Authors: Diana L. Sharples
Running Lean
Diana L. Sharples
Running Lean
[run·ning leen]
1. A term referring to a deficiency of fuel in the fuel-to-air ratio of an internal combustion engine.
2. A physical condition where not enough caloric fuel is present for optimal performance of the body.
3. A spiritual condition in which a believer relies on his human abilities only.
T
hat flag—folded in a triangle, framed in a box, and displayed on the mantle—drew Calvin’s eyes like an intruder in the room. He stalled halfway down the steps to the living room.
Michael’s flag.
Calvin stared. Not out of reverence for a fallen American hero. It just freakin’ hurt. Six months after they’d brought his brother’s body home in a casket, that star-spangled fabric could still smack Calvin in the chest like a fall off his motorcycle.
“Hey, move it. Some of us have to catch the bus, you know.” His younger sister, Lizzie, wedged herself between him and the wall. She bumped the helmet in his hand and broke the flag’s spell. Calvin thundered the rest of the way downstairs behind her.
“Get it together,” he muttered to himself. He could find a way to walk past that stupid flag without choking on a gob of grief.
While Lizzie escaped out the front door, Calvin followed the worn path in the shag carpet toward the kitchen. In a corner of the dining room, a computer sat on a desk barely big enough to hold it. Family photos faded in and out on the monitor. Calvin’s feet scuffed, shifted that way. No time to check his Facebook page again. He’d have to deal with a day without one of his girlfriend’s quirky poetic messages or funny good-morning images. He could do this thing.
Calvin grabbed his fleece-lined jacket off a hook by the door and headed out. The three-bay workshop in the back housed some farm equipment, a half-restored 1978 Ford Mustang covered in a dusty blue tarp, and Calvin’s Yamaha Enduro motorcycle, which was even older.
At least the tarp meant he didn’t have to look at Michael’s car.
The Yamaha started on the second kick. Not bad for a cold start! Calvin revved through the open workshop door and into the thin sunlight of a North Carolina morning. A little too cool to ride, perhaps, but he tasted spring and couldn’t wait. He charged down the gravel driveway and whipped past the departing school bus, showing off for the freshman girly girls who’d be clustered around his sister. He could imagine Lizzie’s scorn without seeing her face through the bus window.
Calvin pressed right, leaned deep, and hugged a curve, breezing over the tall, prickly grasses crowding the shoulder of Victory Church Road. The Yamaha’s
ring-ding
song echoed off the asphalt, and the wind battered the heat from Calvin’s face. Motion without a cage. And for the two miles between home and school, Calvin could feel free. At the stop sign at Old Bentley Road, he tickled the throttle in anticipation of the turn. A sleek red Camaro sped past, horn beeping a challenge.
Calvin hissed between his teeth. “Uh-uh. No way, dude.”
He angled around the corner and tailgated his friend Tyler’s car along the two-lane road. Stiles County’s version of rush hour meant there was just enough traffic to keep him from passing. At the entrance of South Stiles High School, car and bike waited to turn left. In his rearview mirror, Tyler flashed a big-toothed grin beneath a swoop of pampered blond hair.
Calvin revved his engine in answer.
A warning crackled in the back of his mind: detention, loss of parking privileges, Dad taking the bike away for reckless driving.
But every other impulse pushed against all that was sensible, safe, and dull. His conscience didn’t stand a chance.
He followed the Camaro into the parking lot. A wide speed bump spanned the width of both lanes ahead.
“Prepare to fail,” Calvin said inside his helmet.
As expected, Tyler slowed down. No way he’d bottom out his precious car on the hump. Calvin swerved left and cranked the throttle. He lifted from his seat and bounced down to load the rear shocks as his front tire hit the rise in the pavement. The bike’s engine raced as both wheels went airborne, sending a thrill through Calvin’s veins.
He nailed the jump, landed clean, and cut ahead of Tyler.
Calvin glided to an area of the parking lot claimed by the school’s few bikers. He pulled into a space beside a metallic black Kawasaki Ninja and stared at the 650 cc’s of pure adrenaline-packed ride.
Ooh, man. Someday, dude. Someday
.
He set his kickstand and swung his leg over the cracked Enduro seat then removed his helmet. No more time to fly.
“Cal!” Tyler called from two lanes away.
Calvin shrugged off one strap of his backpack as Tyler jogged between the parked cars to join him. Standing at the other side of the Yamaha, Tyler huffed, “Are you
trying
to get yourself killed? I almost hit you.”
“I knew what I was doing.” Calvin scrubbed a hand through his curly hair to get rid of any helmet head.
