I opened up my mouth to speak, but he cut me off, holding up a hand. “Don’t waste your breath, Norwell. I’m not stupid, either. All I’m suggesting here is that you consider another possible outcome, one that involves me forgetting that you were cutting through Ditcher’s Lane and you making plans to show up for cross-country tryouts after school on Monday.”
I stared back, speechless. This day had just gone from bad to awful.
Then I remembered something he used to talk about in gym class in between whistle blasts.
“Why are you even having tryouts, Coach? Isn’t cross-country one of those, ‘everyone’s a winner’ sports at Castlewood High?” I said, not even trying to keep the smugness out of my voice as I made air quotes with my fingers. “I thought cross-country was all about no tryouts, no cuts, and participation trophies for all?” I crossed my arms and smiled sweetly as his face reddened.
Then he surprised me by laughing, really laughing, hard enough and long enough that he leaned over and wiped a tear from his eyes. I stood there, watching, becoming more and more unsure that I would find a loophole that would get me out of the mess I was in and more and more certain that Coach Z might have a screw loose.
He finally caught his breath and really smiled at me instead of smirking.
“It’s nice to know one of my students actually listened to me. You teach enough knuckleheads for enough years, you get to wondering.” He paused, then pulled the clipboard out of his back waistband and tapped it against his leg. “I’m going to be straight with you, Norwell. Just listen, ok?”
I nodded slowly, not sure where he was going.
“It’s like this. We had a fantastic girls cross-country team last year, almost made it to State. But we had a couple of late season injuries. Disappointing, but I figured we’d have just as good a shot at it this fall with my returning runners.” He paused, then continued. “Except two of them didn’t come back. One moved and the other runner isn’t coming back to cross-county at all. Told me she was burned out. Come to find out, she met some boy this summer who’s all into soccer and convinced her to go out for the soccer team instead.”
He looked at me, waiting. I finally shrugged my shoulders, “So? What does that have to do with me?”
“It has everything to do with you, Norwell, unless you want to spend your weekends doing time in Saturday detention. I’m down to just four fast girls. I need five fast girls for team scoring.” He stared pointedly at me again. “Five really fast girls. Like the one I saw this morning, sprinting up the hill right by Ditcher’s Lane.”
“I was only running because I was late,” I said in a rush, realizing Coach Z had me trapped. I swallowed hard, scrambling for any way to get out of this mess. “Seriously, you said it yourself, I’m slower than a snail. I’m not a runner.” He stared at me, arms crossed, one eyebrow cocked up and a smirk on his face. I tried again.
“I usually bike to work.” My voice was getting screehy and thin. “My tires were flat. I was going to be late!”
“Pipe down, Norwell, we’re in a library.”
I dropped my voice and whispered. “Coach, honest, you’ve got to believe me. I’m not that fast in real life.”
“Well, you looked pretty fast to me and Encantador.” He stared, waiting for me to say something but I was out of excuses. He sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “You know, the kid who wrenched his knee hurdling over you?”
“Is he ok?” I finally asked, not sure if I really wanted to know the truth.
“Tell you what, Norwell,” Coach Z said, putting his hand on the door. “Why don’t you ask him tomorrow at tryouts. Be down at the practice track at three-thirty.” He pushed open the door, stepped over the threshold, then stopped, turning toward me one last time. “And for cripes sake, wear a pair of real running shoes, would you? You’ll bust your ankles in those stupid Chucks.”
With one last smirk, he let the door swing close and waved goodbye, tapping his clipboard against his leg as he quick-hopped down the front steps of the library.
And me?
I leaned back againt the wall of the library vestibule, my eyes closed, the full realization of what had just happened hitting me all at once -
I’d just been blackmailed by my ninth grade gym teacher.
Chapter Eight
Besides juggling all the cooking, cleaning, and three sets of homework, I spent the rest of weekend trying to figure out some way - just one plausible way - to avoid going to the cross-country tryouts on Monday. But no matter how many times my brain attacked problem, trying to solve it, my answer kept coming out the same -
Zero.
