Run, Billy, Run

by Matt Christopher

  The tone of his voice hardly changed throughout his monologue, but Billy got the point.

  “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll do better, sir.”

  “Or you’re off the track team,” Mr. Keating reminded him. “Remember that.”

  “I will.”

  Billy started to put more time into his studies that very night. He had an ambition to be a trackman; he had no intention of letting it be taken away from him.

  Coach Seavers had the trackmen repeat the run-walk-and-sprint routine down to Cove Hill Park and the Rod and Gun Club on Thursday. It was while they were on their way back to the school that Billy felt the sore on the back of his heel again.

  Oh, no! he thought despairingly. Not again! He had practically forgotten about it.

  He stopped, removed his shoe and sock and saw that the Band-Aid had slipped off the sore blister. He put it back on, but the gummed part of the Band-Aid was nearly dry and he doubted it would stay.

  It didn’t, as he discovered after he had run awhile and began to feel the soreness again. For most of the remaining half a mile or so he hobbled, and was one of the last to arrive at the track, where Coach Seavers was standing with Coach Rafini, waiting for them.

  “What happened to you, Chekko?” Coach Seavers snapped.

  “Got a blister on my left heel,” said Billy.

  “See Mary,” he ordered. “Have her put a Band-Aid on it. And you’d better get a new pair of shoes.”

  Billy didn’t tell him that the blister had happened Monday. Nodding, he went over to the manager, took off his shoes and socks, and had her give him another Band-Aid.

  On Friday he had a test again in math, and he thought he did well on it.

  He also had tests in French and social studies, and was confident he did well on them, too. But he remained in suspense till the sound of the final bell, wondering if one of his teachers, or Mr. Keating, was going to draw him aside and tell him his grades hadn’t been raised high enough to justify his suiting up for the track meet that afternoon. But no one called him.

  The voice he did hear calling his name in the hall belonged to Wendy. “Billy! Oh, Billy! Can I see you a minute?”

  He turned, and let his smile answer for him.

  She came running toward him, a small stack of books cradled in her arms.

  “Hear anything about the tests?” she asked.

  “Nope. Which is good news, because as long as I don’t, I can still be on the track squad.” He grabbed her wrist and looked at her wristwatch. “I’m sorry, Wendy. I’ve got to go. Coach wants us at the track by three-fifteen.”

  “I’ll be there, too,” she said, smiling. “As a spectator, of course.”

  “Good. I’ll see you.”

  He hurried to the locker room and found nearly the entire team already there, suiting up. When he was ready he ran out, testing the blistered heel as he pumped his legs high but slowly. He barely felt the sore, and wasn’t worried that it would bother him.

  He jogged all the way to the track, and was almost within arm’s distance of his sister and brother, who were standing among other students their age, before he saw them.

  “Hi, Dan. Hi, Chris,” he said.

  They answered him, smiles of hope and encouragement on their faces. But they said nothing more and he ran on to the track where the rest of the runners were assembling around the coaches, Seavers and Rafini.

  The meet was the league’s first of the season. Competing with Cove Hill was Bentley-Hall. Billy didn’t know how strong they were, nor did he care. His main concern was to run, and he waited hopefully for one of the coaches to tell him in which races he was to participate.

  Soon there was action at the discus-throwing section, the broad jump, the high jump. Billy watched the one-hundred-yard dash, and felt tension ignite as a Bentley-Hall runner kept up a neck-to-neck stride with Cody Jones. All the other runners trailed those two by at least a dozen steps, and failed to threaten. But this was the first time that Billy had seen anyone matching Cody in the one-hundred-yard sprint, and the tension mounted till the very moment they crossed the finish line.

  A cheer exploded from the Bentley-Hall fans as their hero flashed across the tape a step ahead of Cody. The Cove Hill fans seemed stunned. They hadn’t expected this. No one had beaten Cody in the one-hundred and two-hundred-twenty-yard dashes in two years.

