Breathe, Annie, Breathe (7 page)

“Hello?” I say groggily, picking the sleep out of my eyes.

“Where are you?” he asks in a rush. “Are you okay?”

“Umm…I’m sorry, I fell back asleep.”

“Are you sick?”

“No…”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then why aren’t you here? Everybody else is.”

That makes me feel ashamed. “Look, I’m sorry. I woke up and wasn’t feeling up to the run.”

“You should’ve called me.”

I yawn into my hand. “You’re right. I will next time.”

“There won’t be a next time if you don’t take training seriously, Annie.”

“What?”

“You don’t show up for my training sessions, I won’t train you. It’s simple as that.”

“Why not? I mean, I’m paying for it.”

A long silence. “Annie, you’re running on my team, under my name. Every single person I’ve trained who’s made it to the day of a race has finished. I’ve helped over two hundred people finish a race. If a client doesn’t take me seriously, I don’t train them. I want to keep my one hundred percent race-day success rate.”

“I get it—”

“Now do you want to tell me what’s wrong? If something’s wrong with the training, we can adjust. If you aren’t feeling good, we can adjust. But you have to talk to me, okay?”

I pull a deep breath and clutch a pillow to my chest. “I’m scared about my stomach. It hurt so bad last week. I got so sick after doing those god-awful speed bursts with you. I threw up like eight times.”

Another pause. “We’ll change up your diet then. Maybe try some toast and English muffins instead of cereal and oatmeal. Maybe we’ll stop giving you Gatorade. The sugar might be making you sick.”

“No! I love my lemon Gatorade. I’ll give up the speed bursts.”

He laughs. “Not a chance. Now, what are you doing tomorrow? You’ve got seven miles to make up.”

•••

Why can’t they just leave it be?

“Do we really have to do this?” I ask.

“It’s time,” Connor says quietly, looking at one of Kyle’s track trophies. How can Connor say that so matter-of-factly?

I swallow as I scan the room. I’m kind of pissed at Kyle’s parents for wanting to box up his things. But then I remember how I boxed up the teddy bears and wind chimes he gave me, and I can’t imagine walking past this room every day either, so I kind of get how they feel. Probably the same way I do whenever I drive past the fire station.

Kyle’s younger brother, Connor, who will be a junior at Hundred Oaks this fall, texted me a few days ago and invited me to come check out Kyle’s room, to decide if I want to keep anything.

“I’ll be out in the living room if you need me,” Connor says. The door clicks shut.

I haven’t been in Kyle’s room since September, since before he broke up with me. His alarm clock blinks a red 12:00 over and over. I pick up a worn Titans sweatshirt from the floor and bring it to my nose. His scent is gone. It smells like nothing. I fold the sweatshirt neatly and set it on his unmade bed.

I wipe dust off the framed picture of us from junior prom. I set it on top of the sweatshirt, starting a pile. I pat his stuffed bear’s head. Kyle had Chuck since he was a baby, and now the bear lives on the bookshelf.

For a while, I’d call Kyle’s cell phone just to hear his voicemail message. But then his parents shut it off. I look frantically around the room to see if there’s anything I should take in case his parents don’t recognize its value. If I had been his parents, I would’ve kept that cell phone plan forever.

I find a red Nike headband he wore for track and slip it into my back pocket. If I make it to the marathon, maybe I’ll wear it during the race. Eighties style.

I sit down on his bed and run my fingertips over his pillow. When I lift it to see if it still has Kyle Smell, I discover a small black velvet box. With shaking fingers I open it to find a gold ring with a small diamond. I gasp. The night at the drive-in when Kyle proposed, he didn’t hold a ring out to me. He only said, “Marry me.”

The door creaks open and I look up to find Mrs. Crocker, decked out in her apron, the one spotted with a cherry print. Honestly, I’ve never seen her at home without an apron on—she’s always cooking something—but it doesn’t fit like it used to. It hangs around her loosely.

“Annie, we’re ordering pizza. Do you want to join us for din—” She makes a noise when she sees what I’m holding. She brings her fingers to her mouth. “I’d wondered where he put it. That ring belonged to my grandmother.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Look under the lid.”

