Ultra (6 page)

Kneecap looked over at the firepit. “No, he’s been talking to the old guy in the socks,” she said.

The Dirt Eater was standing on the scale, holding on to Bruce for support.

“He doesn’t look too good,” said Kneecap. “A hundred bucks says he won’t finish the race.”

“He probably won’t leave this rest stop,” I said.

A bead of sweat dripped off my forehead and landed on the wooden seat between my legs. I reached down and traced a figure eight in the tiny puddle. It dried almost instantly in the sun.

“Uh, Quinn … I’m sorry I said all that stuff,” said Kneecap. “Not exactly good timing, is it?”

I didn’t say anything.

“I only brought it up because I miss you, you know?”

For a while we didn’t say anything to each other. A purple butterfly fluttered around us and then landed on the middle knuckle of Kneecap’s right hand. I watched as it stretched out its wings.

“I better get going,” I said finally.

“But you just threw up.”

“I feel fine,” I said. “Everyone throws up in these races.”

I stood up. For a moment, the world went black, and tiny white comets flared past my eyes. When the world reappeared, I stumbled across the parking lot and made my way over to Bruce. The Dirt Eater was sitting in a camp chair, staring down the hill toward the lake.

“Seriously, didn’t you see it?” he was saying.

Bruce shook his head. “No. I didn’t.”

“What about you?” Dirt Eater said, turning to face me. “Did you see it?”

“See what?” I said.

“The school bus,” he said. “It just drove across the lake.”

I looked out at the lake. It was robin’s-egg blue.

“I don’t see anything,” I said.

“Wow!” the man shouted. “There it goes again!”

Bruce and I squinted at the lake. I saw whitecaps, green hills, but — surprise surprise — no school bus.

“Why don’t you lie down for a while, Ted,” Bruce said.

Dirt Eater scowled. “I don’t need to lie down,” he said.

Bruce shook his head. “Just for a while,” he said. “Just until we can get your blood sugar up a little bit.”

The Dirt Eater glared at Bruce, then threw his water bottle down the hill. “It’s this kid you ought to bench,” he muttered. “He’s way too young to be running this race.”

I said nothing. I hate it when people tell me I’m too young. Wayne Gretzky scored 300 goals when he was eleven. Annaleise Carr swam across Lake Ontario when she was fourteen. No one told
them
they were too young.

“Take it easy, Ted,” said Bruce. “This young boy is Tom Scheurmann’s son. He knows a thing or two about running.”

Dirt Eater grumbled and turned back to the lake.

Bruce leaned over to me. “Don’t worry about him,” he whispered. “He’s just going through a bad spell. Hallucinations.”

The trail demons, I thought. Dad told me they always turned up after 35 miles. We’d only run 22 so far. I guess Mr. Dirt Eater was in for a long day.

Just then, a silver hatchback pulled into the parking lot. The doors popped open and Mom and Ollie sprang out.

Mom was wearing a yellow sundress tied with a green cord. Ollie was holding a cardboard box. “It’s Speedy Quinnzales!” he shouted.

Mom walked over and gave me a hug. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Pretty good,” I said.

“You’ve got colour in your cheeks,” she said. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

“SPF 70,” I said.

“Good.” She turned to Bruce. “Has he been eating?”

Bruce shrugged. “I weighed him and he looks okay.”

Mom lifted the lid of the cardboard box. A dozen Nanaimo bars glistened in the sunshine. “What do you say to these?” she asked.

Nanaimo bars are usually my favourite. But not today. My stomach lurched.

“I’m not really hungry,” I said.

This threw Mom into high alert. She pressed her palm to my forehead. “What day is your birthday?” she asked.

“Mom,” I said, “I’m fine. Really.”

She wasn’t buying it. She was twirling her magic lasso of
truth. “What day is your birthday?” she repeated.

“August third,” I sighed.

“And where do you live?”

“135 Champlain Drive.”

Ollie grabbed a Nanaimo bar and folded it into his mouth. Mom was too busy asking me skill-testing questions to notice. What was the name of my first-grade teacher? My favourite colour? My Pinterest login?

Ollie gulped down the Nanaimo bar and interrupted. “You’ve got a suntan on your legs,” he said.

I looked down. “That’s not a tan, that’s dirt,” I said. I tried to scrape off the layer of crud but it stuck to me like sap.

