Addy's Race (7 page)

Sierra and Mr. Angelo looked confused. “Maybe people get deported all the time,” I said. “So how come this story”—I pointed to the photocopy on my desk—“was in the paper?”

“That’s a good question,” Mr. Angelo said. “Why does anything get into the newspaper? What makes something newsworthy? That’s a good current events topic.”

And just like that he changed the subject. I could have done a better job leading the discussion. But apparently the rest of the class had short attention spans too.

Sierra raised her hand again. “I don’t think there was an article about Memmy,” she said, looking at me. “You’re right—probably people get deported all the time. But maybe not whole families. If something is unusual, it’s newsworthy.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear so everyone could see her implant. “When I got my implant, I lived in Nanaimo. I was the first kid there to have one, so the newspaper wrote an article about me.”

Nobody had ever written an article about me. I wondered if Sierra had made up the thing about the deported nanny to work something into the discussion about her implant.

“What was it like to get that kind of attention, Sierra?” Mr. Angelo asked.

“It was neat, but a little embarrassing.” Her voice got quiet. “Whenever I was out after that, people stared at me. I wasn’t sure if it was because they’d seen my picture, or because they’d never seen an implant. My mom said if people stared, it was because they were curious, so I should tell them about it. Sometimes I go to conferences and talk about my implant.”

Sometimes I go to conferences and talk about my
implant.
I looked at Lucy so we could make she-is-so-full-of-herself faces, but Lucy was paying attention. To Sierra.

“I was on the news in Victoria when I was seven because I won a chess tournament,” Henry said. “It was newsworthy because before I won, only teenagers and old people had won.”

“When I was in grade two, I won the district spelling bee and got my picture in the paper,” Tyler said.

And that’s how the rest of current events went, from talking about immigration and deportation to everyone taking turns bragging about when they had been on tv or in the newspaper or invited to speak at conferences.

I had never done any of that. I spent the discussion doodling in the margins of my scribbler.

At the end of the day when Sierra and I picked up our fms, Mr. Angelo gushed over Sierra’s boom mic. “I wanted to be a disc jockey when I was a kid,” he said to her. “I kind of felt like one today. What a cool thing.”

“It’s really expensive,” she said. “It’s probably more expensive than what a dj uses. It’s the best technology there is.”

I reached for my transmitter. It looked almost exactly like Sierra’s, the same shape as a fish stick and about as big, but Mr. Angelo didn’t notice. He was too busy being impressed with Sierra’s boom mic, even though the only reason she had an extra mic was because the one in the transmitter wasn’t powerful enough for her rotten hearing. What was so impressive about that?

Chapter 10

“I think he is the worst substitute we’ve ever had,” I announced to Lucy on the way home.

“Uh-uh,” she said. “Don’t you remember the one in grade three who yelled and jumped on her desk when she saw a wasp on the window? And it was on the
outside
.”

“Oh, yeah! Mrs. Finchley!” I remembered because her name sounded like a bird, and she had practically flown onto her desk. “But she wasn’t bad, just weird.”

That’s when Stephanie and Emma appeared on either side of us, like police officers surrounding their suspects. “Hanging around with the cheater?” Emma said.

“She’s not a cheater,” Lucy said. “She’s faster than you.”

“What are they even doing here?” I asked. “Don’t they have to train with the best running club in Edmonton
?
”

“We can hear you, Addy,” Stephanie said. “We’re not deaf.”

“Neither am I,” I said. “And I’m not a cheater. I could beat you anytime.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wondered where they had come from and why I had said them.

Emma thought I was challenging her. “Let’s go,” she said. “Now!” She took off, her backpack bumping on her back, her ponytail swinging. Stephanie was at her heels.

Lucy and I watched, shaking our heads. When they turned around—probably to see how far ahead of me they were and gloat—I waved. That’s when they came back toward us, angry and yelling.

“What are they squawking about?” I asked Lucy.

“Stephanie called you a chicken, and Emma said you couldn’t beat them if their legs were tied together.”

“There’s an idea,” I said. “Maybe we ought to tie their legs together. And stuff socks in their mouths so they can’t talk.”

“Too scared to race?” Stephanie called out as she got closer. She was so loud that some moms and kids on the other side of the street turned to see what was going on.

“Give me your backpack,” Lucy said.

“Huh?”

“Give me your backpack. When they get back here, say, ‘ready, set, go,’ and take off and show them how fast you are. You’ll beat them because you’ll have the head start.”

“I don’t need a head start,” I said. “I’m not going to race them.”

“Why not? Just show them you’re faster and they’ll leave us alone.”

“I don’t feel like it,” I said. “Besides, my backpack is too heavy for you. You’re still on crutches.”

“Come on, Addy.”

“No,” I said.

Stephanie and Emma were just a few steps away. They had heard everything.

“Afraid to lose?” Emma said, her nose suddenly so close to mine I could bite it.

I pushed past her, and she stumbled.

“Hey, watch what you’re doing!” Stephanie said.

I switched off my hearing aids before I could hear another word. I walked as quickly as I could. I didn’t care that Lucy couldn’t keep up.

When I felt something pushing into my back, I turned and flipped on my hearing aids. Lucy pulled the end of her crutch away and stuck it back onto the sidewalk. Stephanie and Emma had crossed the street. Finally. We were rid of them.

