All Pepped Up (Pepper Jones) (9 page)

He talks about her occasionally.
She got a job waitressing at a French restaurant in town, and she’s still staying with an old friend of hers from college. Last week, I saw her sitting in the stands with another woman at Jace’s first baseball game of the season. I was running past with my teammates and she didn’t notice me.

I skipped our first
couple of track meets, telling Coach I wasn’t ready to start racing again yet. He’s never wanted to push me, but I feel guilty taking advantage of his approach like this. I know I need to get out there again.

I’m in decent shape, as far as I can tell from my workouts with the team. But
I’m better at cross than track. Cross country races are longer than track races – and include hills, rocks, and mud. It’s just a different style of racing that I’ve always been more suited for. I can win cross races with ease, but it’s always a battle to the finish on the track. And the longer I wait to race, the more the buildup. People are talking about what records I’ll break, and who might give me competition. Expectations are building. And I’m trying to ignore all of it.

But today I’m racing for the first time. It’s the Rocky Mountain Relays – my favorite
track meet. There are no individual races, so I won’t be scrutinized as closely. We’re trying to qualify for State in the 4 x 800 and the DMR (distance medley relay).

We’re in the final heat
for the 4 x 800, which means we’re seeded amongst the fastest relay teams. Brockton Public won the team state cross country title, but we aren’t quite as competitive on the track. In cross, everyone runs the same race, and only a handful of team members can score points. With track, there are tons of different events – sprints, pole vaulting, javelin, long jump. We have strong distance runners, but we only score a small portion of the overall points in a track competition.

Jenny
leads the relay, setting us off in third place. Claire slips us back to fourth, and as Zoe comes around the corner, it looks like we’re back in third. Not that place really matters too much so early in the season, although it’s always nice to win. And a win at the Rocky Mountain Relays is pretty cool.

There’s a roar from the crowd as the anchor
for the first place team takes the baton, with second place not far behind. I glance at the clock before moving to the inside lane. 7:32 insert time.

The qualify
ing standard for State is 9:52. That leaves me with 2 minutes and twenty seconds. Seventy seconds for each lap.

I start to jog while
reaching back for Zoe to hand off the baton. When I feel the metal hit my palm, I grasp it in my hand. And take off.

Two laps around the track –
half a mile – is the shortest distance I ever race. I think of it as a controlled sprint. I’m running hard –
almost
a sprint – but holding back just enough that I don’t collapse after one lap.

As I come around the turn to the straightaway after the first lap, I catch the anc
hor for the second place team. Coach calls out my split – 66 – when I pass through at one lap. My lungs are already burning – the kind of burn I only feel when I’m running an 800.

I’m starting to lap runners from teams that are farther behind, and
with all the other runners I can’t quite make out how far ahead the girl in first place is. She’s from Denver West – the team that’s won the state track title for the past two years – and I look for their gold and black jersey.

I pass three more runners who are only on their first lap of the anchor before I see the Denver West uniform. The runner is tiny, but her legs are moving fast. The noise from the crowd picks up when she passes the
600-meter mark and I’m right behind her. I don’t even listen to my split, forgetting that the main point of this race is to hit the qualifying standard. When there’s a close race like this, I just want to win. It’s instinct.

The fun thing about track is you just never know what might be up the competition’s sleeve. In cross, you run with someone for a
while, and you can get a sense for how tired they are. On the track, someone might look like they’ve got nothing left, and then they bust out with a final sprint in the last ten meters.

This girl is
still going strong as I sidle up to her into the last straightaway. She could have no kick in her at all, or leave me in the dust. All I can do is crank it up a notch and hope it’s enough.

My lungs are on fire but I pump my arms and reach deep for another surge of energy. I start to move ahead of her and she responds with a surge of her own. But I don’t let up, and she doesn’t have enough speed to drop me. I give it one la
st push and leave her behind as I cross through the finish.

My teammates pat me on the back, ensuring that we hit the qualifying standard. It’s nice to get that out of the way early on. But there’s nothing that compares to winning a race. It feels good to be back in the game.

The DMR is the last race of the day, and we
qualify for State with time to spare. Unfortunately, I don’t pull through for the win, and we take third. After the exhilarating win in the 4 x 800, I got it in my head that maybe I
can
live up to people’s expectations. But when I only passed one other team in the DMR, I knew I’d let everyone down.

What happened between the two races today to make it so I did well
in one and not so great in the other? That’s the million-dollar question. I have no idea why I raced inconsistently and that’s what leaves me so upset. Was it the announcer calling me “the Brockton High Phenomenon” that freaked me out? Or was I just tired from racing earlier? Maybe it’s because I’m on my period. Who knows?

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Zoe tells me
as we get on the bus for the ride home. “You still ran a faster split than I’ll ever run.”

I swallow. That’s the last thing anyone wants to hear when they have a bad race. It makes me feel even worse because I come off as a jerk for being bummed about the race in the first place. But every track runner knows it’s not really about how you compare to others. We’re disappointed when we don’t reach our potential. And all of our potentials are different. I know what mine is. And I didn’t reach it today.

Or did I? I don’t know what my potential is anymore. Is it what other people are saying about me? That I’m unbeatable? Unstoppable? No. That’s not true. I’m just a normal girl who’s got some talent. I may already have peaked out.

I sigh and listen to the others talk about their Saturday night plans. Jace texted me that he’s going to the Rockies game with his dad and Wes after his baseball game. The three of them hang out a lot together these days. I’m happy that Wes is getting some time with the dad he never had, but I feel a little left out.