I carefully peel the silk lining back and fish out a delicate piece of onion paper. It’s so fine, I worry it might crumble in my hand like a Saltine. I slowly open the paper and discover a note dated 1946:
“For Ellen, with all my love, Arthur.”

“That’s great,” I say with a genuine smile, putting the note back where I found it.

“I’m so happy you found the ring.”

I hold the box out to her, and she takes it.

“He would’ve wanted you to keep this,” she adds.

I
can’t. I wouldn’t take it when he was alive.

She must sense my hesitation. “I’ll save it for Connor…maybe he’ll want to give it to a girl one day.”

I clear my throat and nod. Mrs. Crocker opens her mouth again to say something, but she shuts it.

Does she blame me?

That’s when Mr. Crocker shows up, wearing a blue T-shirt that reads
Williamson
County
Fire
Department
. He used to have a full head of blond hair, just like his sons, but now it’s thinned out.

“Hi, Annie,” Mr. Crocker says. “Your mom told us you’re training to run the Country Music Marathon.”

“To finish on Kyle’s behalf.” His mother chokes on her words.

I nod slowly, picking at a hangnail, ripping the skin away.

“How’s it going?” Mr. Crocker asks, smiling.

I don’t have it in me to tell them I got sick as hell after a run, had to miss work, and nearly got dropped by my trainer. Not to mention I’m scared to death of this weekend’s eight-mile run. When Kyle was training, he rarely complained and never considered giving up. At least not that I know of.

“I did seven miles last weekend,” I say softly. Barely. I had to walk a lot of it.

“Need any pointers? I ran a half one time.”

“Have any idea why my stomach hurts all the time?” Even though Matt changed my diet a little this week, I still feel pains.

Mr. Crocker cocks his head to the side. “Never heard that one before.”

“Did you want to join us for pizza?” Mrs. Crocker asks.

“I would, but my training plan says I have to eat a grilled chicken salad today.”

“I guess we’ll leave you to it, then,” Mrs. Crocker says, and then I’m alone again, with all his clothes and pictures and trophies, with his bed that hasn’t been warm in months, with only the sunlight streaming through the window to hug me.

I curl my arms around his pillow. Make myself think about the three-mile run I’m doing tonight after the heat bleeds off. One foot after the other.

Breathe, Annie, breathe.

Not only does Matt train people to run races, he gives personal training sessions at the gym where he works on the side—or as I like to call it, the Fourth Circle of Hell. During my first session with him, I discovered muscles I didn’t know I had. I can’t imagine what tortures he has planned for today.

I lean my head into Matt’s office at the gym and find him chewing and reading a magazine. He wraps his sandwich back in its baggie, stands up, and high-fives me. “Ready to work out?” he says through a mouthful.

“Yeah.”

He chews, studying my face. “You feeling okay? You’re all red. Did you hydrate enough?”

“I drank five bottles of water today, like you said to.”

“Good.”

I let out the deep breath I was holding and follow Matt over to the treadmill, where I hop on and jog to warm up.

Ever since I fooled around with his brother a few weeks ago, I’ve been expecting Matt to drop some sort of hint that he knows, but it hasn’t happened. I mean, I didn’t think Matt would come right out and ask, “Whatever possessed you to hook up with my brother?!” But I expected some sort of reaction—a flash in his eyes or flushed cheeks. Either he has the best poker face of all time or Jeremiah kept his mouth shut.

It’s three weeks later, and I haven’t even seen him at training. Maybe he decided to use trails where I specifically wouldn’t be? He still hasn’t called. He won’t, and that’s just fine.

“Hey!” Matt says loudly over the sound of my feet pounding the treadmill. “Where are you?”

“What?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention.”

“Sorry, my mind’s all over the place today.”

He increases the treadmill speed to six miles per hour. “Oh yeah? So’s mine. My big sister went into labor an hour ago.”

“What?” I shout. “Why aren’t you at the hospital? Why are you here?”

Matt grins. “It’s her first baby and considering my mom was in labor with all of us for, like, days, I don’t think the baby will be here anytime soon.”

“So will this be your first niece or nephew?”

“Yeah. It’s a boy,” he says proudly.