  The fear hung over the heads of the Cove Hill squad and fans that maybe the Bentley-Hall winner would take the two-twenty also. Maybe even the four-forty. He was a tall kid, about six feet, with a strong, well-muscled body that indicated many days of training and exercise. He looked formidable, a threat to any opponent. Billy wished he could run against him. Not now, but sometime in the future.

  He found himself near Coach Seavers, and wanted desperately to go up closer to him and ask him in which race he was going to run. But the coach seemed busy talking strategy with his assistant.

  Seattle and Rudy then cornered him about something that seemed important to them. Dave Colloni, the two-hundred-pound discus-thrower, came forward and talked with the coach for five minutes, then left, a smile of encouragement on his face.

  By now Billy’s desire to talk to the coach had dissipated. The heck, he thought. He sees me here. He’ll tell me if he wants to.

  The two-hundred-twenty-yard race was soon to begin. Cody and Rudy were the two chosen to run in it.

  Billy watched the race from some twenty feet behind the spectators lined up at the rope. Each school had two runners entered. Each had fans sitting in the small grandstand ready to lead them in victory yells that were supposed to psych up their teams.

  At the gun the runners took off. Billy’s eyes were on Cody from the instant the gun fired, then they shifted to Rudy, who, running even with Cody for about twenty yards, began to fall back. He turned his attention to the tall Bentley-Hall kid, and saw him streaking ahead of the bunch. Then Cody crept up, inching forward slowly as the yards flashed by under his feet.

  As the two runners raced across the finish line a yell broke from a handful of spectators who were standing in line with it and were able to see who had won. Billy saw Cody swing up his arms in victory, and heard the victory cheer come from the Cove Hill fans in the grandstand.

  Even though Billy placed Cody near the bottom of his friendship totem pole, he still felt a flash of excitement for Cody’s win. Beating that tall kid from Bentley-Hall was something. Cody deserved a lot of credit.

  But where will I come in? Billy thought. Or won’t I even get the chance?

  Chapter 11

  THE TWO-HUNDRED-YARD HURDLES were next. On other parts of the field the pole vault, the running broad jump, the high jump, and the discus events were taking place in their scheduled order, but Billy had no interest in them. He didn’t really care about the hurdles, either; he only stayed because he wanted to keep Coach Seavers in his sight.

  The gun went off for the two-hundred-yard hurdle race, and Jim Morris, running for Cove Hill, took the lead immediately. He held it for about half the distance, then began to give ground to Bentley-Hall and finished second.

  Billy saw the girl with the scorebook running by him and called to her.

  “Mary! When’s the four-forty?” he asked her.

  “After the medley relay,” she said. “That comes up next.”

  “Am I in it, do you know?”

  She glanced at the scorebook, then back at him. “The four-forty? I don’t know, Billy. You’ll have to ask Coach Seavers. Sorry, I’ve got to go.”

  “Will — will you ask him?”

  Her eyes appraised him. “Okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  When she came back a few minutes later the look in her eyes offered him no encouragement.

  “Did you ask him?” Billy inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me.”

  Billy stared at her. “He wouldn’t tell you?”

  “No. Sorry, Billy.”

/>   A mixture of hurt and anger took hold in his stomach. Why didn’t the coach tell him in which race he was going to run? Why was he being ignored? If I hadn’t been coming to the practices the last few times, I’d understand it, Billy thought. And if my marks were below passing I’d understand it, too. But I’ve attended the practices, and my marks are up. What’s he got against me?

  “Hi,” said a voice beside him.

  It startled him, even though it was soft and familiar.

  “Hi, Wendy,” he said. “Where you been?”

  “I had to go home. Dental appointment. Are you going to be in the four-forty?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to be in.”

  They watched the medley relay. Each school had a runner in the four-forty, the two consecutive two-twenties, and the eight-eighty, all of which made up the relay. Cody was the representative runner in this final distance, and came through the winner, conquering a five-yard deficit he had to start with.

