Addy's Race (9 page)
“No!”
“Addy, please don’t use that voice with me.”
“It’s the only voice I have.”
My mother shook her head. “If you don’t want to talk to people about your hearing loss, why does it bother you if Sierra does?”
“I just told you, because she thinks she’s better than everybody.”
“Or maybe she thinks she has something to offer by sharing her experiences,” my mother said. “And so do you.”
“I don’t
want
to talk about my hearing aids at a conference!” I was using that voice again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled.” I looked at the clock. “It’s seven thirty. Can you call the audiologist now? Please?”
By the time I got to school, late, after leaving my broken hearing aids at the audiology clinic, everyone was working on reading responses. Lucy looked up and smiled. Sierra stared and went back to her paper. I wondered if she noticed I was wearing different hearing aids. The loaner pair from the audiologist was blue.
But during science, she didn’t say anything, even when I pushed my hair behind my ears the way she did when she wanted people to look at her implant. She was so busy with her sketchpad she barely paid attention when I told her I had an idea for the mobile. She just pointed to her pad and said, “We’ll use aluminum pie plates, toilet paper rolls and empty spools from thread, and the frame can be made of—”
“I have an idea,” I said more loudly.
“Mine is better,” she said. “Look, I’ve already drawn it. You don’t have to do anything.”
She sounded like my mother, except my mother had been trying to be funny. “We’re supposed to be partners. Like Mrs. Shewchuk said? We’re supposed to collaborate.”
Sierra sighed loudly. “Okay, what’s your idea?”
I had given up on tuna cans. I would never tell Sierra, but she was right, they were smelly. Also hard to cut. I had a new idea. “Hearing-aid batteries. They’re shiny. They look like little dots, the way stars do when you look up at them.”
“I know what hearing-aid batteries look like,” she said in a voice that made it obvious she thought I was stupid. “I use them.”
She did? What size? In what part of her implant? And did hers die faster when it was cold, the way mine did? But I didn’t ask. She wasn’t my friend. I didn’t care about her batteries, except for how we could use them for our project.
“I have a bag of dead ones at home,” I said. “I’ll bring them. You can bring yours.”
“Mine are really big,” she said, as if that made hers better.
“Fine,” I said. “Mine are small. Variety is good. It will make the mobile more interesting.”
The Rundle Park race was that afternoon. My mother was busy, so Lucy’s mother drove us. Unlike my mother, Joanne didn’t listen to the radio in the car. She gave advice.
“My first coach always said the best thing to do before a race is get angry,” she said cheerfully. “The angrier you are, the more adrenaline your body makes, and the more adrenaline your body makes, the faster you go.”
In that case, Stephanie and Emma were going to be extra fast. They had been acting weird at school, and by the time we got to the walk-through with Miss Fielding, they were fighting. I couldn’t tell why, but it was funny watching them snap at each other. They looked even madder at the starting line, when they had to stand in the fourth row with the rest of us because the first three rows were so crowded.
“They have so much angry adrenaline they might win,” I warned Lucy. “So you know what we have to do?”
“Hold onto their ponytails when the gun goes off?”
“Not give up!”
And Lucy didn’t—at least not at first. I talked the whole time, to distract her. After a while I realized I’d been so busy talking and making sure she was okay that I had forgotten about Stem. I knew they were ahead, but how far?
“Have you seen them?” I asked Lucy as we approached another hill. “You don’t have to talk. Just nod or shake your head.”
Instead, she stopped. “I think I saw them up ahead, but I’m not sure.”
“Come on, Lucy.” I reached for her hand, but she didn’t budge.
“I need to rest. You go. Hurry—everyone’s passing you.”
The girls who had been behind us ran by. I was glad Stem couldn’t see.
“I don’t want you to run alone,” I said. “Come on, you can do it.”
“I can’t.” Was she going to cry? “I’ll start again soon, but you keep going. I know you can.”
What if I left her and she didn’t finish? She could end up still on the course when the boys’ race started. Stem would be awful to her, and then she’d hate running even more. I had to stay.
“We don’t have to both come in last,” she said. “You’re better than I am. You’re better than they are. Go! Now. Or I won’t be your friend anymore.”
I didn’t believe her. The girls passing us looked over their shoulders at us.
Lucy pushed me. “I’ll see you at the finish. Just go.”
So I went. When I looked back, just before I got to the top of the hill, Lucy was still walking. She did something with her arms. It wasn’t quite a wave—she was telling me to keep going. I caught up to the girls who had seen her yell at me. I could tell they were staring at me as I passed, but I forced myself to look straight ahead.
