Puzzle Pieces (formerly Reach for the Sky)

Chapter 18- One month later

"One more repeat!" calls out Coach Davidson. "Ready... Go!" We sprint off into the woods, energized by the knowledge that we have almost finished today's exhausting workout.

After a few moments, I become aware of a slight irregularity in Hope's stride, so small I think I might have imagined it... There. A slight tug on the harness off to the side, like she's limping a little. There, again. I slow down, stopping off to the side of the path to let my teammates pass me.

"What's going on?" I talk to Hope as I gently feel along her legs and paws for any clue as to the reason for her limping. She lets out a quiet yelp as I touch her left front paw and I pull my hand away. My fingers come back sticky with blood.

"Oh, Hope." She must have cut it on a sharp rock or something. "Come on, let's walk back to Coach."

I end up leaving practice a few minutes early, so I can take Hope home and clean off the cut. I'm unsure about what else to do, since the injury is on the bottom of her foot, so Grandmother schedules an appointment with the vet for the next day.

"She'll be just fine." The vet's tone is friendly as she hands me a little boot just the right size for Hope's feet. I like how she talks to me directly, the same way she would to a normal person; it's amazing how many people talk straight to my grandmother like I'm not there at all. "Just make sure to clean it regularly and have her wear the boot when she goes outside. Paws heal differently than normal skin, so she shouldn't run around quite as much as usual for the next week or two, but walking is just fine."

"No running?" I repeat.

"None for a week or so, just to give it time to heal. After that, she can try a little running, but if she seems to be limping or anything, I'd give it another week. After two weeks, she should be all set!"

I hadn't appreciated how much freedom Hope has given me until it is taken away. I can't take a full two weeks off, not now that we're training with states in mind. But how can I go to practice without Hope?

I tell Coach Davidson at practice the next day. I'm expecting her to tell me I'll just have to practice on the track, guided by my ribbon or something, but instead she responds, "It's the perfect time for you to start running with Maria, then, if she still means what she told you before. At the beginning of the summer, I thought her offer to guide you during races was unlikely to happen, but you've improved so much, it's completely feasible now."

Maria overhears our conversation and come over, saying, "I'm not sure you've realized it, Autumn, but you've been barely two seconds behind me in workouts. If we can figure out a way to make it work over the next couple of weeks, I'll be your guide during cross country races."

Before, I hadn't really taken Maria's suggestion seriously, thinking it completely impossible that I could ever keep up with her, one of the best runners in the state. I hadn't realized how much I've been improving, though. The months of intense training are truly beginning to pay off. I feel a sudden surge of an emotion I can't explain– pride, resolve, something else, too. "Thank you."

Hope whines as I tell her to stay– even with her paw hurt, she wants to run– and Maria and I begin to work out a system for her to guide me. The official way, the way professional blind runners run with guides, is for a small piece of string to be tied around each of our wrists. That won't work for us, though, because Davidson wants to put up my ribbon over the last 400 meters of the race so Maria and I can each finish at our own pace.

Holding hands doesn't work; it interferes too much with the natural rhythm of our running. We try having Maria run just behind me, steering me by the elbow, but being in front of her makes me feel hesitant and unsure of exactly where I'm going. Eventually, we figure out a system: I run slightly behind and to the right of Maria, with my left hand touching her right elbow just enough that I know where she is without interfering with the movement of her arms as she runs. Soon, we're able to run that way as if we've been doing it all our lives, and Maria tells me it truly doesn't slow her down at all.

"Good work today, everyone," Davidson says to the team just before the end of practice. "And you don't all need to look so astonished that I just complimented you. I'm pleased to see how hard everyone is working. Don't forget that the first meet is in two weeks, on the Saturday after your first week of school."

Two weeks. I expected to be nervous for my first meet, but all I feel is excitement. Two weeks. The words become a mantra in my head as walk home with Hope. Two weeks, two weeks, two weeks.