Portrait of a Girl Running

by J. B. Chicoine

  In the gymnasium, Miss Weiss—now the eighth-period instructor—stood at the head of the class in front of the office windows; Ms. Thorpe disappeared behind lowering shades. A half-circle of sitting girls fanned out on newly polished floors, as Miss Weiss paced in front of them. Leila inched her way behind a heavier girl and stared at strands of greasy hair rather than put herself in Weiss’ line of sight.

  “Rape!” Weiss said and paused. “Over sixty-seven thousand cases of rape and attempted rape in the United States in the past year. Six, right here in Millville. How many of you could fend off a rapist?”

  Leila’s fellow classmates sat forward with rapt attention. She knew the scare tactics and the drill—all of that had made an impression on her as a fourteen-year-old girl in a room full of militant feminists, but now it bored Leila. Just the same, it would be a good review. At least she wouldn’t have to bat around a tennis ball with Maryanne, though she had spied her up front. Leila leaned back upon her arms, scooting further out of sight. Then, Coach Brigham entered from the back alcove and took center stage. The Assailant?

  Oh God!

  Leila sat up and hugged her knees, staving off stomach pangs that rolled with the memory of how Ian had humiliated her and sent her off. She stared at the floor, fidgeting with the chopstick at the back of her head.

  Miss Weiss recited the technique. “Jab, stomp, gouge, and groin.”

  The heavy girl shifted her weight to one side, exposing Leila. She snatched a view of her instructor. Ian’s arms wrapped around the woman in a half-hearted ‘attack.’ Leila gazed off at the bleachers.

  “Sanders!”

  Leila’s attention shot forward.

  Miss Weiss glared. “Is this class too dull for you?”

  “Not at all, ma’am.” Her back straightened.

  “You think because you wiggled your way out of Ms. Thorpe’s class, that you don’t have to learn self-defense? Or perhaps you think you already know everything about this subject.”

  If the class was silent before, it now stifled even a cough or a breath.

  “No ma’am, not at all.” Her next words strained in her throat, squeaking out, “I believe it’s extremely important.”

  “Then perhaps you would like to be our first volunteer.”

  Leila’s heart pounded as if she had run a mile. She flashed a look at Ian. His shoulders drew back, his chest expanding with a deep breath. Tension twitched at his brow. Blood congealed in Leila’s veins.

  Weiss stared her down. “What are you waiting for, Sanders?”

  Somehow, the words came out, “I’d really rather not.”

  Weiss’s nostrils flared. “I don’t negotiate!”

  Leila pried herself from what felt like shackles, coming to her feet in slow motion. She searched out every empty space in the gym, anything she could focus on rather than look Ian—or anyone else—in the eye. When she stood before him, her gaze kept to the ground. He cleared his throat, drawing her eyes as far as his tense jaw. She turned, taking the victim’s stance in front of him.

  “We don’t need to put his eye out,” Miss Weiss removed Leila’s chopstick. Her bun unraveled.

  Ian moved closer. He draped an arm across her front, resting a lax hand on her shoulder. His breath warmed her ear. His other hand loosely held her arm. Their heavy breathing synchronized.

  Weiss sneered, “Now what will you do, Sanders?”

  Paralysis set in. Leila couldn’t speak let alone move.

  “Surely you have some trick up your sleeve.”

  Brigham squeezed her arm gently and whispered, “It’s okay.”

  Even in all the awkwardness, his reassuring voice set her in motion. Leila turned her chin into his bent elbow. Faking a stomp at his foot, she swiveled and elbowed him lethargically in the stomach. Now facing him, she lifted her knee toward his groin, never looking directly at him. He allowed her to follow through on each maneuver, and then released her.

  “Well, that would be fine if you were actually being attacked by Coach Brigham. I’d like to see what you’d do if you had someone who wasn’t a wuss grabbing you.”

  A few of the girls gasped and snickered.

  “I think for the purpose of demonstration, she did a perfectly adequate job.” Ian nudged the ‘victim’ toward where Leila had been sitting, and she began moving.

