The Running Dream (26 page)

Fiona’s all excited. “We should go to the fabric store and pick out something really cool! You could do flames or flowers or just a solid, like hot pink!”

I’m holding still now, as Hank’s tweaking the adjustments of my top coupling. “But … I really just want a leg that looks like a leg. I don’t want flames or flowers, and I sure don’t want pink.”

Hank says, “Well, we can’t order your permanent leg until your residual limb is completely stabilized, so you have a couple of months to decide if you want a cosmetic cover or an exposed, artistic socket. Maybe consider it for your running leg?”

Suddenly flames seem like a really cool idea.

I grin at Fiona. “
That
I could get into.”

On our way out, Gavin holds doors open for me and makes sure I’m safely in the car before closing my door and getting in back.

“Well,” I say as Fiona’s driving out of the parking space, “thanks for taking me.” I turn to Gavin. “I hope it didn’t freak you out too much.”

“Not at all,” he says.

“So where am I dropping you?” Fiona asks, looking in her rearview mirror.

“Home, if you don’t mind,” Gavin replies.

“He’s just a few blocks past me,” I offer. I glance over the headrest. “I used to run by your house to get down to the river.”

“I’ve seen you,” he says. “You’ve got a cool dog.”

“Sherlock!” I laugh.

He laughs too. “And your cool dog has a cool name.”

Fiona drives to my house, and it’s strange—I’m laughing and joking with Gavin like we’ve been friends forever. And when we get to my house, I’m feeling flushed.

Happy.

I know he has a girlfriend, but he’s being really nice to me. Why
did
he want to go to Hankenstein’s?

It couldn’t just be scientific curiosity.

He gets out of the backseat while I maneuver out of the front, and he holds the door open for me.

“Thanks,” I tell him with a smile.

“Sure,” he says. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

Then I watch from the sidewalk as he gets into the front passenger seat.

And drives away with my best friend.

I
T HITS ME
like a ton of bricks.

Gavin wants to spend time with Fiona, not me.

Immediately, I start to make connections.

Who did Gavin help with the
WELCOME BACK JESSICA
sign in the Greek theater?

Who’s bound to have caught his eye while he was with Merryl at the high-jump pit?

Who did he cheer for up at Rigor Mortis Bend?

Who’s always there when he comes up to talk to me?

Who is caring and involved and a doer, just like him?

My beautiful, long-legged best friend, Fiona.

Over the weekend my thoughts grow darker.

And darker.

I feel like a total idiot.

What was I
thinking
?

How could I even have hoped that Gavin might actually like me?

How could I have fantasized, even for a minute, that things could be “normal”?

I also can’t help but fixate on the fact that while I’m hobbling around at home, Fiona’s at league finals
running
.

I was supposed to be there!

I was on track to
win
.

I try to think of good things, but somehow negative thoughts creep in. They take root so easily. Like pesky weeds in a delicate garden.

What I need is a run.

A good, hard run.

To clear my head.

To make me feel whole again.

Instead, I walk Sherlock to Rosa’s. She’s just back from a CP yoga class—something she says is part of her physical therapy program. I tell her it sounds like a lot more fun than mine.

It’s nice to visit with her; nice to laugh a little. But I’m restless and moody, and after about half an hour I leave.

“Cheer up,” she calls as I make my way to the sidewalk. “Your finish line is right around the corner.”

“Thanks,” I call back, and I think about that as I walk home.

Fiona calls late Sunday afternoon, and I make myself sound upbeat. “Hey! How’d it go? Did you place?”

“Nah,” she says. “I had kind of an off day. And we got second in league. Langston squeezed us out.”

She sounds very low-toned.

Very un-Fiona.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I tell her.

There’s a pause and then, “Listen, can I come over?”

“Sure!”

I can tell something’s wrong, but it isn’t until after she’s hung up that I realize what it must be.

I’m right about Gavin.

He’s fallen for my best friend.

In the fifteen minutes it takes for her to arrive, I remind myself what an amazing friend she’s been. I tell myself I’m happy for the two of them, and I promise myself that I will tell her he’s perfect for her, and that I’m so glad my tragedy has brought them together.

I reword that last bit in my mind, then cut it altogether.

When the doorbell rings, I usher her in and hug her and congratulate her on an amazing season and tell her I’m sorry she’s bummed.

“I don’t know if I’m actually bummed,” she says, following me inside.

“So what’s wrong, then?”

We settle in on the couch. She takes a deep breath, holds it, then lets it go. “How would you feel if I went to the prom?”

He asked her to the prom?

Not just to the movies?

To the
prom
?

And when did he break up with Merryl?

My heart tries to sink, but I yank it back up.

I can handle this. I’m ready for this. It’s okay.

“I’d be really happy for you!” I say with enthusiasm. Then, to save her the trauma of breaking it to me, I ask, “Did he ask after you dropped me off on Friday?”

