by Vi Keeland
Without finishing my stretches, I take off. No warm up. No slow start. Just full out running. Running away as fast as I can, praying the distance eases the pain. The thick humid air makes breathing difficult, each desperate inhale burns my lungs, but it’s not enough. I need more. More pain, more distance, more suffering.
Four miles fly by in record time, my body giving out on me, unable to endure the strain my mind demands of it. Doubled over, panting heavily, my hands on my knees, I struggle to catch my breath. I’m not even sure where I am. Although I really don’t give a shit. I have nowhere I need to be and no one who needs me. Anymore.
Hours pass and I alternate between running and walking. Before I know it, the sun is setting and I find myself in front of the cemetery. Emily’s cemetery. I make my way through the large iron gates, looking around at the endless rows of headstones, wondering if I can even find my way back to her gravesite. The place is huge, there must be twenty thousand stones and miles upon miles of roads and walkways that all look the same to me.
So I start walking. I know Emily probably won’t have a stone yet, but her grandfather does. He’s buried right next to her. A few people linger, passing by as I walk slowly, reading row after row of names. Each time I put my head down to avoid eye contact whenever someone nears.
Hours after darkness falls, I finally find her again. The ground is still raw with new dark dirt…fresh, just like the memory of losing her. I sit, leaning my back up against her grandfather’s stone, and the tears start to fall. And fall and fall, until I’m sobbing so hard, it’s hard to catch my breath. Eventually, exhausted and cried empty, I fall asleep, lying splayed across Emily’s grave.
A hand on my shoulder startles me awake. I crack one eye open and glance up at my father as he sits down next to me. “Your mother’s been worried sick,” he says, gently rather than scolding. “I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to let some of it out sooner or later, son. You can’t keep it all to yourself.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “We’re worried about you. I know you need some space…and I’m going to try to give that to you. But don’t scare us like you did today, disappearing for so long.” My father quiets for a moment and then calls my name, gently, but firm in that fatherly way, “Zack.” He forces me to look up, waits until I look right into his eyes. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
Chapter 13
Nikki—
Long Beach, California
The house is nothing like I expected. Vibrant framed pictures decorate the warm colored walls, making it feel more like a home than anyplace I’ve ever lived. Yet sleep didn’t come easy last night. The first night in a new place never does. I should know, I’ve had plenty of first nights.
Forcing myself from bed earlier than I need to, I take the time to explore with Aunt Claire gone to run errands for a few hours. My first stop— the framed photos on the mantel above the fireplace. Not wanting to appear too nosey, I’ve glanced but haven’t had a chance to really take a good look.
The first photo is of two little girls, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulder while they smile brightly for the camera. The taller girl is holding a garden hose and has a mischievous grin on her face; the younger girl is drenched from head to toe. I almost don’t recognize Mom with that easy, carefree smile. It makes me wonder if she was born broken or if something happened after that photo to make her the way she was by the time I was born.
The photo next to it was taken at Aunt Claire’s graduation from nursing school. She looks the same, only younger. The older woman beside her, my grandmother, a woman I’ve never seen, smiles proudly at her daughter dressed in an all-white uniform.
I pick up the largest of the photos, running my finger along the outline of the etched glass frame, studying the picture of the happy couple on their wedding day. Aunt Claire looks beautiful in a traditional white wedding dress, the kind you see on television with a long train and a veil that covers her face. Her husband is dressed in a simple dark suit; a huge smile lights up his face as he looks down at his new bride. They both look so happy, I get an ache in my chest thinking of how she must have felt when she lost him.
I turn, contemplating what I feel as I take in the entirety of the room…the pictures, the furniture, the bookshelves filled with books…it’s all just so…normal. A feeling I’m entirely not used to.
***
My face is buried in a book when Aunt Claire comes in carrying groceries a few hours later.
“How did you sleep?” she asks, as I follow her out to the car to help her get the rest of the bags.
I shrug. “Okay, I guess.” Why worry her that I tossed and turned half the night.
Aunt Claire smiles cautiously. “It will get easier. I promise. I always have trouble sleeping in a new place.” Together, we begin to unpack the groceries. “I was thinking…how about we go get a new outfit for your first day of school Monday?”
I look down. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” My voice comes out a bit defensively.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just…my mother always bought us a new outfit for the first day of school. It was sort of a tradition.” She smiles. “I always looked forward to it.” Her smile falters a bit, her voice dipping lower and softer. “So did your mom. I thought maybe you would too.” I find myself wondering what it would be like to go shopping with my sister. I really want to ask more questions, but it’s too soon to risk poking around and making Aunt Claire suspicious of my intentions.
I agree to go shopping, although I’m not really sure I’ll be sticking around long enough to create any traditions here.
By the end of the day, the new school outfit had exploded into three outfits, new exercise clothes, earbuds, a backpack and school supplies. At times, I actually had fun shopping with Aunt Claire.
***
Saturday morning, sporting new shorts, a tank top, and purple earbuds in my ears, I stand outside the front door and stretch my calves. I haven’t exercised in almost a month, and the burn as I pull my foot back behind me to stretch my hamstring is a pain I welcome.