  Miss Weiss grabbed Leila’s arm. “How is the class going to learn anything if the attack is not believable?”

  Weiss yanked Leila toward her. Positioning herself behind, the new ‘attacker’ put her student in a chokehold and gripped her wrist. Leila shot a glance at Ian whose jaw clenched. He stepped toward them.

  “What will you do now, Sanders?” she whispered in Leila’s ear.

  Leila offered no resistance, although adrenaline pumped through her body as her heart pounded painfully fast. Her breath halted. Weiss’ grip tightened, pressing Leila’s wrist upward, pulling at her shoulder.

  “Well, Sanders?”

  A sharp twinge gripped Leila’s shoulder. She winced.

  Ian seized Karen’s arm. “That’s enough.”

  All of a sudden, an excruciating pain shot through Leila’s body. She reacted instinctively, the way she had been instructed. In a flash, Miss Weiss lay on her back, coughing, trying to get air and looking up at Leila in an offensive stance. The class gasped. It happened so quickly that Leila wasn’t quite sure how Miss Weiss had ended up on the mat. The throbbing pain in her shoulder seemed inexplicable.

  Ian came to her side, and she now realized that she had sent Miss Weiss to the floor. Leila covered her mouth.

  “Oh my God. I am so sorry!” Leila extended her hand to Miss Weiss, who held her gut and panted.

  Weiss slapped her hand aside as Ms. Thorpe flew out of her office. Leila held her left shoulder as Weiss came to her feet.

  Thorpe’s eyes bulged as she approached Leila. “Are you alright?”

  Leila staved off tears and nodded.

  “Brigham. Weiss. In my office,” Thorpe ordered, and then shouted, “You girls, run laps until the bell.”

  Dispersing to the perimeter of the gym, the class jogged counterclockwise. Ms. Thorpe followed the two into her office, slamming the door behind them.

  Bewildered, Leila mechanically moved with the group of girls as they made their way around the gym. Coming near the office window, she slowed to a walk along with the others trying to overhear Miss Weiss’ high-pitched defense, though it sounded more like accusations. Leila barely registered that she had anything to do with it. The warmth she experienced earlier drained from her body. She felt light headed.

  The heated exchange in the office, which for the most part remained unintelligible, now rang out in crisp words, “… Ian would rather be screwing Leila Sanders!”

  Another surge of adrenaline screamed through Leila’s body. Faces stared. Voices hushed and snickered. Classmates huddled. Her heart pounded in her ears, darkening her peripheral vision until they all vanished. Leila wanted out! Her feet continued moving and quickened as she headed toward the nearby front doors. She pushed her way through, into the gym lobby and then breached the second set of doors out into the cold. As she ran from the school grounds, she felt more aware of her rolling stomach than the rain and her numbing shoulder. She neared a row of shrubs and vomited into them.

  Images whirled in her head, spiraling into a vortex of dire consequence. She kept running as rain turned to sleet. Icy pellets clung to her hair. Her adrenaline wore thin, leaving her shivering and on the verge of exhaustion.

  ~

  Ian sat at his desk, his door shut. He ached, blaming himself. There was no way any of this could end well. The ongoing conversation between Thorpe and Karen would be only the beginning of it.

  In the girls’ office, Thorpe scolded, “Your behavior was completely unacceptable, Karen. You were out of control. To assault a student, especially in front of an entire class, and then to top it off, accuse a fellow teacher of sexual misconduct—Have you lost your mind?” Tho
rpe paused. Ian visualized her eye-popping anger. “I cannot shield you from the consequences of your behavior.” Weiss said nothing. “You need to go home. Do not come to school tomorrow. I will contact you and let you know how the school board intends to handle this.”

  Thorpe then entered Brigham’s office without knocking. She paced back and forth. Their eyes locked.

  “I want to know exactly what has been going on between you and Sanders.”

  Ian rubbed his forehead and pushed back in his seat. He had prepared his answer and offered it with conviction. “I am not having, nor have I ever had a sexual relationship with Leila Sanders. I have never been sexually suggestive, nor have I ever had any inappropriate physical contact with her. Does that sufficiently cover all the bases?”