  It looked like Rudy and Chuck Schwinn were the coach’s choices for the four-forty. Billy, gazing in the direction of the starting line, saw the two runners assembling there with Coach Seavers. The Bentley-Hall runners and their coach were also getting together in the area. Rudy and Chuck were hopping up and down, getting their blood stimulated for the run.

  “Maybe he’ll have you run in the mile,” Wendy surmised.

  “It seems he would have told me,” said Billy.

  In a few minutes the runners lined up for the four-hundred-and-forty-yard race. Billy put his money on Chuck, although there was a six-footer running for Bentley-Hall who was probably the strongest competitor ever to come up against the Cove Hill runner.

  The gun went off and the tall Bentley-Hall runner took the lead. Halfway through the distance Chuck crept past him and moved into first place. He retained the lead for the next fifty yards. Then Bentley-Hall seemed to open up stored power and quickly closed the gap between him and Chuck. For a few seconds they were neck and neck. Then, with ten yards to go, he seemed to hurl past Chuck and won by two steps.

  “The guy runs like a greyhound,” said Billy.

  “I’ll say,” Wendy agreed.

  He saw the coach moving away from the track, scratching his head. Billy ran over to him.

  “Coach Seavers,” he said.

  He went on impulsively now. He had to, or he might change his mind.

  The coach looked up at him. “What do you want, Chekko?”

  “Am I going to run?”

  “With a blistered heel? You out of your mind? No, you’re not going to run.”

  He started to go on. Billy ran in front of him. “But my heel’s okay, Coach! It’s not bothering me! I can run!”

  The coach looked at him. “Chekko, do I have to drill it into your head? You’re not there yet. You can’t deliver. I’m choosing the guys that are more apt to deliver, Chekko. Sorry, but you asked for it, Chekko. Now out of my way. I’ve got work to do.”

  He brushed Billy out of his way and marched across the field, his stride exceptionally long for a man of his size. Billy watched him, resentment festering inside him.

  Can’t deliver? Baloney!

  Wendy came up beside him. “What did he say?”

  “First he said he’s not having me run because of the blister on my heel. Then he tells me what he really thinks. That I’m not there yet. That I can’t deliver.”

  “He’s got too much on his mind,” said Wendy.

  “Oh, sure. Too much on his mind. Baloney. I’ve got a good notion to turn in my uniform and tell him what he can do with it,” said Billy hotly, staring into the crowd for the coach’s broad back, but not seeing it anymore.

  Wendy grabbed his hand. “Don’t,” she said. “Do as he says. Take care of that heel, and then run and run and run. Because you can run, Billy. And I think he knows it. He just wants you to get better. He’s tough, but he’s honest.”

  “You believe all that?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He shrugged. “Well, maybe you’re right. But I’d forgotten about my heel.”

  “It isn’t sore?”

  “No. I suppose it might get sore if I ran any distance, like the eight-eighty or the mile.” He sighed. “I’d better get a new pair of track shoes. I want to run. I want to prove to Coach Seavers I can run.”

  Wendy smiled.

  “Can I change the subject for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s a movie at the school a week from Saturday night. You going to it?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” he confessed.

  “Would you think about it?” she asked. “And would you think about taking me with you?” She laughed, and looked away from him when he met her eyes. “I’m sorry. Maybe you wouldn’t want to take me. What I said came out without my thinking. I’ll go. I’ll see you later.”

  She started to turn away, and he grabbed her arm. “No. Wait a minute. Who said I wouldn’t want to take you? I’d rather take you than any other girl in school.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. What time’s the movie?”

  “Eight.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you about twenty of.”

  “How? I know you haven’t got a car.”

  “My father bought one last week. He’s learning to drive it. He’s only got a permit, but maybe he can get someone to ride with him who has a license. He’s got some friends.”