Tyler looked away and laughed. “Yeah, well, save the stunts for the motocross track. Besides, this old thing’ll be dropping bolts all over the asphalt if you keep beating it like that.”
“Hey, it’s not old, it’s
vintage
. And it’s the best dirt bike you’ll ever see.”
“I can hardly see it at all under the duct tape.” He flashed his perfect teeth. “You goin’ in? Or hanging out here with Stacey?”
“Uh …” Calvin scanned the parking lot for his girlfriend’s car.
No Facebook message. No little blue Honda Civic yet. Not right. “I dunno. She’s usually here before me.”
“Want to use my phone to call her?” Tyler reached for his back pocket.
Calvin pulled his lips into a crooked smirk. With seven—six—kids in the family, living on eighty acres that couldn’t produce enough to cover the bills, and Dad’s automotive business barely making it in the bad economy, a cell phone was another “someday” dream.
“Nah,” he answered. “She won’t answer if she’s driving. Detective Daddy’s orders. She drives safe.”
“What would she say about that stunt you just pulled?” Grinning, Tyler tipped his head toward the speed bump.
Calvin straightened his shoulders. “She’d applaud its perfect execution and my superior skill on two wheels.”
“Ha! Yeah, right. I’ll see ya later, bro.” Tyler backhanded Calvin’s arm and headed for the sidewalk, so cool, so happy with his smartphone and his new car, waving to a girl who called his name. A year ago he’d been a skinny geek with braces. This year, thanks to hours spent in a dentist’s chair and sweating in a weightlifting class, he was a budding rock star who barely knew what to do with his new groupies’ attentions.
Calvin drummed his fingers on his helmet and scanned the parking lot again. Stacey’s bright blue Civic would be easy to spot, but it wasn’t in the line of sports cars, beaters, and pickup trucks streaming up the driveway. Maybe she was sick and her mother made her stay in bed. Again. It happened way too often.
Helmet secured beneath his arm, Calvin trudged into the building. The never-changing scent of chicken nuggets and pine cleaner led him toward the cafeteria. He pumped six quarters into a vending machine for an energy drink. When he bent to retrieve the bottle from the dispensing tray, his helmet slipped. He juggled both bottle and helmet up to his chest.
“Stuffing your face again, farm boy?” a familiar, and despised, female voice crooned.
Calvin shut his eyes as he straightened. “Hey, Zoe.”
Skinny Zoe Bernetti stood five-foot-nothin’ and had a bite like a rabid fox. With her hair stick-straight and purple-streaked, and her handmade clothes cut at weird angles, she seemed to consider herself a fashion revolutionary, but one without a clear battle plan. Artsy, manic, and snarky, Zoe had somehow earned best friend status with Stacey, leaving Calvin to figure out ways to put up with her.
Another girl circled around Zoe, her pale hair glowing like a halo in the hallway lights. “She’s just teasing.” Stacey poked Zoe’s arm with a meticulously clean fingernail. “Be nice.”
Mystery solved. Stacey was late because Zoe was involved.
“I waited for y—” Calvin blinked. “Your hair!”
Not blonde anymore. Not soft and framing her face in those gentle waves he loved to touch. Stacey ran her fingers through stark white, thin hair with neon pink streaks in the front. “Zoe did it for me. Do you like it?”
Calvin choked out an answer. “Yeah. It’s … cool.”
Zoe sent him a warning frown. “You better like it. We worked on it for hours last night. No Kool-Aid. We used the professional stuff.”
“It’s awesome. Really.” He stepped between the two girls, keeping his back to Zoe. “Walk with me to my locker?”
“Of course.” Stacey bounced a fingertip against the divot in his chin. Her glittery lips spread in a smile, replacing the nagging questions with a tickling desire.
“I was thinking we could go to Oliver’s Burgers after school—”
“Oliver’s? Eww!” Zoe’s voice squeaked like rusty truck hinges.
Calvin scowled over his shoulder. Why couldn’t the pretender to the throne of punk take a hint and go away?
Stacey nudged pink hair away from her face. “Ooh, does it have to be that place? Mega-fat and carb central.”
“They have salads.”
“Their salads are gross.”
“Ice cream?” He leaned toward her until only inches, centimeters, separated their foreheads.
“Y’all aren’t gonna kiss, are you? Nasty. Someone should tell the principal.”
Calvin grunted and turned his eyes toward the ceiling.
Lord have mercy!
Pulling away, Stacey laughed at her friend. “Jealous?”
“Of you and Cherub-cheeks? Pah-leeze.”