“You walk pretty fast for someone with a sprained ankle,” I said.

She poked at her ankle with a crutch. “It’s not really sprained anymore. But don’t tell.”

“When did it stop hurting?”

“A couple of days ago.”

“You could have done the run!”

“Not really,” she said. “I mean, it’s not that good. And I’m still really slow.”

“So? It would have been better if you’d run with me. It was scary alone.”

“You weren’t alone! There were almost two hundred people in that race!”

“But none of them was my friend.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to keep up,” she said.

“I could have gone slowly. I’d rather run with you than alone.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “I just thought of something! A way for you not to have to run alone!”

“Yeah,” I said. “You run with me.
I
just thought of that, remember?”

“No, something better!” I hadn’t seen her this excited since we got free popsicles on Whyte Avenue in August. “Your fm. I can hold it and talk to you while you’re running. I can keep you company and not have to torture myself!”

I shook my head. “Yeah. You’ll be torturing me instead. You know I hate having a voice in my head.”

Lucy looked hurt.

“Anyone’s voice. Not just yours.”

“But I’m your friend!”

“I like hearing your voice through the air. Only crazy people hear voices in their heads. I’m not crazy. But I will be if I use the fm all the time.”

“Okay,” she said glumly. “I just thought it was a good idea.”

“A good idea is for you to run with me. Or walk. You just said your ankle doesn’t hurt anymore. If you don’t come to running club tomorrow, I’m telling your mother.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Chapter 11

The next race was at Hawrelak Park, the biggest park in Edmonton. I hadn’t seen Lucy so scared since her mother took us to see
Avatar
during Christmas break in grade four. Joanne kept leaning over her popcorn and saying, “What are you so afraid of? It’s about nature!” And I was thinking, What’s so natural about people with blue faces and tails?

“Were there this many girls at the last race?” Lucy asked as she hopped from one foot to another in the starting line.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “But don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m stretching. My mother told me to. I think this is what she said to do.” She crouched like a cougar about to attack. “Or maybe not.” She went back to hopping. “You said we don’t have to run the whole way, right?”

She didn’t think she was nervous, but she sure was acting like it. Or maybe I was the nervous one.

“I think you’ve stretched enough.” I put my hand on her shoulder to hold her still. “You probably shouldn’t use up all your energy.”

“We can walk, right?”

“Yes!” I said for the gazillionth time.

She looked hurt. “You don’t have to yell.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

I didn’t think I’d be nervous. It was my second race. I knew what to expect. But I couldn’t help it. There were four rows of girls between us and the front line of starters. Even this far back, Stephanie and Emma stuck out like fake trees at a Christmas-tree farm. I wondered, if Lucy’s ankle was still hurt and she couldn’t run, would I have wanted to be up front with them?

“I’m glad you’re back here with me,” Lucy said. She hugged me. “I’m lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Grade six girls!” It must have been the man in the Adidas tracksuit, but I couldn’t see him because of all the girls in front of me.

“Who said that?” Lucy demanded.

“The starter guy.”

“The starter guy?”

“The ready-set-go guy,” I said. “The one with the gun.”

“The gun?”

“The starting gun! You were at the race last week— remember, at the very beginning, there was a gun?”

Lucy shook her head.

“Weren’t you listening?”

“I wasn’t running,” she said. “I didn’t have to listen.”

“Well, there was a starting gun then and there’s one now, and he’s about to pull the trigger.” Before I had a chance to turn off my hearing aids there was a
bang!
and everyone took off. It didn’t bother me nearly as much this time, but I wasn’t sure whether it was because I was expecting it or because I was too busy with Lucy. Everyone else took off. Not her. I had to pull on her arm or she would have been there when the boys lined up ten minutes later for their race. But once she was running, she was so quick she surprised herself
and
me.

“You’re doing great!” I said as we passed a bunch of girls from the row in front of us.

Maybe we could catch up to Stem and wave as we passed them. That would be fun—and it would make them mad. But we wouldn’t care, because we would be catching up to the faster girls and passing them too. We would get real ribbons, fourth or fifth place. Not first—we wouldn’t be that fast.

We were doing so much better than I had expected. Lucy was running hard and not running out of breath. Somewhere inside of her was an athlete just like her mother. But then she stumbled and stopped, and we had to walk and run the rest of the way. Mostly, though, we walked.

By the time we crossed the finish line, Lucy’s face was so hot I could have fried an egg on her chin and made toast on her forehead. I was barely sweating. Which made it doubly horrible when Stem came swaggering over and announced they had finished thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth.

“Guess you didn’t take any shortcuts this week, did you?” Stephanie said.

Emma snorted. “No, they took the long-cut.”

Kelsey and Miranda finished ninety-seventh and ninety-eighth. Emma and Stephanie stopped high-fiving each other long enough to congratulate them. Kelsey and Miranda weren’t used to Stem being friendly. They looked confused. Or maybe it was because Emma was still snorting.

“You sound like a pig,” I muttered.

Emma looked at us. “What?”

“I said, you sound like a pig when you laugh.”

“Well, at least I don’t run like one,” she snapped.

“Actually, you do,” I said. Then I grabbed Lucy’s hand and pulled her over to where our mothers were waiting.