Runner Girl

Chapter Twelve

Kary leans against my locker on Monday, her eyes darting around the hall like she's looking for somebody. "Can you run in that thing?" She gestures to my new walking cast.

I shake my head, fighting back my irritation. Even though I've embraced the cheer team and my life without speed, after talking to Jacob and the boys, I've felt raw and wounded, like the only thing that can heal me would be to lace up my shoes and fly for an hour or two, until I can force myself to pretend that that conversation never happened, but of course Kary doesn't know that. I don't like to be vulnerable, so even though we texted over the weekend, I never mentioned my meltdown to her, and now that I'm back at school, the only sign I've been miserable is the way the dark patches under my eyes have expanded. "But at least I don't need the crutches anymore," I say, forcing a bright tone and slamming my locker.

Kary doesn't ask me about cheer, and I don't volunteer any information; we haven't talked about it at all since her first reaction to me wanting to go out for the team, and I have a feeling she's keeping her mouth shut because she doesn't want to say something that'll offend me. With the things we don't talk about suddenly piling up, I'm a little uncomfortable as we walk down the hall to our first class. There isn't time for me to dwell on the feeling, though; as soon as we're in our seats, the science teacher passes out a quiz. Even with my injury, I'm still determined to prove that I belong at this school, so I've been studying hard and working harder, but still, the quiz is tough. I can hear pencils and pens scratching across paper as everyone around me works on it, but I tune the sound out and focus on the questions. When I finally finish, my eyes are crossed and my fingers hurt from clutching my pencil so hard, but I feel mostly confident about my answers.

The rest of the day is a blur of activity, with quizzes in three other classes, and by the time I get to the gym for practice, my brain is pudding. When I join the other girls for our warm up laps, I feel some of the tension in my shoulders melt away. I may not be running, but at least I'm still moving.

The walking cast takes some getting used to, but by the end of practice, I almost feel like an athlete again. Janel drapes an arm over my shoulders as we get ready to leave.

"How're you feeling?"

"Better," I tell her truthfully, glad that I don't have to lie. "I had a rough weekend, though." The words slip out, but Janel doesn't press me.

"Are you excited for the dance?"

I roll my eyes. "Not really my scene."

She frowns. "But we always go as a team. It's one of our fundraisers."

The dance is a fundraiser? Why is this the first time I'm hearing that information? "What do you mean?"

She picks up her huge duffle bag and swings it effortlessly over her shoulder. "The sports teams split the responsibilities for the different dances. The harvest dance belongs to us and the boys' soccer team. They sell the tickets, we decorate the gym, and the coaches bake snacks. And then we split the money." She pauses. "We all know the drill, so I guess nobody thought to tell you. Sorry."

Coach Cypri hadn't mentioned that when we talked about the dance this weekend, either, and I fight back a little flare of worry and ask, "What can I do to help?"

Janel flashes her big smile. "That's more like it. Bring your dress to school on Friday, and plan to stay to set up. We usually get changed in the locker room once everything is ready."

I stopped walking when she said the word "dress." I swallow nervously. "Is it a formal dance?"

She nods, studying my face. "You don't have a dress, do you?"