Zoe and Charl
ie are going on a date. Rollie invited people over to his house for pizza but I’m not really in the mood to hang out with my running buddies at the moment. I know they mean well, but I’m tired of deflecting questions about racing and listening to everyone’s expectations for me.

My phone rings and I see it
’s Gran. Maybe she’ll be in the mood to lay low and watch a movie with me when she gets back from Royal Feathers – a casino a couple of hours from Brockton.

“Hi
, baby girl! How was the meet?”

“It was okay. What’s up? You win big?” Gran never wins big because she only plays the slot machines. But I always ask.

“Fifty big ones! And Lulu won a hundred so she’s taking me out to dinner. You’ll be okay scrounging for dinner, right? We had a few too many cocktails so we’re going to spend the night.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem, Gran.”

Zoe nudges me in the ribs when I hang up the phone. “What did Buns have to say? You look bummed.”

“She’ll be out tonight, so it’s too bad Jace is hanging out with his Dad. That’s all.”

Zoe wiggles her eyebrows. “Ah… missing an opportunity to have the house to yourself. Yup. Bummer indeed.” She smacks her lips. I know her alone-time opportunities with Charlie are limited, and she hasn’t spilled too many of the details. She has four younger brothers and sisters, and an over-protective father. As far as I know, Zoe’s still in the V club with me.

After a hot bath, I slip on cozy sweatpants and search the cupboards for something to eat for dinner. Even though Dave is by my side as I wait for water to boil for mac and cheese, I can’t help but feel lonely.

I’ve never dwelled on my family situation much before. My parents died before I was old enough to have memories of them. It usually doesn’t make me feel sad, because I was too young to experience the sense of loss that normally goes with parents dying. It’s been just me and Gran for as long as I can remember. And Wes and Jace, who also had incomplete families. Sure, Wes had both his parents, but we all understood even as kids that they weren’t like normal parents.

We spent a lot of time at Wesley’s house growing up because he had the pool, the trampoline, and all the other fun stuff that go
es with being wealthy. But I only ever met Mr. Jamison a couple of times. He was always away for work. Mrs. Jamison was supposedly around, but we rarely saw her. She had a busy social agenda, from what I remember. She didn’t work, but was always off at a luncheon or some event at the country club. Wesley grew up with nannies taking care of him.

Jace had Jim, who can best be described as “the cool dad”
. Jim took us to do fun stuff, and wasn’t much of a disciplinarian. We ate sloppy joes or hot dogs for dinner when he was in charge. There has always been a noticeable lack of maternal influence in the Wilder household.

So it never felt incomplete having Gran as my only parent. Between Wes, Jace and Jim, it was like having a complete family. And now that Wes is back in our lives, shouldn’t I be feeling that sense of completeness again?

As I mix noodles and cheese together in a pot, my self-pity shifts to anger. If we were supposed to be each other’s family, how could they just decide to break apart while leaving me in the dark? I was miserable the year that Jace and Wes started high school. My best friends went off to high school while I was stuck in the eighth grade. I hadn’t discovered running yet, and the girls who befriended me – Tina Anderson and Dana Foster – were social climbers who were just using me to get to Wes and Jace. But most of all, I’d lost one of my closest friends and I had no idea what had broken apart what I had once thought of as my family.

Why didn’t Wes fight to stay
my
friend at least, even if he and Jace weren’t? Why didn’t Jace explain to me what was going on instead of blocking me out? His popularity at Brockton Public meant he had less and less time to hang out with me. He hadn’t written me off like Wes had, but lonely Saturday nights became a regular occurrence. The boys no longer came over in their pajamas for movie night. And to top it off, Jim and Gran knew what was going on but neither of them filled me in.

Sighing, I take a bite of mac and cheese and flick a few noodle
s on the floor for Dave.

The quiet apartment on a Saturday night reminds me of all those times in the
eighth grade, when I felt rejected and didn’t know why.  Freshman year, I discovered running and made new friends with my teammates, and the pain of losing our imperfect happy family gradually lessened.

But the wound got ripped back open from time to time. I remember working at the Tavern one summer night after freshman year. Jace was at a table with a bunch of guys on the football team, and I was bussing tables. When Wesley walked in with his parents, my eyes darted to Jace, who was glaring at the Jamison family in anger. Wes passed me on his way to the table but didn’t acknowledge me. It broke my heart all over again. Jace never stopped glaring their way, and eventually he stormed out of the restaurant without saying goodbye. By that point, I’d stopped asking questions.

Now, a fresh wound had been inflicted. That Jace and Wes were brothers explained some of the reasoning for the hurt I went through years ago, but it also makes me feel pushed aside all over again.

A knock on the door startles me from my thoughts. Ryan Harding is the last person I expect to see when I open it.
Freshly showered, and wearing dark-wash jeans and a UC hoodie. With his dimpled smile, it’s no wonder I fell for him when he moved to Brockton at the beginning of the school year. Despite years of feelings developed for Jace, Ryan managed to find a special place in my heart.

“Hi, Pepper.”

“Hi.” Heat rises to my cheeks when I remember that I haven’t really spoken with him since he saw me collapse on the trail a couple of months ago.  Sure, I see him at practice and at school on the time.  But it’s hard to know how to act around an ex-boyfriend, especially one I still care about so much.

“I was wondering if we could maybe talk?” he asks, almost shyly.

“Sure.” I open the door wider. “Want some mac and cheese?” I offer, before taking another bite from the bowl still in my hands.

“I’m good.” Ryan pats Dave before settling on a kitchen stool. It’s been months since he’s been at my apartment, and it’s weird having him here now that we’re both dating other people.