I woke early Monday morning while the sky was still dark, and got ready for school, a knot of worry in my stomach. There was no way around it; I had to at least show up for the tryouts this afternoon if I didn’t want to end up in Saturday detention.
But showing up for tryouts and actually running fast at tryouts are two very different things, I thought, shoving my old gym uniform in the bottom of my backpack on top of a pair of old running shoes that had belonged to my mom. It was the only plan I had.
As I left their homework on the kitchen table, I heard Drew and Stacie in the upstairs hall, arguing over whose turn it was to use the bathroom first. I slipped out the back door before either of them could start screaming my name, demanding I do some other last-minute paper or assignment for them, and headed to the thicket behind the shed where I had left my bike stashed after finding the valve caps and fixing the tires. I’d have to keep hiding it; if I put it back in the shed, my stepmother would only find another way to trash it and keep me from using it to escape the house.
It was chilly riding to school this early in the morning, but I didn’t mind. This time, I took the long route that looped through the neighborhoods on the south-east edge of town, making the long arc that took me up to Lincoln Avenue, the main road that led out of town to the east and dead-ended at Castlewood High to the west. My ponytail ruffled in the breeze, fanning out behind my head, a wispy tendril or two blowing up and tickling my cheeks.
Crossing over Main Street when I reached the end of Lincoln, I coasted along the long lane that led into the main campus of Castlewood High. Underneath the name on the sign, big purple letters edged with gold read, “Home of the Fighting Knights!” At the top of a low hill, the school building loomed, a gray cinder block two-story affair that had been built in the seventies when a farming family donated the land to build a bigger high school and sports fields. Even with the fake turrets on the four corners of the second story, the school looked more like a prison than a castle.
I locked my bike in the rack by the front walk and pulled my watch out of my backpack. The building officially unlocked the doors for students at seven-thirty, but it was only seven-twenty. I pulled my math book out of my backpack and headed over to the bench by the front door, planning to finally study for my test in first period. Doing Drew and Stacie’s homework had taken forever the night before, not because it was hard; neither one of them took any tough classes. The most challenging part for me was trying to copy their handwriting.
I popped my earbuds in and turned on the old mp3 player I’d found when my boss had asked me to clean out the library’s lost and found bin and bundle up the unclaimed items for donation. It was an old off-brand mp3 player, but it still worked; as much as I’d thought about getting a cheap phone, I didn’t dare. My stepmother would find it, eventually; she searched my attic room regularly. The risk wasn’t worth it.
Cracking open my math book, I sat cross-legged on the bench. The sun warmed my face, and the music drowned out the sounds of the cars and busses that began swarming into the parking lots and drop-off lanes. I’m not sure how long he had been standing there, waiting, when I looked up to see the shadow of a clipboard against a leg on the sidewalk in front of me. Startled, I pulled my earbuds out and shielded my eyes against the sun.
“Well, well, you are just the person I was looking for,” Coach Z said, pulling
at the brim of his Fighting Knights ball cap. “I’ve got a job for you, Norwell.”
I closed my math book, sighing. I’d just have to pray there would be a curve on my Trigonometry exam. “What job?” I asked, trying to sound bored.
“Well, aren’t you just a daisy this morning, Norwell. Show some school spirit, would you?” He thrust a purple t-shirt in my direction. As it unfurled, I saw the golden Fighting Knight logo printed on the front. “You just got promoted.”
“To what?” I asked, wary, grabbing the t-shirt before it fell on the ground.
“You are the newest liaison on Castlewood High’s New Student Welcome Committee. Put that on and meet me by the front office in ten minutes.”
“Wh-what?” I stuttered. “There isn’t any Welcome Commit -” but Coach Z cut me off before I could say anything else.
“There is today, Norwell. Congratulations, you’re the founding member. Takes initiative to start something like that. That’ll look good on your college applications. Heck, I might even be convinced to write you a letter of recommendation.” Coach Z pointed at the front doors. “I mean it. Ten minutes.”