“Did you visit the Shrine yet?” Ollie asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “It’s still seventy-five miles away.”

“Oh.”

He reached for another Nanaimo bar, but Mom zapped him with her laser-beam eyes. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand.

“It’s only ten-thirty,” Mom said, turning back to me. “You got here too quickly. You promised you’d take it easy, remember?”

“I
am
taking it easy,” I said.

“Not easy enough. You know what your father would say. Take it slow. Enjoy the scenery. Smell the flowers.”

I seriously doubted that my father would tell me to smell the flowers. More likely he’d just say, “Be the tortoise, not the hare.”

Bruce topped up my water bottle one last time and handed me a plastic bag full of salted yams. “Eat as many of these as you can,” he told me. He looked me in the eye and spoke
real quietly. “Seriously,” he said, “eat as many as you can.”

“What are they?” Ollie asked, squinching up his face.

“Sweet potatoes,” I said.

“Rocket fuel,” Bruce corrected.

I squeezed the bag into my fanny pack. “Time for me to get going,” I said.

Mom’s smile sagged. It looked like a laundry line in December. “But we only just got here,” she said.

“Now now,” said Bruce. “This isn’t a social visit. The kid’s running a race. And he’s right, he’s got to go.”

Mom knelt down to double-knot my shoelaces. “Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?” she asked.

“Yes,” I sighed.

“He shouldn’t even be running,” the Dirt Eater growled. “He’s way too young to be running this kind of distance.”

“That’s enough, Ted,” Bruce said.

Mom glanced over at the Dirt Eater.

“See you later!” I shouted.

“Wait!” said Ollie. “Don’t you want a joke?”

I smiled at my brother. “Definitely,” I said.

Ollie grinned. “Knock knock,” he said.

“Who’s there?” I said.

“Lettuce.”

“Lettuce who?”

“Lettuce in, it’s freezing cold out here!”

The adults all laughed, except for the Dirt Eater. He was still preoccupied with his imaginary school bus on the lake.

Mom gave me a hug. “Make lots of noise out there,” she said. “Let those bears know you’re coming.”

“Sure thing,” I said.

“Promise me you’ll sing,” she said. “You used to sing all the time. Why don’t you sing anymore?”

I tried to swallow, but my spit had dried up. “Probably something to do with puberty,” I said.

I was happy to get going. The longer I hung around, smelling those burgers, the more I wanted to lie down and take a nap. Those camp chairs looked comfy! And my legs were already starting to ache.

In case you’re wondering, I had 78 miles to go. Which is roughly the distance between your house and, oh, I don’t know, the
moon
.

That’s how far I still needed to run before dawn. And I only had 19 hours and 12 minutes left to do it.

Just as I started jogging down the trail, Kneecap came running up behind me. “Wait up, Q-Tip!” she shouted.

She sprinted over. She’d changed out of her flip-flops and was wearing proper trail shoes.

“What’s up?” I said.

“Peace offering,” she said. She held out her hand. A small plastic chip sat in her palm.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Extra battery,” she said. “For the phone. You’ll need it — that thing is an energy hog.”

I took the battery and slipped it into my fanny pack. “Thanks,” I said.

“Don’t make too many calls,” she said. “The roaming
charges are brutal. But you can text for free.”

I tugged the zipper shut and snapped the belt tight around my waist. “Thanks,” I said.

Kneecap grinned. “I have another surprise.”

“What?” I said.

“I’m running with you.”

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Seriously? Is Kneecap an athlete?

QUINN:
She’s super skinny, but she’s about as athletic as a doorstop. The only exercise she likes is running off her mouth.

(Audience laughs)

SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS:
Are friends allowed to run on the racecourse?

QUINN:
It’s a very casual race, so people can do what they want. It’s not like it’s the Boston Marathon or anything. Still, I wasn’t too thrilled about having her along.

“You know I’m going up that mountain, right?” I said. I pointed up at Chimney Top.

“That little thing?” Kneecap said. She shrugged her shoulders.

I shook my head. The truth was, I didn’t want her to slow me down. But I couldn’t tell her that, not after she’d given me the battery.

“Don’t look so worried,” Kneecap said. “I’ll only come a few miles.”

Her shoes were brand new. It suddenly hit me: she’d
bought them especially for today, so she could run with me!

“Most people don’t just decide to climb a mountain,” I said. “Usually they do some training first.”

