The Running Dream (31 page)

Leave it to Fiona to come up with something brilliant.

I look at her and smile. “Team Rosa—I love that idea!”

“We could do signs or flags … tall ones!” She’s thinking a mile a minute. “We could strap them to the wheelchair and—”

“Oh, nice,” I tell her. “Increase my wind resistance.”

She ignores me and my increased wind resistance. “Gavin, Mario, and I could toot horns, or shake clappers, or—”

“Oh. I’m going so slow you’ve got the energy to toot horns?”

She faces me. “You’re pushing a hundred pounds!”

I laugh, and say, “And you’re willing to wear silly shirts and toot horns and carry flags for ten miles?”

But what’s silly, really, is my question.

“I’m in,” she says, putting her hand out, palm down.

“Me too,” Mario says, putting his hand on top of hers.

“So am I,” Gavin says, piling on.

I add my hand to the stack, and Sherlock seals the deal with a happy “
Aaaroooo!
”

Team Rosa is official.

S
OMEONE CALLS
C
HANNEL 7
.

Marla Sumner calls me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?” she asks. “This is an amazing story!”

I agree to her doing a story, but I have one condition: “The focus needs to be on Rosa.”

Still. The process leaves me very uncomfortable. Marla starts out at Rosa’s house, but after the initial interview there, the news crew follows me everywhere. On a run with the wheelchair, driving to school with Fiona, in the weight room with football players, on the track with Kyro … the focus definitely does not feel like it’s on Rosa.

Finally, when Marla asks me, “What do you think about when you run?” I snap.

“Look,” I tell her, “this is not about me. I’m doing this for Rosa. And yeah, at first I just wanted her to experience a run—to cross a finish line and hear people cheering for her—because that’s something she wanted. But you know what? Her biggest wish isn’t to cross a finish line or have
people cheer for her. It’s to have people see
her
instead of her condition. That’s all anybody with a disability wants. Don’t sum up the person based on what you see, or what you don’t understand; get to know
them.
”

She packs up quickly after that, and I feel a little bad for having snapped, because I know she means well. But the truth is, I’m glad she’s gone.

Then Friday night when the story airs, I discover that Marla Sumner has put her own spin on things.

“Jessica Carlisle is back on two feet, and this time she’s running for a cause.”

My mom and dad look at me, and I give them a wide-eyed shrug.

“She’s not raising money,” Marla states. “She’s raising awareness.”

“I am?” I ask the televised Marla.

And then she launches into the story. They asked Rosa and me to mock up a tutoring session, and this is the footage Marla’s voice speaks over. “Rosa Brazzi was born with cerebral palsy, a condition caused by damage to the motor control centers of a developing brain. Similar to a stroke, cerebral palsy can occur during pregnancy, childbirth, or up to the age of about three, and although there is a broad range in how CP can affect a person, in Rosa’s case her motor functions have been hindered but her brain is as sharp as they come.”

The camera is on me now. “She’s a math genius!” I say with a laugh. “I would never have made it through algebra without her help!”

“And since one good turn deserves another,” Marla’s
voice is saying, “Jessica Carlisle wants to help Rosa do something she would never be able to do on her own—go for a run.”

“When Jessica runs me,” Rosa says, “I feel like I’m flying.”

Now there’s footage of Rosa in the running wheelchair as I push her down the block. “The goal,” Marla’s voice says, “is to cross the River Run finish line this November.” The shot swings around to behind us running, zeroing in on my right leg. “But for a young woman with a handicap of her own, pushing one hundred pounds along ten miles is not something that can be done on a whim.”

Now there’s a series of clips of me—running with the sandbags through Old Town, waving at the garbage collector as he calls my name, working in the weight room at school, and doing speed work on the track. All of it has Marla’s commentary over it.

Then she asks, “So what, in a nutshell, is the cause Jessica and Rosa are running for? Quite simply, it’s to have people see them, not their condition.”

And then there’s the footage of me saying, “That’s all anybody with a disability wants. Don’t sum up the person based on what you see, or what you don’t understand; get to know
them.
”

Then they switch back to the studio, where Marla and Kevin are behind the news desk.

“The River Run is in two short weeks,” Marla says, looking into the camera as she winds up the story. “We’ll be there live, and we hope you’ll join us in cheering for Rosa.”

“And Jessica!” Kevin adds.

Marla smiles. “They’re quite a team.”

