You Can't Catch Me (18 page)

The cross country team is off-road today, practices resuming this week under Principal Turphy’s supervision. Coach Fox’s calming persona has a bit of a glitch in it as the principal studies her coaching, her voice shaky whenever she gives us an order.

I’m in the middle of the pack today, working my way toward the front. I hear Annie huffing behind me, and I glance back, knowing that it was only a week ago or so that it was me bringing up the rear.

I slow my pace, letting her catch up. Coach told me to watch out for my teammates, and she’ll watch out for me. Even though we’re behind everyone, I feel better being back here with her.

“Wanna… push it… the last half mile?” I ask her through my paced breathing. My back is starting to kill, and I can feel the sting of my rash. I’d like to get this run over with, but I don’t want to leave her behind.

She nods, unable to answer as sweat drops from her forehead to the dirt under our feet. We come up on the marker, I pick up my pace. Annie matches me, pumps with me, lengthening our stride as we come up on Chrissy and Ronnie. I catch Annie’s determined jaw right before she pushes it up even farther, and we pass those two, closing in on the next group of runners.

I’m certain that Drake, Jamal, and Bridget are already finished with their runs, but I can’t help but feel like Annie and I are about to win something.

My ribs start to burn, and I let out an uncontrollable cry at the pain. Annie gives me a sideways concerned glance, but I nod to her, letting her know that we can do this.

We pass the large middle group at our last mile mark. Hadley’s eyes widen as we crawl in front of her, and she lets out a breathy, “Whoa! You guys got this!”

Annie’s breathing is scary, but then again, so is mine. I want to tear off this duct tape around my torso and find air again, but my legs push me onward. I barely have enough energy now to notice how Annie is gaining on me.

We turn right around a bend that leads up a small hill to the end of the run. I catch a black ponytail bouncing over the top of the hill as we get to the bottom, grinning at the fact that we’re so close to Bridget.

“Annie, go,” I puff. “Catch her, finish with
her
.”

Annie’s face is drenched and her eyes are watery and her body looks completely spent, but her legs… they lengthen their stride, they pump forward like they are giving all they’ve got plus ten times more than that. The distance between us grows larger as Annie full-on sprints to the end of our run. She’s up and over the hill before I get to the halfway mark, and when I get to the top, a tired and satisfied grin hits my lips when I hear Annie call out, “On your left!” and a surprised Bridget moves out of the way.

Coach Fox straightens from a slightly defeated slouch. Her sweet smile turns into one of complete joy as she watches Annie push it to the end.

A sharp sting zings up my side, and I hear Hadley closing in on me. Instead of watching her pass me, I feel a gentle nudge on the middle of my back, forcing me to push it. I want to push it. Watching Annie cross the line before any of the other girls was satisfaction enough, but Hadley is at my back, telling me, “Do it. You got this. You got it.” I ignore the sting, crying out through the pain and charging toward the end. Annie is there, breathless and waiting, waving me toward her. When I pass Coach and her stopwatch, Annie jumps on me, enclosing me in her very wet arms, and Hadley is at my back. It hurts—my rash is beyond help and the duct tape is cutting into my skin, and I’m one hundred percent sure I’m bleeding.

But I’ve never seen the members of our team this happy.

As soon as I’m cut loose from my teammates, I glance over at Principal Turphy, who is leaning in close to Coach’s ear. They’re both smiling, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not sure what it means, what they’re talking about, but the principal witnessing just what Coach Fox has implemented in our team is a good sign, I think.

The rest of the team crosses the end, all of them slapping a very exhausted but exuberant Annie on the back. It’s right then I hear the thundering of a diesel engine, and my heart lobs in my chest as I watch Oliver pull up in the line of parents’ cars waiting to take us all home. My parents aren’t here, mostly because I’ve always said I could just walk back. Now I’m thinking I’ll hitch a ride, and not just because my sides are killing me.

Coach Fox calms us down with her whistle, and we line up.

“Great run today. A lot of you have broken your personal best.” She grins wide at Annie. “One of you
shattered
it.”

We whoop and holler, as much as a cross country team can after running so far. Annie grabs my waist, and I suck in a harsh breath at the contact my shirt has with my rash, and she pulls me close. Her slick forehead rests on mine, and she whispers a “Thank you.”

Coach isn’t the only one who notices the exchange. Hadley’s grinning wide, and I nod to her a thanks as well because I’m not a touching type, and Drake lifts his head toward me.

“This is what I wanted to see,” Coach says. “A
team
. You should all be very proud of what you’ve done for each other.” Her eyes drift over to Oliver, who is now outside his truck and waiting by the bed. He looks nervous, his brows pulled in, probably hoping this practice is going well.

Coach shares a look with Principal Turphy before addressing us again.

“We won’t be having a run for a little while. I’ve got a meeting next week, and all practices will be postponed until then. Enjoy your week off, but don’t let it soften you up.” She jokingly gestures to herself. “No one wants this to happen, right?”

She gets a few laughs, but not from me. I think I’d be more than happy to trade places with her—she is absolutely awesome at being who she is.

She blows her whistle to dismiss us, and I break away immediately and jog over to Oliver. He pushes off the truck, and I dive into his stomach, wrapping my arms around him. His surprise is felt, and it makes me laugh—it’s no secret that I’m completely enamored by him, and practice went so so well.

“How was the run?” he asks when I step back.