“Are you sure you remember the directions I gave you?” Aunt Claire comes outside and asks for the third time. She’s worried I’ll get lost on my run.
Smiling at her nervousness, I pull one ear bud from my ear. “Straight four blocks to Main, left two blocks to Arnold Ave, right on Front Street…that takes me to the high school track.”
She looks relieved, a little bit at least. “You have your phone?”
I nod.
“Watch out for cars. Run with only one ear bud in so you can hear things around you.”
“Always do. I’ll be fine.” I start off on my run, yelling back over my shoulder with a smile, “Give me an hour before you send out the helicopter search party, okay?”
***
I’ve never been a sports kid. Running is the only physical activity that I’ve ever participated in. Ashley liked to tease me that I was into running because it’s one of the few sports where you don’t have to be on a team. She wasn’t entirely wrong. Running makes me feel in control, yet free at the same time. It clears my head, makes everything seem less complicated. Simpler.
Entering the track, I’m surprised to find it almost empty. Saturday morning is usually prime time for the jocks to get in their run. Then again, the grey clouds that were starting to roll in when I left the house twenty minutes ago are only starting to clear.
I take the first lap at a steady pace, preferring to alternate between sprinting and jogging, rather than the monotony of staying even paced for five full miles. A boy about my age is a half lap ahead of me the entire time I make my way around the cushioned track. Arriving at the point I started at again, I change gears, shifting from jogging to sprinting, quickly catching up— and passing— him.
Lap two quickly behind me, I slow my pace back to a jog as I take on lap three. The boy catches up to and passes me. I smile as he sprints by and wonder if we’re doing the same patterned running, o
nly on opposite schedules.
We continue on, taking turns passing each other for the next few laps, neither of us saying a word, but we catch each other stealing glances as we pass. He’s cute. Really cute. Tall, muscular but lean, sandy blonde hair, a strong jaw— almost a touch too beautiful for my taste, but Ashley would definitely call him hot. I can’t imagine many girls wouldn’t.
My last lap is a sprinting lap. Only this time, as soon as I pass Hot Boy, he speeds up…and passes me, even though he’s not at the point where he is due to switch gears. Keeping a few long strides ahead of me, he maintains his lead for several seconds, until I push myself harder, taking the lead back from him, although not easily. But my position at the front doesn’t last long. Hot Boy speeds up and regains the lead. My last lap becomes two laps. Together we run neck and neck, each taking turns edging out the other slightly. Without a doubt it has to be the fastest lap time I’ve ever run.
Crossing over the finish line, Hot Boy a horse hair before me, we both collapse, struggling to catch our breath. A few minutes later, my breathing finally leveling out, a large hand extends down to help me up. I take it, finally getting a good look at my opponent as he pulls me to my feet. Sparkling blue eyes, a perfectly straight nose and full lips that twitch up on one side steal my barely recovered breath away.
A lopsided, boyish grin forms across his lips and his eyes sweep across my heaving chest. I smile back and, as fast as it came, his smile vanishes. Without a word, he raises a hand, signaling goodbye, turns and takes off, running away from the track.
The entire jog back, I wonder what made his smile disappear so fast.
Chapter 14
Nikki—
Monday
English has always been my favorite subject. After six periods of fidgeting in my chair and being introduced as the new girl, I’m relieved when Mr. Davis just tells me to take a seat and listen. Since it’s Honor’s English, the class has been grouped together for the last two years while they were sophomores and juniors. It means everyone knows each other very well and I’m truly the new girl. Great.
Mr. Davis reviews the syllabus and holds up our first novel— The Fault in Our Stars. I’m excited since it’s a novel I’ve wanted to read. But my excitement is short lived when he tells us the book comes with a group project. The groups are going to be the same as last year, with one exception. Me.
As the bell rings, Mr. Davis yells for me and a student named Allison to stay after class.
“Allison, I thought it might be a good idea for Nikki to join your team for this project. After all, you’re down a team member right now since…” he trails off, his voice softer when he continues, “well, you’re down a team member right now, Allison.”
Allison looks from me to Mr. Davis, and quickly says, “I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow. I thought he’d be here today.” She pauses, her voice breaking as she continues, “and I think it might be easier if everything was exactly the same when he comes back. Please,” she begs.
Mr. Davis’ tone changes from uncomfortable to somber when he replies. “Things aren’t going to be the same, Allison.”
The two of them stare for a moment. “Fine.” Allison finally relents.
I interrupt, “I’ll be fine on any team, Mr. Davis. I’ve read all John Green’s other books, so I bet another group would be happy to have me.” I definitely don’t want to be part of a group where I’m not wanted before we even start.
Mr. Davis and Allison both stare at me with puzzled looks.
“You’ve read all John Green’s other books?” Mr. Davis asks with a furrowed brow.
“Do you think people don’t read books in Texas?” Insulted, I reply indignantly.