I can’t help but smile at his giddiness. “Is your brother at the hospital with her?”

He gives me a brief look, but then he’s all business again. “The whole family’s there. I’ll head over as soon as we’re finished.” He points at my face. “Don’t think you can get out of training.”

“Darn.”

Matt leads me through a series of lunges and squats and other horrible exercises that make my legs feel like they’ve been lit on fire.

“You’re doing really well, Annie,” Matt says when I’m done with a load of jumping jacks. “You think you’ll be able to run the full ten miles on Saturday?”

I lean over and rest my hands on my knees, panting. “I’m gonna try…but, Matt?”

“Mm-hmm?”

Every week the runs get harder and harder. I sleep more and more. More aches and pains pop up every day. I should go ahead and buy a lifetime supply of ibuprofen at this rate.

Do I have a limit?

“I’m scared that I won’t be able to do it all, you know? The last time I ran ten miles, I got really sick.”

Matt pats my back. “If you weren’t scared, then I’d be worried.”

•••

“Now, who wants to buy the bath mat?”

I groan. It seems bass ackwards that I haven’t even picked out which classes I’m taking yet, but I have to decide if I’ll supply a crock-pot or an ironing board.

I’ve been sitting at the Roadhouse for over an hour discussing our college suite with Vanessa, Kelsey, and her cousin, Iggy, a self-proclaimed hipster. She says that anyone who has a bike with more than one gear and claims to be a hipster isn’t really a hipster.

Who knew?

When I sat down at their booth earlier, Kelsey’s mouth fell open and she glared at Vanessa. “Annie’s your roommate?”

“You didn’t tell her?” I blurted at Vanessa.

Vanessa looked back and forth between us. “I told you my roommate was coming to meet us, didn’t I?”

“You could’ve told me,” Kelsey replied, furrowing her eyebrows. “I have a say who lives in our suite.”

“I thought this could be good for all of us,” Vanessa said, biting her lip.

“How could living with
her
be good for me?” Kelsey hissed.

My face burned red. “Is this because I live in a trailer?”

Kelsey gave me her
what-the-F
look. “Of course it’s not. It’s because we’re not friends anymore, Annie.”

We
would
be
if
you
hadn’t ditched me for Vanessa and spread that rumor I dated Kyle even after you declared your love for him.

“Fine, whatever,” I said and got up to leave. Taking my chances with the random roommate lottery had to be better than this.

“I don’t want to live with a stranger, Kels,” Vanessa whined. “And my brother doesn’t want me to either. He’d probably make me keep on living with our papa.”

Kelsey looked over at Iggy, who was busy making a house out of sugar packets. “Fine,” Kelsey said, and I slowly sat back down, wishing she’d never moved out of Oakdale. If she hadn’t, I never would’ve grown self-conscious and started turning down her invitations to spend the night. I wouldn’t have started pulling away from my friend. How would my life be different now if she’d never moved?

An hour later, it’s like we’re participating in Middle East peace talks.

“I’m not bringing the bath mat,” Iggy argues. “I already said I’d bring the shower curtain. I have one with skulls on it.”

Kelsey, Vanessa, and I all pause to look at each other.

“I’ll get the bath mat,” Vanessa says.

“And I’ll get another shower curtain,” I say.

“Deal,” Kelsey says.

“Hey!” Iggy blurts. “I want my skulls!”

Kelsey makes a green checkmark on her color-coded chart that details all the stuff we need to buy for college. Kelsey is bringing everything with an orange checkmark next to it, which so far includes the coffee maker, a broom, and cleaning supplies. Vanessa is green and Iggy is blue. My color is purple. An assortment of Kelsey’s colored Sharpies is fanned across the table in a straight line.

“How did you get the name Iggy?” Vanessa asks, shoveling more cheese fries in her mouth.

Iggy peers at us through thick glasses and adjusts the leather bands circling her arms. “My parents named me in honor of the night I was conceived. They were at an Iggy Pop concert getting stoned and they did it in a bathroom. And here I am.”

Uh, okay.

Chewing, Vanessa stares at Iggy for a long moment. Kelsey ignores her cousin, seemingly used to such remarks. How in the world is the former head cheerleader of Hundred Oaks High stepcousins with Iggy the self-proclaimed hipster?