Kneecap glared at me. “I’m not doing this because I want to,” she snapped. “I’m doing it because I’m trying to be your
friend
!”

With that, she jogged ahead of me up the road. I walked behind her, feeling like a chump.

“You do know that I’ve been running since dawn, right?” I called out. “My sparkling personality might have fizzled a bit.”

“Ya think?” she shouted back. She jogged even faster.

I thought: When will this race start being fun?

The pink trail flags turned right, leading us onto a trail rutted with tread marks. The path ran uphill, alongside a chain of foamy pools and waterfalls. The smell of rotting wood filled the forest, and the gurgling stream sounded like babies laughing. The trail became steeper and zigzagged back and forth in sharp switchbacks. It felt like we were climbing stairs.

I watched the backs of Kneecap’s brown legs as we jogged. I could tell that she was starting to hurt. Sure enough, pretty soon she slowed down and started walking. I ran up beside her.

“How can you do this?” she gasped.

“Do what?” I said.

“Run a hundred miles like this? It’s insane.”

The corners of her mouth were turned down.

“I have superpowers, remember?”

“Oh, right,” she said. “I forgot.”

We spent the next 15 minutes climbing what my dad had called the apron of the mountain. Only this time there wasn’t any mist, so we could see how high we were getting. When we came to a clearing, I saw a tiny boat crossing Hither Lake, half a kilometre below. Little black waves fanned out behind it like a capital V. I stopped while Kneecap gasped for breath. “You’re not even breathing hard,” she said, looking at me. “We really need to get you a spandex costume.”

She was being sarcastic, but I figured I’d play along. “I need a superhero name first,” I said.

“How about Puke Man?” Kneecap suggested.

Ha. Funny. Play it cool, I thought. “Doesn’t really have a great ring to it,” I said.

“I guess not,” agreed Kneecap. “How about Skeletor?”

“I’m not that skinny,” I said.

“Sure you are. You’ve got legs like a chicken.”

“Do not,” I said.

“Do too,” said Kneecap. “They’re kinda cute though.”

We continued climbing. Kneecap said, “Forget about the name. What you need is a good catchphrase.”

“Like how the Hulk says, ‘It’s clobbering time!’”

“Yeah, but that one’s already taken,” said Kneecap.

I thought for a moment. “What about: Best Foot Forward?”

Kneecap shrieked with laughter. “That’s the lamest thing I ever heard!”

I laughed too. It
was
pretty lame, I had to admit. “How about Run Like Snot!” I offered.

“Not bad,” said Kneecap. “How about To The Finish Line And Beyond!”

“Meh,” I said.

“Wait a second,” said Kneecap. “I’ve got it. Kick Some Shins!”

Her face was bright red, so I suggested we take a break. We stepped back from the cliff face and sat down in the shade.

“Seriously,” she said. “Kick Some Shins. That’s pretty good, right?”

“Good-ish,” I said.

Kneecap glanced at the forest behind us. “Aren’t you worried about the bears?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “But ask me again tonight, when it gets dark.”

She crawled back to the ledge and looked down at the valley. She shivered. “Have you been singing much?” she asked.

“A bit,” I said.

“Don’t tell me,” she said. “‘Run Baby Run’?”

“I’ve written other songs besides that one,” I said.

She smiled. “I know. I’m just teasing.”

Just then, I heard a familiar noise. Jingle bells. I swung around.

“Hey there, Lucky Number Thirteen!”

Kara was bounding up the trail behind us.

“I thought you were
ahead
of me,” I said.

“I was,” Kara laughed. “Until my body fell apart, that is. I spent a half hour cooling my legs in the lake.”

Her knee was wrapped in a tensor bandage.

“What happened?” I asked.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “The cold water brought down the
swelling a bit, plus I’ve got lots of Advil.” She turned to Kneecap and threw out her hand. “Hi there,” she said. “I’m Kara.”

“This is my friend Kneecap,” I said.

They shook hands. “Pleased to meet you,” said Kara. “Did you lose your number, or are you a bandit?”

“What’s a bandit?” said Kneecap.

“Someone who runs the race illegally.”

Kneecap thought about this. “I’m not running the race,” she said. “I’m just here for moral support.”

“Sort of,” I said.

Kneecap glared at me.

A red squirrel scolded us from the top of a tree. Kara stepped around the two of us and continued bounding up the hill. “Come on!” she called back. “Let’s make some time!”