Our class is on the third floor, and we’re only halfway there when my legs start burning. “Even out-of-shape seniors? I can’t imagine I’m the type of person the coach is looking for. Besides, hasn’t the season already started?”
“It has, but they still need a few more runners to get a full roster.” She pokes my arm. “And you need something athletic.”
I’m slightly out of breath when we reach the top of the stairs. The only way I’d make it onto the team is if Coach Trish is as desperate as Lily says she is. And cross countrymight be my only option for ticking the athletic box. I think about Connor and his many years of varsity sports.
“Wait,” I say slowly as realization hits me. A knot forms in my stomach. “Doesn’t Connor run cross country?"
Lily opens her locker and hides behind the door. She mumbles something unintelligible.
I close it so I can see her face. “What was that?”
“I know it’s not your first choice.”
Getting dental work without anesthesia sounds more appealing at this point. I cross my arms over my chest. “More like it’s my last choice.”
Lily’s expression hardens. “Actually, you don’t have a choice. Are you going to play soccer? Basketball? Tennis?” Each sport she lists is highly competitive. Lots of talented girls get cut during tryouts every year, and they each require a certain level of skill.
Lily reopens her locker to grab her book. “What if I promise to come cheer you on at the meets?”
I pout, but deep down, I know I’m acting ungrateful. I should be thankful that Lily is such a good friend. She stood by me when I became the social pariah at school after what my dad did to the Williams family. Now, not only is she helping me think of ways to beat Connor, she’s offering to go above and beyond. “You’d be willing to wake up early to watch me come in last?”
“Somebody has to do it.”
If Lily says she’ll come, I know she will. Thank goodness for that. An ache forms in my chest knowing shewould be the only person to show up to specifically cheer for me.
My dad is still incarcerated after stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars from the company he worked for. Who knew our two-story home in the fancy part of town or our overseas vacations were funded by grand larceny? Apparently, no one besides my father until he got caught a couple of years ago. He ruined our lives, but doesn’t seem to realize it based on the sappy letters he sends every month. They’re filled with his favorite memories and a longing for making new ones when he gets out. I read every single one but never respond.
After he went to prison, and we lost it all, my mom went her own brand of crazy. She’s too preoccupied with anything else to pay attention to me. Her current obsession? A younger guy who is closer in age to me than her. He’s at our apartment almost every night eating dinners my mom never cooked when it was just me at home. I can’t stand him.
“I’m sorry,” Lily says. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” I say, closing my locker shut with more force than necessary. The noise echoes through the hallway.
Lily doesn't argue as we walk down the hall. She knows the situation better than anyone and has seen me shed enough tears to know that I’m lying. That I am upset. That I hate the entire situation and wish that I was born into any other family than the one I’m in. During the first few months after my dad’s arrest, I practically begged her to letme live with her, but her family didn’t think it was such a good idea. I think they didn’t want my family’s bad influence to rub off on their daughter anymore than it already had.
Right before we enter math class, she stops me. “This is the last thing I’ll say about it. But if you join cross country, I promise to bring a sign worthy of the Boston Marathon to your meets.”
“With glitter?” I ask.
“Obviously.”
Math goes by quickly—literally.Mr. Smith goes as fast as everyone says. If grades were as important as I thought they were when school started, I might consider asking for after school help, but as it stands, I should be able to squeak by with an A as long as I don’t let myself fall behind on any of my homework.
I push through the rest of my morning classes, eager to get to lunch.
Since seniors get dismissed five minutes early, the cafeteria is relatively empty as I walk in. I spot Coach Trish right away, wearing her signature tracksuit with her brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She’s not only the cross country coach but also teaches PE, so she is one of the only teachers at Citrus Prep who gets to dress like this. Shewalks the perimeter of the cafeteria saying hello to students as they trickle in.
“Coach Trish?” I catch her in between greetings. “Do you have a second?”
I’ve only had her for one class, P.E. my freshman year, and I was terrible, so I wouldn’t say I’m particularly close to her. That doesn’t stop the concern from filling her features. “Is everything okay?” She ushers me toward one of the walls away from the tables.
“I’m fine.” I nod. “I was just wondering what I would need to do to join the”—I clear my throat—“the cross country team.”
Her head jerks back in a mixture of shock and relief. “You want to join cross country?”
“Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are.”
“I’d ask why the change of heart”—a sly smile touches her lips—”but I think I might know why you have a sudden desire to join. Is it because you think it’ll be good for your chances for Citrus Scholar?”