  “No. I want to know how you feel about her.”

  “My feelings for her are not relevant.”

  “I will decide if they are relevant!”

  He folded his arms and stared her down. He’d had enough bullying for one day.

  Thorpe’s eyes narrowed. “What deal did you cut with her regarding track tryouts?”

  “What possible difference could that make?”

  “Your hedging the issue indicates it may make a big difference.”

  “Fine. She wanted to see my photography—then she would try out.”

  “And why was that so difficult to admit?”

  It would all come out sooner or later. Now it was simply a matter of controlling the fallout. “Because she came to my house.”

  “Were her parents aware of that?”

  “No.” He hated the idea of giving away what Leila had divulged in confidence. “That afternoon when she came to my house, she confided that she has no parents and no guardian. She lives on her own.”

  “What?”

  “Her father died a year ago. Since then she has been living independently.”

  “And you’ve known this for how long?”

  “Since the first week of school.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “Myles. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Kyle Schultz knows, too.”

  “Well, this just keeps getting better. Am I the only one around here interested in proper protocol?”

  Chapter 21

  Ms. Thorpe showed up in Myles’ doorway toward the end of eighth period. That meant trouble. He joined her in the corridor.

  “There’s been an incident in gym class involving Leila Sanders. She took off running. I understand you have her contact card and know where she lives.”

  Myles didn’t need further explanation. He simply stepped back into the classroom.

  “Page fifty-seven through nine. Do the math,” he said and then exited.

  Within minutes he had his parka and car keys, driving north in his old Volvo. His wipers pushed ice back and forth as he slid to a stop at the first intersection. His defroster finally kicked in as he spotted Leila walking along the sidewalk, wearing only shorts and a T-shirt, her arms wrapped around her. He pulled to the curb and rolled down his window.

  “Leila! Get in.”

  She didn’t acknowledge him and continued walking. Even his beeping horn solicited only a look. Pulling his car ahead to the curb, he stopped and grabbed his parka. He approached, draping the coat over her shoulders, and maneuvered her lethargic body into the passenger seat. As he sped to her house in silence, she shivered convulsively.

  Myles guided Leila up the stairwell. He could not imagine what ‘incident’ had put her in such a state that she would try to run home in the freezing rain. Perhaps hypothermia had left her listless, or was it something more?

  “Do you have a key?” he asked at the top stair, turning her face to his. “The key, Leila.”

  She moved a loose asbestos shingle, and Myles snatched the key from the nail. Inside, he directed her to the bedroom, then headed to her shower, and turned the hot water all the way up.

  “Get those wet clothes off and get in the shower.” Leaving her in the bedroom, he shut the door on his way out.

  In her kitchenette, his ears perked for sounds from her room as he drew water for the kettle. He scanned the cabinet above her sideboard. A box of Cheerios, a jar of peanut butter, and a tin of Earl Grey. Under a less stressful circumstance, her taste in tea would have prompted a smile. He dropped teabags into two mismatched mugs as her water pipes ticked and hummed. Three steps landed him at her bedroom door.

  He tapped. “How are you doing in there?”

  With no response, he tapped again, louder this time. “Leila?”

  When she did not respond a second time, he cracked the bedroom door and then approached the closed bathroom door. He knocked. “Are you okay in there?”

  Again, no response. He pushed the door ajar without looking in, hoping to hear some activity over the running water. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, almost inaudible. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  He retreated to the kitchen where the kettle whistled. Myles still could not imagine what had set her in such a tailspin, but the image of her shivering body and the word “incident” made every fatherly cell in his body writhe.

  While tea bags steeped along with his agitation, he paced the tiny living room and paused at her drawing table. A tablet of paper lay opened to a sketch of her hand. He cocked his head, impressed with its accuracy. Thumbing through a series of pencil sketches and watercolors of household objects, he came across the likeness of Ian Brigham. Leila drew him running, bare-chested, with his shorts low on his hips. Although it appeared a true depiction, he wondered how she had developed such an acute eye for the male form. Flipping back a few more pages, a telling portrait caught him off guard. His own eyes stared back.