At least I’m sharing a bedroom with Vanessa at college.

“Can we get more cheese fries?” she asks me, gesturing at the empty white plate in front of us.

Anything to get away from this table. I jump to my feet and take my time walking over to the vestibule, where I find my manager, Stephanie.

She grins and I give her my
don’t-mess-with-me
face. “Can I have another order of cheese fries?”

“Hell, I’ll give you free New York strips if you want ’em. Your mom will be so happy to hear you’re hanging out with friends.”

I lift a shoulder. “We’re making plans for college is all. Nothing big.”

“I’ll get those fries right out to you,” she says, pushing me in the direction of our table. Damn. I’d been planning on loitering in the vestibule until the fries are ready. I slip back into the booth as Kelsey is checking her phone.

“I swear, that boy texts me for every little last thing.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Colton.”

“What did he want this time?” Vanessa asks.

“To let me know he’s awake from his nap.”

Vanessa looks at me out of the corner of her eye and gives me a sly grin. Huh. Does Colton have a thing for Kelsey? When she and her mom moved in with her new landscaper husband, Colton became her new next-door neighbor. They’ve been hanging out for years, but I thought they were just friends.

Kelsey puts her phone away. “Who wants to bring the plunger?”

This goes on for a while longer until Stephanie appears with the cheese fries and some potato skins. Vanessa grins widely, and I wonder where she’s putting all this food. She’s as thin as one of these fries.

Vanessa pops one in her mouth and dusts the salt from her fingers. “We need to discuss suite rules.”

“Like whether or not we’re allowed to cook fish?” Iggy asks.

“Fish?” Vanessa says, crinkling her nose.

“I know from my job at the library that some people
are
not
okay
when you cook fish in the microwave. It has a certain odor,” Iggy explains.

“O-kayyy,” Vanessa says. “No, I was not talking about fish, but we can definitely add that to our list of things
not
to
do
in the suite.”

Kelsey turns to a new section in her leather planner and writes “Rules of the Suite” in red Sharpie at the top. “I’ll record the rules and email them to everyone for your reference.”

Vanessa leans over and whispers in my ear, “This is why I asked you to share a room.”

“Agreed,” I say.

“I was actually talking about having ‘significant others’ stay overnight in our suite,” Vanessa says. “We need to work out some ground rules.”

“I’m not even at college yet and I’m already being sexiled,” I mutter.

“I say that none of us can have a guy spend the night more than twice a week,” Kelsey says.

“But what if Rory comes to stay on a three-day weekend?” Vanessa asks. “He’s going to college two hours away!”

“You’ll have to decide which two nights matter more,” Kelsey replies.

“You can always pitch a tent in the woods and sleep outside with your boyfriend,” Iggy says. “I have one you can borrow, but it might have a slightly fishy smell.”

Vanessa points at Kelsey with a cheese fry. “Only two nights? You need to get laid, my friend.”

Kelsey points at Vanessa with a green Sharpie. “I’m in a guy drought. You know that.”

Vanessa mutters to me, “Maybe she wouldn’t be in a guy drought if she’d just jump Colton already.”

“I have a great guy I can introduce you to,” Iggy tells Kelsey. “His name is Chevy Ernesto and he publishes his own newspaper,
The
Nashville
Newsmonger
. He sells it every day outside Food Lion.”

My mouth falls open. Kelsey ignores her cousin and focuses on punching numbers into her planner’s built-in calculator.

“I say we make up a signal to let each other know if we have a guy in our bedroom,” Vanessa says. “We can tie something to the doorknob, like a necktie or a jump rope.”

“What if someone steals the jump rope and we walk in on something we don’t want to see?” Iggy asks, pushing the glasses up on her nose.

“Who would steal the jump rope?” I ask.

“Anti-hipsters.”

Vanessa and I are now shaking our heads at each other.

“Is there anything else we’re missing from our supply list?” Kelsey asks, dragging a pen down a sheet of paper. “If not, I’ll email a copy of the list to everyone for your reference—”

I start laughing and find I can’t stop, like when Vanessa and Savannah giggled about that Justin Bieber cookie for ages.

It feels good.