He turned and walked away and I sat there, gripping the stupid purple shirt for a few seconds, kicking myself for cutting through Ditcher’s Lane and wishing that I’d just been late to work on Saturday. With a groan, I pulled the t-shirt on over my clothes and stalked up to the front doors of school, turning right when I got inside and heading into the main office where Coach Z stood waiting, a tall guy with jet black hair standing next to him. As he laughed, turning to say something to Coach Z, I saw his face.
It was the cute hurdler from the track, but looking even better than he had on Saturday morning. His thick hair was pushed back from his eyes, and he was wearing jeans and a lightweight hoodie that clung to his broad shoulders.
And me? I was trapped inside a shapeless purple Fighting Knights t-shirt that hung almost to my knees. Dressed to impress.
Like it matters, I thought. He’s out of your league. A seriously good-looking new guy with an intriguing accent and natural athletic ability - he’ll be off the market by lunch.
I slow-walked over to where he and Coach Z stood, the two of them now hunched over as Coach Z swiped the screen of a tablet, pointing out something as Mr. Hurdles nodded. The thing was, even if he had been anywhere near the zipcode of my league, I still didn’t have a chance. There was no way I could ever escape my stepmother’s endless lists of chores and demands and control to hang out with any guy, heck, to hang out with anyone at all. I didn’t have anyone I could call a genuine friend at Castlewood High. It was better that way. When I turned eighteen and left Castlewood for good, I wouldn’t miss anyone.
Coach Z looked up from the screen, spotting me. “Norwell! You’re barely on time, which means you’re late. Don’t make that mistake this afternoon.”
Mr. Hurdles glanced at me, then did a double take, recognizing me. I tilted my head and shrugged my shoulders, but before either of us could say anything, Assistant Principal Adamson walked out of his office and joined us.
“Good morning, Ce..Cin..um..Cis-” Mr. Adamson said, snapping his fingers as tried to remember my name. I faked a smile and threw him a bone.
“Cecelia.” He stared at me blankly. “Norwell?” I added, wondering not for the first time just how old he was. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Hurdles hide a grin behind a quick cough.
Mr. Adamson shook his head, then smiled as he heard my last name. “Oh, yes, yes. Cecelia Norwell.” He nodded. I was about ninety-nine percent sure he still didn’t have a clue who I was. Next to me, Coach Z audibly sighed, slapping his clipboard against his leg.
“Cecelia here has graciously agreed to give Deke a quick tour of the school and drop him off at first period.” Coach Z said, handing Deke the tablet. “She’s in charge of the Student Welcoming Committee.”
“Oh yes, yes, the Welcoming Committee,” Mr.Adamson repeated, then smiled. “You students do excellent work.”
“I was just saying the same thing, Assistant Principal,” Coach Z said, grinning at me. “Off you go, Norwell.” He slapped Deke on the back. “You’re in good hands. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Great, no way I can possibly bail now, I thought, giving Deke a weak smile. “Um, ok, so I guess we should maybe head out of here and toward your locker?” I said, heading toward the glass doors that led to the main hall.
“Sure,” Deke replied, swiping the tablet screen. “We can start there.”
As I swung the door open, the noisy din of the student-packed main hallway hit my ears. A group of girls stopped, staring first at me, giggling and pointing at my oversized t-shirt, then suddenly silent, staring not at me, but at Deke as he stepped into the hall. Before they could say anything, the first period bell rang, echoing over my head.
Sharing a look and a quick whisper, two of the girls flashed bright smiles at Deke, tossing him finger-wriggling little waves, then hurried off toward class. The two that remained just stood there, talking in low undertones, clearly not worried about being overheard. Next to me, Deke looked up from the tablet screen, his gaze on them as his face reddened.
“Not to be rude, but can we get going?” He asked, turning away from the girls and looking at me. His face was unreadable, but his jaw looked tense, mouth clenched. “I’ve got math first period and I don’t want to miss the material.”