A smile dawns upon Allison’s face as I feel my own redden with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, Nikki. This wasn’t about you, or Texas, or even the project. You can be on our team. I welcome the chance to work with someone else who’s read all John Green’s novels. It’s just that Za..,” she stops mid-word, shaking her head as if to force her fleeing thought away. “You should be on our team, Nikki. Welcome.”
Mr. Davis, satisfied, tells us to run off to lunch before we have no time left to eat.
As we exit Mr. Davis’ classroom, Allison says, “Sit at my table for lunch, and we can talk about the project. I’m Allie Parker, by the way.”
***
The cafeteria is five times the size of the one at my last school, and a hell of a lot nicer too. Looking around, I start to dread the thought of Allison Parker dragging me to a table of people I don’t know. I can already imagine the snotty, too-pretty-for-their-own-good girls eating tofu and celery sticks so they can fit into their tight, super-short shorts. I spent the first half of this morning in a glass fishbowl office near the front entrance of the school with Aunt Claire and my new guidance counselor. While they talked, and went over my multiple school transcripts, I watched dozens of blonde, heavily made-up, over-dressed girls enter the building. It looked as if a crazy scientist obsessed with Taylor Swift had perfected human cloning and delivered them all to Long Beach High School.
“I usually sit over here.” Allie motions to a table that only has a few nerdy looking boys.
I contain my surprise, and give Allie a thorough once over. Her broad smile and pretty face had tricked me into thinking she was a Taylorette. But as I take a closer look, I can see she’s a far cry from a clone. Her sweet smile sits on a makeup-free face. True, she has that flawless California tan and great skin, but she’s naturally pretty, not primped and polished like the girls I saw this morning. Her clothes are also distinct from those of the clones. Wearing a pair of gray leggings and a long, loose white shirt, she stands apart without clothing clinging to every inch of her body.
Allie takes out a brown paper bag with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in it, giving me some relief. Aunt Claire packed me a lunch too. I had wondered if I’d be the only one.
We eat lunch quickly, with Allie chattering away about the project and how Mr. Davis runs his class. The period actually flies by as we talk. There’s an easy flow to our conversation and I have to remind myself I’m not here to get involved with anything or anyone. I need to keep focused on my goal. I’m here to find my sister.
The bell rings, signaling it’s time to head to another room of clones. Allie asks for my cell phone number so she can text me about meeting at the library tonight to pick a topic for our literature circle project. I’m embarrassed to tell her that I don’t know my own phone number. I’ve never even held an iPhone until this week, I’m not sure I can figure out how to add a contact quickly. Thinking fast, I hand her my new phone and say, “Here, call yourself on my phone— it’s faster.” She does and leaves me with a smile and wish of luck for the rest of my classes.
***
After school, I head out the front doors to look for Aunt Claire. I had told her not to take another day off work, that I could find my way home. If only she knew that I’d moved eight times since grade school, the constant changes leaving me with a better sense of direction than the GPS in her Honda CRV. I’ve refrained from telling her too much about my life with Mom. She always looks sad when I mention any of our troubles and I don’t want anyone’s pity.
I survey the line of expensive cars in front of the school, looking for Aunt Claire’s Honda. A chill crawls up my spine, raising the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, even though it’s almost ninety and there is no breeze. I turn, an eerie feeling of being watched, and scan the area. Nothing is behind me. Nothing to the right. Turning left, I freeze, finding a woman staring at me fixedly. She’s just standing there. Alone. Staring. Our eyes lock for a moment. She looks out of place. Her elegant cream-colored suit and two-tone high heels just don’t fit in. The teachers dress nice — I learned that today. But not this nice. She doesn’t turn away even though I’ve caught her staring. Oddly, I feel like she’s staring, yet doesn’t see me.
A car horn catches my attention, breaking the pull I feel toward the w
oman. “Do you know that woman?” I ask as I slide into Aunt Claire’s car.
“What woman?”
I look back to where she was just standing, but she’s gone. No sign of her anywhere. It’s hard to imagine she could disappear so quickly in those heels. “She was standing over there a minute ago.” I point toward the tree the woman stood under.
“I only see a bunch of students. What did she look like?”
“I don’t know. I guess it was a parent. Maybe she thought she knew me or something.” I shrug, feeling silly that I’d even mentioned it. Sometimes I think maybe I inherited Mom’s paranoia.
Aunt Claire peppers me with questions about my day. Did I make any friends? Did I like my classes? Did I think the work was the right level? How were the teachers? Did I eat the lunch she’d packed?
I guess she eventually spots my discomfort. “I’m sorry, Nikki. I have to remind myself that you’re a high school senior and not a ten year old. I hope I didn’t sound like I was trying to mother you too much.”
Stopping myself just short of telling her that Mom didn’t “mother” the way she thought, I decide to feed her inquisition instead of going down the serious road. “Don’t worry about it.” I smile halfheartedly. “I think I made a new friend today. Her name is Allie and we’re going to be on the same team for an English project. In fact, she asked me to meet the group at the West Long Beach library tonight. Do you know where that is? Can I go?”