I don’t blame them for not coming. This place is torture.
Ash sits with my mom. I wish I could hear what they were talking about. If I ask Mom later, she may not tell me what they said, but Ash will. That too sends another spark of happiness through me. I trust Ash to tell me things. I have not come to this alternate reality alone.
The 300-meter hurdles finish, and then I’m up. All of our girls wear the black armbands; they stand out against our light blue shirts. I dig mine out of the bottom of my bag and strap it around my arm, tight, trying not to think about what it represents. Except it’s itchy. And pressure that isn’t usually there. At least I won’t have to wear it for long.
I take my starting position in lane three. A few of the runners from other teams cast looks at me, and I already know why: I am not a skinny greyhound girl like they are. I’m built more like a pit bull. I’m chubby. I’ve got thick legs and broad shoulders. I should be doing field events, not track. But when that starting gun goes off, my brain starts ticking, and I just do what it tells me.
They sprint. I run. I lag behind, blocking out all sounds except the jarringone two three fourof my own feet. Halfway through, they’re gassed. Falling back. Ponytails drooping, arms going soft.My internal clock speeds up in increments, the drumbeats of my feet getting faster. My legs scream, my heart and lungs burn, but I live in my head now, listening to the beat. We all converge together, and I edge out the girl in the lead. Out of the corner of my eye I catch the incredulous look she gives me. We finish the first lap and start the second.
The track opens before me. I fly. The uncomfortable armband, the scratch of clothing, the sunshine, the people around me, the weight of everything missing—it all disappears. For a while, I’m free.
I cross the finish line. The world snaps back into place; people are cheering. It’s the first time I’ve ever won the 800, though I’ve done well before. Teammates meet me by the side of the track, along with two of our three coaches, who look shocked.
“Evie, you just broke a school record,” Coach Deemer says. “Have you... did youtakesomething today?”
“Oh. No,” I reply, breathless and delighted to find that I feel pleased with myself. I’m surprised I can still feel proud of anything I do outside of CoH. “I just ran.” I knew the girls’ record in the 800 wasn’t great, so it isn’tthatbig of a feat, but I was never close to it before, as far as I know.
I look around at my teammates, who are happy for me, but the one face I’m searching for isn’t there. Alissa wasn’t here to see it. A knife twists in my gut. Worse than the grief of not seeing her is the anger that this simple joy is now spoiled. Will this be the restof my life? Whenever something good happens, thinking about Alissa will ruin it? And I’ll always think about her when good things happen, because shouldn’t she have been there?
When I graduate college? Get married? When I have kids? Get promoted? Every year on my birthday, will I think about the party we’re not having? Every year on hers, will I think about how she’ll never get any older?
Extinguished, I tromp back to the tent to catch my breath. We still have the 200 and the 3200. Teammates come up to congratulate me on my time. I thank them, but I don’t have the energy to continue the conversation. I return to my phone. Ravenweal. My quest log, and what dungeons I want to run today. I can be free again. I just have to get home.
The 4×400 is the last event of the day. The team tents have been packed up, and everyone is gathered at the track to watch. The last race, and then I can go home.
Before the relay starts, I think,Alissa will not be there. Haley is taking her place. Do not be surprised.
I’m the third leg of the race. Alissa used to be the fourth. She was the best of us, always committed to her events, fast, powerful, and sure. Maybe, like Anna said, that was because she didn’t feel like she could be anything else. Our team relied on her, so she became what we needed. She became what everyone needed.
Since it’s the 4×400, I have to wait for the first two runners to each do a lap around the track. Those of us in the third spot takeour places along the line and watch the column of girls stream toward us. I position myself so Bethany, our second, can reach me without getting crammed by the other runners.
I take the baton. I’m fourth in the pack and I don’t expect to gain any ground, but when my legs start moving and my brain starts ticking, I feel like I’m flying again, and that rush of freedom hits me. I move into third around the first turn, then catch up to the next girl around the second. Dark hair and a light blue jersey come into view. I sprint for her full-out. Extend the baton. Reach for her.
Haley’s face comes into focus. My heart wrenches. I lose my grip.
She takes the baton and sprints away, not realizing that I almost dropped it.
The other thirds float past me, leaving the track, but my feet aren’t working. I can’t catch my breath. I jam my fingers under the black band around my arm, tug on it, try to get it off. I can’t breathe. Everyone stares at me, even the sun. My vision narrows. My ribs crunch down on my lungs, squeezing. I can’tbreathe.
I need to be alone. I need to be in the dark. I stumble toward the field entrance underneath the home stands, the cool interior, the path toward the locker rooms and offices. I slide into the women’s restroom, where all the stalls are empty. I close the door, lock myself in. I’m in blessed darkness for half a second before the motion-sensor lights flicker on. I slide down to the floor and gasp for breath.
Someone knocks. “Evie? Are you okay?” It’s Coach Deemer.
“Fine!” I force the word out. I imagine him standing in the hallway with a bunch of runners. People who followed me here, who saw me run off, who are going to tell all their friends about it. So many people watching. I just want to go home, but there’s no way past them. I hold my throat, willing it to open, but it’s like a thick hand is choking me. I can’t get enough air.
“Your mom is here,” Coach says.
A moment later, my mom’s voice at the door: “Evie, can I come in?”
“No,” I croak. “I’m fine. Give me a few minutes.”
Someone tries the door handle. The lights go off again. There’s hushed talking, then the sound of footsteps moving away. A good number of them. It’s still not safe to come out.
I bury my face in my knees. It finally got me. Expecting her to be there and she wasn’t.
Did she know this would happen to me? Would she have killed herself if she did? If she had known all of this would happen to me and her parents and her brother and everyone who cared about her? That her absence would create a void for us to crumble into?
“Evie.”