“Uh, ok,” I said, moving down the hall toward the main locker bay. I felt my own cheeks redden, hearing the girls behind us giggling as we walked away, the words, “... what a purple nightmare...,” floating after me. I hurried up and around the corner, pulling the t-shirt off as soon as I was out of their sight.
“Hey. Hey! Wait up!” Deke called. I shoved the t-shirt into my backpack and popped around the corner to see him fast walking toward me. He scowled at me, pushing his hair off his face. “I should have figured,” he muttered, stopping a few steps away from me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, the words out of mouth before I realized what I was saying. The late bell rang for first period and we were alone in the empty hall.
Deke crossed his arms and looked at me, the scowl gone from his face. He tilted his chin at me. “Saturday, right? The track?”
I took a deep breath. His eyes didn’t leave mine. I stared back, not wanting to admit anything, but finally I looked away.
“Yes,” I said. “That was me. I’m sorry.” I paused, looking back at him. “Is your knee ok?”
“Yeah,” he replied after a second, his shoulders shrugging. He shoved his hands in his pocket, relaxing as he gazed at me. “Just landed a little funny.” A slow smile split his face and his eyes crinkled. “I’m used to jumping over hurdles, not people. ”
I smiled back despite myself. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat, looking over at the locker bay. “So...,” he said, questioningly. “The tour?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, waving my hand. “Those are the lockers - obviously. Cafeteria is just past the locker bay and the gyms are behind the cafeteria... locker rooms, too.” I pointed behind him. “Main stairs right across from the office go up to the academic halls and the media center. Electives downstairs halls. Bathrooms are near the stairs on both floors.” Deke looked over his shoulder toward the stairs, then back at me, an eyebrow raised as he smiled again.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” he asked. I shook my head, feeling my face flush. I laughed nervously.
“That obvious, huh?” I said, then paused. I could hear a couple of girls’ voices coming our way.
“Yeah, just a little.” Deke glanced down at his tablet. “Says my first period is math in room 305. So that’s upstairs?”
“Yeah,” I said, pointing behind him. “Around the corner. Math classes are all in the blue hallway. Can’t miss it.” I pulled the straps of my backpack tight against my shoulders, watching him lean over the tablet, chewing on his lower lip.
You could ask to see his schedule, Cici,
I thought, then pushed that away. There was no point in even pretending that I had a chance with a guy as good-looking as Deke. He was destined to be the newly crowned king of popularity by the end of the week.
“Well, I guess, thanks for helping me,” Deke said, smiling at me again as he looked up from his tablet. I nodded, feeling my heart beating faster as his eyes met mine. “I’ll get to class ok. I’m used to being the new guy at school.”
Before I could ask what he meant by that, he added, “I’ll see you later at - “
From around the corner, my two stepsisters appeared, heading right toward me. Drew was waving a piece of paper in her hand with a red cross in the corner; a sick note to the nurse’s office, her usual tactic for getting out of class. Stacie held a file folder, probably some nonsense errand for her cheer squad coach.
Spotting me, they stopped, Stacie’s mouth opening to hurl one of her usual nasty insults my way when her eyes lit on Deke. With a toss of her hair, she angled herself in front of Drew, and smiled. “Oooh, hello there! Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend, Cici?”
“What are you talking about, Stacie? You know Cici doesn’t have any friends,” Drew said in a huff, elbowing Stacie out of the way until she saw Deke, too. Her face shifted from grimace to flirty and she giggled, pushing her shoulder into Stacie to shove her to the side. “What I meant to say was Cici doesn’t have any friends that we don’t already know. Except for you,” She pointed at Deke and smiled.
Stacie shoved back, checking Drew with her hip and stepping forward, hand outstretched. “Don’t mind my sister Drew. She says the wrong thing all the time.” In a fake whisper, she added, “Not too bright.”
Pumpkin Run Page 4