I wished I knew how much longer the race was. I passed another girl, and then another. They were running alone, like me, red and miserable. I wondered if they had left their best friends behind.
Then, far ahead, in a clump of girls, I saw Stem. I recognized their ponytails. Could I reach them? Could I beat them? I sped up again, but it was as if they knew I was coming, and they ran faster.
I couldn’t go any harder—a cramp was forming in my side. I rubbed my fist against it, but it didn’t help. The more I tried not to think about it, the more it hurt. I passed four girls running side by side. I looked behind me. There was no sign of Lucy, but when I faced front again, I realized the race was nearly over.
Parents and kids lined the course and clustered around the finish line. People were yelling, but I couldn’t hear clearly. All I wanted to do was to pass Stem, but it was too late. I could see them, handing their numbers in at the officials’ desk.
“Addy! Where’s Lucy?” It was Joanne, looking worried.
“Still running. I wanted to stay with her, but she made me keep going. As soon as I get my ribbon, I’ll go find her.”
That seemed to make Joanne happier.
I was almost at the front of the line when Stephanie and Emma came around the other side of the rope fence and stood beside Joanne.
“We finished thirty-ninth and fortieth!” Stephanie announced proudly. Of course they had. That meant I was probably eightieth or ninetieth. But then the woman at the timing desk took my nametag with my number and stuck it on the space marked
65
.
Twenty-five places behind Stem! I couldn’t stop smiling.
“How did you do?” Joanne asked when I came out of the chute.
“Sixty-fifth,” I said.
“That’s terrific!” She turned to Stem. “Isn’t that great, girls?”
Stephanie and Emma looked as if someone had forced them to drink lemon juice.
“You did great too,” I said, which made them look even madder.
I didn’t have to go far to find Lucy. She was already lined up for her ribbon, panting and wiping her forehead with her shirt.
Joanne, who had followed me, reached over the rope fence to hug her.
“I’m all sweaty, Mom,” Lucy said, but Joanne didn’t care. I’d never seen her so happy. The line moved ahead and Lucy went with it. We lost sight of her, but Joanne couldn’t stop saying, “I knew you could do it!”
The next time we saw Lucy, she had her ribbon. “Here,” she said, putting it into her mother’s hand. “I finished one hundred fourteenth. I quit.”
“What do you mean, you quit?” Joanne said. “You just said you finished one hundred fourteenth.”
“I didn’t mean in the race. I mean now. I quit running club. I hate it. I hate running. And all I do is slow Addy down.”
I couldn’t believe she was talking to her mother that way and quitting in front of Stephanie and Emma, who looked embarrassed. Maybe they were afraid Lucy was going to say they were the other reason she hated running club.
“Addy doesn’t mind,” Lucy said.
Doesn’t mind what? I should have been paying attention.
“She’ll have to run by herself,” Joanne said. “Do you think that’s fair?”
I didn’t give Lucy a chance to answer. “It’s okay,” I said. “Lucy’s right. I don’t mind.” Actually I did,
kind
of, but there were only a couple of races and a few more weeks of practice left.
“She’ll do better without me anyway,” Lucy said. She looked at Stephanie and Emma. They looked surprised, but I think it was because Stephanie’s father had just showed up to drive them home. Usually it was her mother.
Once they were gone, Joanne said, “We’re not done discussing this yet. We’ll talk more at home.”
“Okay,” Lucy said, but from the way she said it, I had a feeling that for the first time Joanne might not get what she wanted.
That night I dreamed I lost my hearing aids and forgot my runners the morning of the next race. I was late to the starting line and couldn’t hear the starting gun. I had to run barefoot. All the other girls were wearing platform shoes. I had to hop around to avoid having my feet crushed. I woke up before the race ended.
Mom took me to the audiologist before school. My hearing aids were fixed. At least that part of the dream wouldn’t come true. But the audiology clinic was so crowded, I didn’t get to school until recess. Lucy was hanging out by the monkey bars.
“Guess who has to take swimming lessons?” she said.
“But you know how to swim.”
“My mother said if I quit running club, I have to do something.”
“Maybe you should come back.”
Lucy shook her head. “I like swimming. Maybe we can take lessons together!”
“I have to take private,” I reminded her. My mother doesn’t believe I can hear the teacher without my hearing aids.
“We can take private lessons together,” she said. “Anything is better than running. But I’ll come watch you race. I want to be there when you beat Stephanie and Emma!”
“Don’t say that!”
“Why? They didn’t hear.”
“You’ll jinx it,” I said.