  “Did you find the one of you?” she asked.

  He spun toward her. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

  “It’s okay.” She moved to his side, wrapped in her bathrobe. Her wet hair draped down her back. “Do you like it?”

  He studied it a moment longer. “It’s very … precise.”

  “Yes, but do you like it?”

  “I’m not sure.” He stepped into the kitchen to retrieve tea. “Sit.”

  Myles brought two steaming cups on saucers to the love seat and passed a set to her. Wincing, she reached for it with her right hand, while her left remained limp on her lap.

  She sipped tea, her heavy eyes peering over her cup. “So what did you hear?”

  He sat to her left, saucer on his knee. “Only that there was an incident in gym class.”

  She shook her head. “I was so stupid. If only I had been paying closer attention. I shouldn’t have irritated her … I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

  His chest swelled and he released a long, restrained breath. “Who did you not mean to hurt?”

  “Miss Weiss. I just wanted her to stop ….” She shook her head. “I am so sorry ….”

  “You wanted her to stop what?”

  “I just wanted her to let go of me.” Her cup clattered against the saucer. “She didn’t realize she was hurting me. I should have said something—”

  “Okay, Leila, you’re going to have to back up.” He took the cup and saucer from her and placed them on the crate coffee table in front of them. “Tell me what was going on in class?”

  She stared off. “Self-defense instruction.”

  “And you volunteered to be part of the demonstration?”

  “No. She picked me—you know, to go against Ian.”

  Myles cringed at the mention of Coach Brigham—at the way she freely called him by his first name. “And did you?”

  “Yes. You know, ‘Jab, stomp, gouge, and groin.’ But she didn’t think we were realistic enough or something. So then she wanted me to do it again, except with her. ”

  Another deep breath. “And that’s when you hurt her?”

  “No, I just stood there like a big dummy … but then when she pulled my arm back … I should have told her it hurt. She wouldn’t have done it if I spoke
up. I don’t know, it all happened so fast … I think I must have flipped her or punched her in the gut or something. The next thing I knew, she was on the floor holding her stomach. I told her I was sorry, but she was so mad ….” Tears filled her eyes. “And then Ms. Thorpe came out and she was really mad.”

  “And that’s when you took off running?”

  “No.” She paused, rubbing her cheek. “Then we all heard them in the office. We could tell Miss Weiss and Ian were angry … then everybody heard Miss Weiss—”

  As tears slipped down her face, Myles grit his teeth. He choked back indignation and grabbed a box of tissue from the floor. Handing it over, he gave her a moment.

  He persisted. “Everybody heard Miss Weiss, what?”

  She winced, releasing more tears. He turned her face and made her look at him.

  “Leila—it’s okay.” His thumb wiped her cheek. “You can tell me.”

  Her gaze dropped to her lap. “She said that Ian would rather be—” her pitch rose, “—he’d rather be screwing … me.” She rubbed her shoulder and grimaced.

  “Did she hurt you? Let me see.”

  She slipped the robe from her left side, revealing only her shoulder, swollen and discolored. He swore.

  “You need to have this looked at.” He went to the freezer and returned with a bag of ice. Pressing it against her shoulder, he held it there. Again, she began crying.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” He put his arm around her. “You did nothing wrong. You are not in trouble. Do you understand? This was not your fault.”

  Her chest heaved as she sobbed into her hand. He pulled her close and held her until she quieted.

  Myles sighed at the profundity of the incident and all its implications. Such abuse would not go unpunished. Unfortunately, Leila, and everything she wanted to protect, would be exposed and scrutinized. Brigham was not without culpability, and even if he would not be the focus of the official and sure-to-follow inquiry, Brigham’s relationship with Leila would be thoroughly investigated.

  Leila wiped tears and sank into the sofa.

  Myles tempered his voice, “Have you warmed up?”