up” like she does with all of my lean running friends. There’s never a shortage of baked goods in our apartment.
He looks up at me as I take a chair on the other side of the table. His light brown hair is shaggy, now long enough to tuck behind his ears. With bright blue eyes and dimples, the longer hair helps detract from the all-American boy look, making him look a little edgier. Like maybe there’s a little more to him than we all think.
Jace’s words from earlier today ring in my head. Ryan is supposed to keep his distance, especially if he truly does still have feelings for me. But instead, he’s sitting at my kitchen table, taking me in like he hasn’t seen me in months instead of hours. Oh dear.
He doesn’t dance around his reason for being here, and I suppose I’m grateful for that.
“I saw you limping bad on your way into Hal’s this morning. And I know you ran an absurdly fast time yesterday, which is awesome. But I’m really worried about you.”
I clasp my hands in my lap, hard. Gran places a glass of milk in front of me. I’m glad she’s bumbling around the kitchen. That way we’re not alone.
“It’s not really your place to worry about me, Ryan,” I remind him. It’s not entirely fair for me to say. If I saw him limping, I’d be worried too.
Ryan’s eyes dart away from mine, like I slapped him with my words. “Maybe not, but I can’t help it,” he admits. “I know you’ve been at the UC gym lifting three times a week and for all I know, you’re running in the morning before afternoon team practices too.”
He’s right. Not every day, but I run on the mornings I don’t lift. I don’t bother asking how he knows how often I’m at the gym. There are usually other athletes there, and someone must have mentioned it to him.
“You know you’ve got four years of college ahead to do double workouts, right?” He means working out twice a day, which is standard fare in college programs. I’d tell him that most high school girls running at my level work out twice a day too, but I get the feeling he just wants to lecture me right now. Which he continues to do for another few minutes before realiz
ing I haven’t said a word.
We sit there, studying each other for a moment. “It’s my shins,” I tell him. “They’re a little sore.” Gran makes a loud banging noise with a pan, presumably her way of calling me out on my lie. They’re more than a little sore. If he goes in our bathroom he’ll see the ice still sitting in the tub. Most people wouldn’t make themselves an ice bath unless they’re seriously hurting.
“You should get an x-ray. I know a really good doctor for running injuries.”
He stops short when he notices me cringing at the “I” word.
“It’s not an injury. I can still run.” More banging in the kitchen.
“Well…” Ryan drawls out the word, like he knows he’s walking on thin ice. “Why don’t you come in and use the UC pool for a few days? You can do pool running while you let your shins heal.”
“Pool running?” I ask skeptically. Sounds like fake running to me.
“You’ve never done pool running? I do it all the time. It’s great when your legs are trashed. I can get you access to the pool and show you.”
If I’m going to be able to run with the Oregon team on Saturday, I’m going to have to do something. Maybe this isn’t a horrible idea. Technically I’ll still be running, just in the water, or whatever. And I can still lift in the mornings.
I agree to meet him tomorrow. He can’t meet me until evening because he has his own practice in the afternoon. I’ll have to stop by Coach Tom’s office to tell him tomorrow. Just sore shins. Nothing major. A few days of pool running is the smart thing to do. Maybe Ryan can get me access to the pool in the mornings too, and I can do it twice a day.
Feeling better that I’ve got a plan, I respond to the Oregon assistant coach, letting her know I’m looking forward to the trip. Telling Jace about Oregon will be easy compared to telling him about pool running with Ryan.
Chapter 10
The odor of chlorine follows me up the stairs to Jace’s dorm late Monday night. Despite a hot shower and thorough hair wash, the scent from the pool lingers on my skin. I’ve changed into sweats and discussed my plan to spend the night with Gran. She doesn’t think it’s wise to make it a habit, but she’s never been one to impose rules.
My hope is that by surprising him with a sleepover, it’ll make up for my pool date…no, not date, session…yes, that’s better, with Ryan. When we met at the pool at 7:30 tonight, there were only a few lap swimmers and the overhead lights weren’t on at full brightness. Running with one other person has a certain intimacy to it – either shared silence or, guaranteed with Zoe or perhaps girls in general, shared chatter. Pool running in bathing suits (I pulled out my Speedo from sophomore year gym class) takes the intimacy thing a little further. Not that kind of intimacy, just, you know, a shared sense of purpose or experience or whatever.
I hadn’t spoken with Ryan one on one like that in a long time. It felt good to catch up. He told me about his new team, his upcoming meets, how cool it is to finally be able to train with guys who are faster than him. I told him about Zoe, how she’s taken on the social scene with an all-consuming energy and she isn’t as into running as she used to be. Jenny is our number two runner now, but the rest of the varsity girls aren’t very strong, and we probably don’t have a shot at winning State again this year. The boys’ team might, I told him, with his younger brother already one of the top runners as a freshman.
Pool running turned out to be a good workout, and while I felt my shins – I always feel my shins these days – the pain wasn’t excruciating. We imitated the jogging motion in the deep end of the pool until it closed at 8:30.
We kept the conversation away from Lisa, or Jace, or anything too personal. It was a huge relief when Ryan told me he wouldn’t be able to meet me for every pool session, but he got permission from the front desk for me – after speaking with Coach Tom – to come in whenever I want. If Ryan was meeting me every day to pool run, I’d practically be spending more time with him than with Jace, which would be quite problematic.