“Did he …?” She gives me a confused look. “What?”

“Gavin. Did he ask you to the prom after you dropped me off on Friday?”

She looks horrified. “
Gavin?
”

“Fiona, he obviously likes you, and I think you’re perfect for each other.”

“Shut
up.
”

“I do!”

“He doesn’t like me! And he has a girlfriend! What are you, crazy?”

There’s a lump forming in my throat. I feel so … wrecked.

So emotionally wrung out.

She grabs my arm. “
Mario’s
the one who asked me to the prom.”

“Mario?” I ask, and my chin starts quivering.

“Mario,” she says back.

“But I thought …” I shake my head. “Why else would he have come along?”

She scoots in and gives me a hug. “You
are
worthy, okay? Quit telling yourself you’re not.”

All of a sudden I’m crying. “Thanks,” I whisper, and hug her tight.

M
ONDAY BRINGS SOME GOOD NEWS
—my first A on a test in Ms. Rucker’s class.

“Ninety-three!” Rosa squeals. “Congratulations!” She has her usual one hundred percent, but that doesn’t bother me a bit.

I earned a ninety-three!

“Thank you so,
so
much!”

I think Rosa’s as happy as I am about my grade. And I guess we’re being a bit exuberant, because Eric Hollander in one of the seats in front of us turns around and says, “You got A’s? Dude, I got a D.”

I snort. “I would have had an F if it wasn’t for Rosa.” I put my arm around her. “She’s an
amazing
tutor.”

He scratches his forehead. “I’ve been going to math lab twice a week, and this is what I get?”

“Forget math lab,” I tell him. “Go to Room 402 at lunchtime. Rosa’ll whip your grade into shape.”

He looks at her. “Really?”

“Any day.” She smiles. “I’m good.”

I laugh, because “I’m good” is just not something you’d expect from Rosa … but it’s so true.

He frowns at his paper. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

I can tell he’s in the place I was a month ago—he’s thinking that there’s got to be some other way to get help. That he’ll figure something else out. Something that doesn’t require dealing with a girl in a wheelchair.

So after math is over, I hurry to talk to him outside the classroom. “Hey, I know she’s hard to understand at first,” I say, keeping my voice down. “But that goes away. She’s really nice, she’s patient, and she’s great at explaining math. I’d be flunking without her.”

He nods. “Thanks.”

I can tell he’s still not convinced, so I call after him, “You can always take the course again next year!”

He turns and pulls a horrified face.

I laugh, “Exactly!” Then I call, “Room 402, lunchtime!”

As the week wears on, Gavin bumps in and out of my life. He’s nice. Friendly. I do see him with Merryl from time to time, but he also appears out of nowhere a lot. I try hard not to read anything into his presence, but it’s an effort.

I try to tell myself that I’m more than a legless girl, but that’s an effort too.

Then Thursday during lunch, I decide to stop by Room 402, and to my surprise Eric Hollander is inside getting tutored. I wave a quick hello, then slip out again feeling very … I don’t know … satisfied?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

During math, Rosa jots me a note:
He is so lost
.

I jot back:
You will save him!

She smiles at me, and later I see her read the note again, then slip it inside her pocket. I think about all the notes from her that I’ve kept, and I wonder if she knows that she’s helped me with much more than math.

It’s nice to think I’ve helped her, too. She
will
save Eric, and when she does, he’ll see her, not her condition.

I wish more people could.

F
RIDAY MORNING THERE’S A MESSAGE
from Kyro in the announcements, commanding all track members to report to his room at lunch to return uniforms and finalize banquet plans. But when Fiona and I arrive, we discover there’s a third item on the agenda:

Running-leg money.

After checks started coming in from the newspaper article, Kyro drew a fund-raiser thermometer on his whiteboard, only it’s not a thermometer—it’s a prosthetic running leg, with zero at the toe and $20,000 at the top of the socket. He’s been coloring in the leg with green marker, and anytime anyone wonders how the fund-raising’s coming along, all they have to do is look at the board.

Ever since the televised newscast I’ve been trying
not
to check, but now I can’t help but see that the leg is completely colored in.

Actually, it’s overflowing.

Kyro asks everyone to settle down, then announces, “This weekend’s car wash is hereby canceled, and those of you who
are still baking can stop already!” He points to the whiteboard. “Way to go, people. You did it!”

A loud cheer goes up, and then he continues. “I spoke with our anonymous donor this morning and she—”

“She?” I ask. I know it’s hopeless, because I’ve been nagging him about it since he announced that there was an anonymous donor, but I try one more time anyway. “I’d really like to thank her, Kyro. Can’t you
please
tell us?”

Kyro realizes he’s slipped up, but he shrugs it off with a wave of his hand. “I just eliminated half the population. That’s the best I can do. Now, as I was saying, our anonymous donor is still going to send a full ten thousand dollars, even though we’ve collected nearly fifteen thousand on our own.”