  “But my father can drive us,” she said. “He won’t mind. Now don’t argue. Please,” she said, when he started to interrupt. “I know it’ll be all right.”

  “Okay.” He felt as light as a feather. He could run the eight-eighty and win it by ten yards, sore heel or not.

  They watched the mile race together, which was won by Bentley-Hall. Cove Hill, represented by Dick Koski, came in second.

  Dick also came in second in the two-mile race. Winning it by a wide margin was the same kid who had won the mile.

  Later, the ride home on the bus turned out to be more embarrassing than Billy expected. The other riders were all ears as Dan and Christina asked Billy why he hadn’t run in any of the races.

  He didn’t know what to tell them except the truth. “Coach didn’t ask me.”

  Chapter 12

  A CLOUDLESS SKY on Saturday morning gave promise of a bright, clear day, and Billy’s father took advantage of it to improve his driving skills. His training ground was a road that ran at a right angle to their road. There was hardly any traffic on it, and chances were remote that a cop would be driving on it.

  He practiced parking on a grade as well as on the level, making turns in the road, braking without jolting the car, and starting off from a dead stop with ease and smoothness. His dad was doing so well that Billy was sure he could pass a driver’s test without trouble.

  “In another week,” said Mr. Chekko.

  “Will you teach me now, Dad?” asked Billy anxiously.

  Mr. Chekko stared at him. “Teach you? What are you talking about, Billy? You’re only fourteen. You won’t be old enough to drive for another three years yet. Two years, if you get your junior’s license when you’re sixteen.”

  Billy’s heart flipped. He looked at his father, shocked by his answer. Ever since the family had purchased the car Billy had expected to learn to drive it, too. There had never been the slightest suspicion in his mind that his father would object to it. Now the reply left him cold and heartsick.

  “But I thought you’d let me, Dad,” murmured Billy. “I thought all along —”

  “Well, you thought wrong, Billy,” his father interrupted. “There’s no sense at all for you to learn how to drive a car now, so just forget about it. Don’t worry, when the time comes I’ll teach you.”

  If that final remark was supposed to make Billy feel better, it didn’t. And the excitement that had consumed Billy when the car was purchased drained from him. Right now he didn’t care if they had a car or not.

  Billy bought a
new pair of track shoes on Saturday. He made sure they fit.

  On Monday, Cody and Rudy cornered him as he was heading for his first class.

  “You didn’t run at all on Friday,” said Cody, a glint of mockery in his eyes. “How come?”

  “Coach didn’t ask me to.”

  “Somebody said that you didn’t want to run because of a blister on your foot,” Rudy interposed.

  “It was on my heel,” said Billy, making it specific. He didn’t go into further detail about what the coach had said.

  Cody glanced at Rudy. “A blistered heel? Sounds like an excuse. What’s your analysis, Rudy?”

  “Well, I can’t say that Billy has been a threatening competitor, can you?”

  “No, I can’t. So his not running in any of the races last Friday could only mean one thing. Right?”

  “Right. He was afraid he’d end up tailend Charlie, just like he did in the practice meets against Mercer.”

  Billy, his temper touched off by the guys’ teasing remarks, started to turn and head up the hall when he realized that a small throng had already formed around them. Their sly, amused looks as they focused their attention on him made his face turn hot with embarrassment. He was in the thick of it now; Cody and Rudy had cleverly woven him into their web.

  Cody took notice of the group around them, and he chuckled with amusement. “You’re pretty popular, Billy. Look at your admirers. I’d sure feel like bursting with pride if I were you.”

  Billy met his eyes squarely. “I’m going to make you eat every one of your words one of these days, Cody,” he said stiffly. “Not one of these days. Today.”

  “You are?” Cody laughed. “When? And how?”

  “By challenging you to a race, that’s how.”

  Rudy stared at him. “You must be crazy, man.”

  A chuckle rippled from someone in the audience.