After the TV’s clicked off, Mom stares at me.

Dad stares at me.

Kaylee, who’s been texting the whole time, says, “I thought you were crazy before, but I get it now.”

And I stare at
her
, because the funny thing is, that’s exactly how I feel.

I
KNOW WHERE THE GRAVEYARD IS
.

I can see the taller grave markers from one of the streets on the River Run route.

Sometimes if I’m concentrating on my form or my time, I don’t notice that I’ve run past it, but today I’m not thinking about those things.

I’m thinking about Lucy.

I turn off the main street and find the graveyard entrance. It’s Sunday mid-morning, and the air is still cool and crisp, but the bordering trees have left a carpet of leaves beneath them. Reds, browns, yellows … they give the grounds a warm, cozy look.

I park the wheelchair beside a tree and keep Sherlock at heel as we wander among the graves. It takes me some time, but I find her.

L
UCY
S
ANDERS

O
UR
A
NGEL

“Hi, Lucy,” I begin. “It’s me, Jessica.”

But I’ve never spoken to a grave before.

I don’t know what to say.

I don’t know how.

“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, but that’s as far as I get before I start crying. I feel bad that she’s gone. I feel overwhelmed. And I feel guilt.

Guilt that I’ve recovered.

Guilt that I’m happy.

Guilt that I ever thought she was the lucky one.

I can’t get the words out, so I just cry.

“Jessica?”

The voice startles me. It’s soft, female, and seems to be right in my ear.

But it’s not the ghost of Lucy, it’s a woman.

At first I think it’s someone who’s seen me on TV, and I want to snap, Leave me alone! Can’t you see I’m crying here? But then I realize that I do know her.

She’s more gray and frail, but I recognize her from last year’s track meets.

And she
is
carrying flowers.

“Mrs. Sanders?”

She gives me a warm smile. “It’s so nice of you to remember Lucy.”

“Oh, I’ll never forget Lucy,” I say, and a new flood of tears comes forward.

She wraps an arm around me. “Aren’t you sweet.” Then, after I’ve composed myself a little, she smiles again and says, “Your father has been very helpful.”

“He has?” I ask.

She nods. “We would never have had the strength to pursue a settlement without him.” She strokes my arm. “Your
situation is more complicated, I know, but it looks like we’ve reached an agreement. We’re thinking about setting up a scholarship fund in Lucy’s name—something like that.”

“Oh,” I say, nodding, “that would be nice.”

“Congratulations on your recovery,” she says. “I see you on the news a lot!”

“Thanks,” I say softly.

And after a few more pleasantries, I leave so she can deliver the flowers she’s brought and talk to her daughter in peace.

S
CHOOL SEEMS ALMOST EASY THIS YEAR
. Not having math helps, but I think that anything would feel easy compared to last year. There’s no work to make up—I just have to keep up.

Plus now that I’m walking on my new leg, people really do seem to forget that there’s something different about me.

I’m
still very aware of it, but other people treat me like I’m normal.

The big exception is Merryl.

I’m in two classes with her, and she always gives me the evil eye from afar. I try to ignore her, but it’s a little unnerving to have someone stare at you that hard for that long.

She’s on her third boyfriend since Gavin, so I don’t know what her problem is with me, but today she actually comes up to me.

“He’s only going out with you because he feels sorry for you,” she whispers as she invades my personal space on a classroom ramp. “You’re, like, his community service project.”

I’m stunned, and the truth is, her comments cut deep.

I have no zinger to fire back.

I just watch as she hurries away.

Later when I tell Fiona about it, she grabs me by the arm and says, “Do
not
even for a
second
believe that! She’s just shallow and insanely jealous. Not to mention cruel.”

I hear her words, but Merryl’s voice still echoes in my head.

Finally I break down and tell Gavin, who’s sweet and comforting and assures me that there’s absolutely no truth to it.

Still.

It’s disturbing how fast weeds take root in my garden of worthiness.

They’re so hard to pull.

And grow back so easily.

I
T’S
T
HURSDAY
, three days before the River Run.

According to Kyro’s workout schedule, I’m supposed to be “tapering”—doing easier, shorter runs—but I’m starting to panic. I just don’t feel ready.

After school Kyro sends the cross-country runners off through the back hills, so I stay on the track alone. “How are you feeling?” he asks me as I’m stretching out after some warm-up laps. “You ready for the big day?”