The door to the common area of Jace’s four-bedroom dorm suite is wide open, and Frankie sits with their two other roommates on the couch playing a video game. This scenario is typically what’s going on when I’ve left Jace’s dorm to head home on other weeknights over the past few weeks. But the four girls perched around the couch in clothing that could be called sleepwear, but would more accurately be labeled lingerie, is a new addition. My jaw drops. What have I walked in on?
The girls stare at me. The boys say hey but keep their eyes glued to the television, engrossed in their game. I straighten my spine, knowing this is no time to show weakness. The girls introduce themselves. I’ve seen the one named Savannah before, first at the Tavern with Clayton and then at the Theta Kapp party. She’s at least six feet tall, which makes her hard to forget.
“We live in the suite below these guys,” a girl with pigtail braids tells me. “We’re on the soccer team.”
“Cool.” I say the word and hope I act it. I thought this was a guys-only dorm, but I’m not going to show these girls my ignorance. Must stay strong. “I’m just going to head in there,” I say quickly, pointing to Jace’s closed door. “Nice to meet you!” I call, already heading that way.
“He’s not there, you know,” Savannah says, rather bitchily, if I might add. She’s incredibly muscular and her aggressive glare gives me chills.
“Yeah, I know.” Since when did I lie like this? I totally thought he’d be back from dinner with his mom by now. He doesn’t know I’m coming over, so I can’t blame him for running late. I continue walking to the door, feigning confidence. But that becomes significantly harder when I turn the doorknob and realize it’s locked. I didn’t know Jace locked his door because he’s always here when I am. Just great.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and find a table to lean against while I wait. Because there’s no way I’m leaving now. If only Frankie would finish his stupid game and save me from these girls already. And I’m pissed at Jace now. Not for being late. But for telling me his dorm was all guys. Ironically, his lie about this makes it a lot easier for me to tell him about Oregon and Ryan, and I let myself gain confidence in that. He kept something from me he thought I wouldn’t like, so we’re even.
The four soccer girls aren’t even pretending not to watch me so I do the same. I’m getting a lot better at this game. I learned quickly that having a tougher skin would be essential to being Jace Wilder’s girlfriend. One of the girls is long and lean like me. She has frizzy black hair and soft blue eyes and clearly has a crush on Frankie. Her curiosity in me doesn’t last long before returning to him. The shortest of the four – which isn’t saying much because the other three have at least a couple inches on my five foot six height – is perched strategically close to Jace’s quietest roommate, Timothy. But Savannah and pigtails haven’t stopped eyeing me and I’m struggling to maintain my composure.
What feels like hours but is likely only minutes or even seconds later, Jace walks into the room. He takes in the scene quickly before finding me, his eyes lighting before he breaks into a grin and walks quickly my way. He picks me up and kisses me right in front of everyone and the tension I’ve been carrying melts away. I can’t quite reach around his backpack for a full embrace, but after a you-don’t-matter-to-me wave at the girls (the guys grunt hello, still oblivious to anything but the TV), Jace unlocks his door and we’re alone.
“This is a nice surprise.” He holds my hips and takes me in from head to toe. “You smell like the pool.” He raises a dark eyebrow.
“I went pool running today to let my legs recover from Saturday’s race.”
“Oh?” Jace knows there’s more to it and he’s waiting patiently for me to explain. This isn’t our normal routine, and the concern in his gaze fills me with both love and guilt. He thinks I’m here because I need him to talk about what’s up with my training, but that’s only a small reason I’m here. I do need him. Always. But I also need to confess.
Instead, I t
ake the cowardly route, and start with an accusation.
“Those girls told me they live downstairs. You told me this wasn’t a co-ed dorm.”
“I wish it wasn’t,” Jace says with annoyance. “Those girls are always dropping in. I thought I’d heard it was guys only in our dorm, but I was wrong. The guys and girls are on different floors instead of intermingled on the same floor like the other dorms. That’s the only difference.”
“Why didn’t you say something? Don’t you think that’s something I’d want to know?”
Jace frowns at me, his hands still on my hips. “Not really. I didn’t think it was a big deal. I’m pretty much never here, unless I’m sleeping or with you. I usually study at the public library in my mom’s office. You can’t actually get any work done at the college libraries. People everywhere.” Annie is a librarian at the Brockton Public Library.
“Or here, if those girls are always around,” I add. “Do they come over every night?” They looked pretty comfortable, and I’m not usually here this late at night.
“Yeah, the soccer and basketball girls live here and they stop by a lot, but it’s just to hang out with the other guys. I’ve gotten a reputation as never being around or having my door closed. There’s no privacy around here, Pep, it sucks.”
His hands drop lower and he pulls me to him, and I realize he doesn’t even feel guilty for keeping this from me. And he’s right, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But it feels like one. Maybe if I approach my news with the same attitude he did…
“So I also have something-you-probably-won’t-like-but-isn’t-a-big-deal to tell you.”
Jace’s hands drop now. “Okay, now this sounds like a big deal.”
“I’m going to Oregon this weekend,” I blurt.
“Okay,” Jace replies, a question in his voice, like, is that all? He knows me too well.
“Yeah, you know, I just really want to see the school and learn about the program a little. For the experience, not because I really want to go there.”