Stacey’s mouth formed an
O
before she slapped a hand over it.
Calvin pivoted toward Zoe. “What? What did you call me?”
“Hey, that’s what she called you last night.” Zoe pointed at Stacey. “Said you remind her of a Renaissance painting. But I stuck up for you. I said, ‘Calvin Greenlee may have his faults, but cracked and faded? No way.’”
Ha, ha. Sadly clever
.
“Wow. Thanks for that. Really.” How long before the first period bell? Time to move.
Stacey sped up to keep up with Calvin’s elongated strides. “Don’t be mad. Please? She’s just joking around.”
Calvin sighed and slowed down. “Yeah, sure. Like always.” He tucked his drink bottle inside his helmet and slid a hand behind Stacey’s back, started to twist his fingers into her thick, fuzzy sweater.
She flinched.
What now? She didn’t want him to touch her? Because that gnat Zoe would poke fun?
Anger thrummed at the base of Calvin’s skull, but another pain tightened his chest. Eight months. The longest relationship he’d ever had with a girl. And now her new best friend would mess it all up? The whole thing was just stupid.
Stacey entwined cool fingers with his. “I’m sorry we were late. Zoe called me this morning, crying. Her mother’s boyfriend—”
“Guy’s a total scumbag,” Zoe grumbled behind them. “Yeah, Stace picked me up. Sorry for intruding on your make-out time.”
Calvin blinked. So he was supposed to switch off his anger and feel sorry for Zoe now? Would he be a jerk if he didn’t?
Stacey stroked his palm with her thumbnail, whiplashing his emotions to something far more pleasant.
They wove through the masses of students and entered the new wing of the building. The same mustard-yellow—aka gold—paint coated the cinderblock walls as in the older parts of the school, the same speckled tiles covered the floor, and the same beige metal lockers lined the walls. The red and black stripes along the ceiling—school colors—did little to keep the halls from inspiring naptime for the six hundred students.
Zoe strutted at Stacey’s other side, practically preening when another girl stopped them to gush over Stacey’s hair. The pink part was cute, but the white hair, next to Stacey’s already pale skin, made her look like a ghost. Make that a zombie, thanks to the greenish cast of the fluorescent lights.
He shouldn’t be surprised; Stacey applied her artistic flare to everything she touched. It was one of his favorite things about her. Calvin glanced down at Stacey’s shoes as he veered toward his locker. Yep, neon-pink laces in her spotless white Vans to match the new hair color. Maybe Stacey just wanted to look like the manga characters she sketched, all skinny and intense.
Calvin spun to the first digit of his locker combination, but zipped past the second as Zoe appeared in his peripheral vision. Making sure his body blocked her view, he twirled the dial and started over. Stacey joined them, leaning on a locker to his left. Calvin yanked the door open and imagined it swinging into Zoe’s pointy nose.
He angled his helmet to fit inside the locker. The drink bottle fell out and smacked the floor.
“I’ll get it.” Stacey bent forward. She wobbled. Her flailing hand snagged the loop of Calvin’s cargo denims, and he staggered to keep from losing his pants. Stacey sprawled onto the floor, her books fanning out across the tiles.
“Stace!” He dropped to his knees beside her.
Blurting a cuss word, Zoe hovered over them. Her knee banged into Calvin’s ribs, pushing him off balance. He elbowed Zoe aside and helped Stacey to her feet. She swayed in his grip and blinked rapidly, her face even whiter than before.
Calvin held her shoulder steady and smoothed her now messy hair. “What happened?”
“I … got dizzy.” She touched her fingertips to her glistening forehead.
“Are you okay? You hit the floor pretty hard.”
“Yeah.” She leaned against the lockers, her eyes downcast. “Probably, you know, a, um, female problem.”
Calvin winced.
A female problem?
He squatted to retrieve her books, and his fingers grazed one that had been kicked out of his reach. “Did you eat this morning? I get lightheaded if—”
“I’m fine!”
Her outburst rocked him back on his heels. “O … kay.”
Another student handed the last book to him. Calvin made a stack against his hip and moved toward Stacey, but Zoe was so close she could suck up the air between him and his girlfriend. She rubbed Stacey’s back and murmured over and over, “It’s all right. You’re okay.”
Calvin read
go away
in Zoe’s glance as clearly as if she’d posted an instant message in all caps. No way. He wasn’t the intruder here.
Color returned to Stacey’s cheeks then deepened into a blush. She laughed, looking around at people who’d stopped to gawk. “I’m
fine. I … lost a contact lens here last week and thought I’d look for it again.”