One-by-one, my teammates finish the race and join the cheering section. We clap and yell as the boys’ team finishes first with Sarah on their tails. Then the rest of the girls trickle in. Everyone else from Citrus Prep has finished when Ella finally turns the corner and appears in the final stretch.
She’s still running, though her pace is barely faster than walking. Small pieces of hair stick to her face with the sweat that drips from her face. Her expression is one of pure determination until she spots Hardy and Lily with their signs. She grins and, with renewed fervor, picks up the pace.
Lily and Hardy scream like she’s the first runner they’ve seen. They wave their signs wildly, sending glitter flyingthrough the air. When Ella finishes, they run over to her and hug her once more. Now that everyone is done, we can go back to the tent together. We grab well-earned plates piled with food as Coach drones on about how hard we’ve all worked and how proud she is of the seniors.
I’m only half listening as I eat a piece of cold bacon. I’m looking around at everyone on the team. Proud moms and dads stand behind their children, seniors, and underclassmen alike. When I get to Ella, I notice that her parents aren’t here. Her dad is in prison, so I understand why he couldn’t make it, but I don’t see her mom either. Just Lily and Hardy who linger nearby as surrogates, their fingers intertwined as they hold hands.
If they hadn’t come, she wouldn’t have had any family to cheer her on at the senior meet. That’s why Ella was so excited to see them. A small ache forms in my chest, and I use the heel of my palm to rub it away.
Then Ella smiles at me, and a different sensation replaces the ache. My stomach does a somersault, and without thinking, I smile back.
When Coach is done with her speech, I walk in Ella’s direction. Her eyes don’t leave mine as I close the distance between us. I don’t know what I’m doing. She’s the only person who stands between me and Citrus Scholar, and we’re not even friends, but I can’t stop my feet. I tell myself it’s because I feel bad that her parents aren’t here, but I’m afraid there might be something more to it.
I barely register the look that passes between Hardy and Lily before theywalk toward the tent.
“Hey,” I say.
She bites her bottom lip. “Hey.”
“You did a great job today.”
She looks down at her feet. “No, I didn’t. I finished last for Citrus Prep."
“But you finished. You should be proud of how hard you worked this year.”
She stares at me with wide eyes.
I’m just as confused as she is, but my mouth keeps going. “Seriously. It’s not easy coming onto a team that’s been running together for a long time. You were the only person who didn't have any experience, and you stuck with it.”
“That means a lot coming from you. Thanks.”
I’m slightly offended by her words and put a hand to my chest. “I’m not a monster, you know.”
The corners of her mouth lift into a ghost of a smile. “I know.”
I squirm as she smiles up at me. The compliments, the niceties. This is the most civil we’ve been in years, and it feels wrong. As Ella stares at me expectantly, I realize it’s my turn to say something, but my brain goes blank. What am I supposed to say?
Such great weather we’re having.
How ‘bout them Bolts?
Who am I? Some middle-aged guy standing around the water cooler at the office? A bead of sweat runs down my temple as Ella continues to wait. I lift my hand to wipe it away, but another thought occurs to me. I reach for thebottom of my shirt instead and use it to wipe my face. When I release the fabric, Ella’s eyes are closed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Trying not to look at you.”
“Why, afraid you’ll like what you see?”
“Afraid the breakfast I just ate will come back up, and then I’ll never be able to eat eggs again.” It’s a familiar tune, but her tone is softer than it’s ever been when singing it.
I wait a moment and, even though my shirt is still lifted, I say, “Okay, fine.”
She opens her eyes, and immediately shuts them again. “Ahh.” She waves her hands out in front of her and blindly smacks at me. “Put your clothes on.”
I chuckle. “It’s okay to admit you enjoy the view.”
“Not a chance.” Her eyes are still closed as she gropes for my arms. She forces them down at my sides. When she’s satisfied that I’m no longer lifting my shirt, she slowly peels her eyes open again. Ella looks to my stomach, then to my face. Is there a twinge of disappointment in her expression? Or do I only wish there was?