“It was sha-mazing,” I say, a bright smile playing on my lips. “Your mom has
nothing
to worry about.”

A hiss slips through my teeth, and I hold my breath as I stretch the duct tape around my bra. I can’t wear an undershirt to protect the rash because the red and white fall formal dress won’t cover it all. But it also doesn’t hide the Sharpies, so I’m trying it with the tape, see if that helps.

My skin feels like it’s on fire, and a tear leaks down my cheek as I apply another tight dose of restraint. I try to breathe through the pain, but I can hardly breathe at all.

I ease down on my bed, my dress scrunching under my butt. I want to put a hand against it, but I know it’ll only make it sting more. So I fan the flames, flicking my wrist and enjoying the very minimal comfort it brings.

My eyes start to water for a whole other reason as I fan myself. I wish that this didn’t mean so much to me, that I could let it roll off my shoulders and laugh at the stupidity of that Instagram photo. But I already think all those things about myself. I know they’re true. Seeing them in writing from other people tells me it’s not just in my head. It’s not just me who notices. I guess I was really relying on it being an overactive imagination.

I twist my hand around the necklace hanging down my neck, my wrist pressing against the plastic feel of the tape. I imagine Cayenne here, and I know she’d lecture me. I know she’d rip the tape from my hands. She would because we’re sisters, and there’s no way I’d let her do this to herself.

Guess it’s easy to be a hypocrite. And all I have for my argument is how people treat my friends and family is more important to me than how I treat myself. I suppose it’s because I love them more.

That shouldn’t be wrong. It should be exactly how I should feel, right? Others first, myself last? Key to happiness and all.

I drop my hands, pushing them into the bed sheets. Why am I still struggling to be happy, then?

The sun peeks in through the slats in my window, reflecting on my silver medal I keep on my mirror. Seems like an alternative universe—running State. I miss it. I want it back.

Someone knocks on my door, and before I can tell them I’m not exactly decent, Aunt Heidi pushes her way inside.

“What is this?” she says, holding out her iPad, the picture of my bra front and center. Her wide eyes drop to my arms failing to cover the duct tape and then to my rash. She jerks back, pointing a freshly painted nail at my chest. “What is that?”

I grab at the dress and use it to cover myself, ignoring the pang in my side as it grazes over my raw skin. “Nothing. I’m getting dressed.”

She crosses the room, tossing the iPad on the bed, and pulls the dress from my hands.

“Gee… tell me right now what you’re doing.”

When I don’t answer her, she goes back to the door and shouts down the steps for my mom, taking my dress with her. I fumble around for one of my dad’s shirts, but she points a threatening finger at me. “Don’t you dare.”

“You’re going to make me stand in my underwear?”

“Absolutely,” she says, stepping back into the room. “I’ve wiped that butt of yours, so this is nothing new.” She glares at the tape. “Except that, which I’ll get to in a second.
Angie!
” she shouts again, only Mom is right behind her now with blue frosting-stained fingers. Mom’s gaze falls to me, and I cross my arms, hanging my head, noticing that the red on my skin isn’t only from the rash.

“What…” she asks, pushing past my aunt. “What’s going on? Ginger, what happened?”

One of her fingertips slightly brushes against my side, and I flinch, sucking in a harsh breath. The back of my eyes sting and pinch, and I slam my lids shut, attempting to wish us all back in time.

“It’s just a rash,” I say, and I hear Aunt Heidi
pfft
behind Mom.

“How long have you been doing that, Gee?” my aunt asks, and I look up to see her gesturing to the suppressed Sharpies. Mom’s forehead creases, and she tugs on the tape from the back.

I shift away. “I… I don’t know. Couple weeks, maybe.”

“Why?” Mom asks. Aunt Heidi doesn’t look the slightest bit confused, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and the iPad on the bed.

“I… needed to run faster,” I mutter. Mom’s eyebrows lift, and she sets her hands on my shoulders and turns me around.

“Oh my…” Apparently my back is worse for wear, because she doesn’t even dare touch it. I feel a pull on the fresh tape and the
ppbbbth
as she slowly peels it back. My eyes lose control, and silent tears start trailing slowly down my cheeks. I don’t know if it’s the pain from the rash that’s doing it, the humiliation of getting caught, or a mix of both, but I can’t seem to make myself stop. I swallow hard, try to breathe through it all, but my back aches, my brain hurts, and my spirit is dark and huddled in a corner. Everything feels so out of my control, and I just want some sort of grasp on something,
anything
, to make me feel like I’m myself again.

Mom’s peeling slowly, sucking in breaths every time I do, sniffling as she pushes away her own tears. She's always been a sympathy crier, something I didn’t inherit, but there are times when I wish I had. Maybe it wouldn’t feel so terrible to cry over myself.

“Honey, this is bad,” she says, voice broken on every other word. “How are you even moving?”

“Let alone running,” Aunt Heidi adds. Her lips are pursed tight, her eyes hard. I wonder in that moment if I’ve inherited more from her.

“It’s fine,” I lie, and they both know it. Mom gets the last of the tape off and then runs a finger over the crease by my armpit. The gray residue from the tape doesn’t come off, and I think she’s too afraid to rub any harder because there’s a rash developing there as well.

She blows out a breath. “Get dressed. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“Mom—”

“No bra.” She nods to my duct tape-stained sports bra. “Your skin needs to breathe.”

“And so do you,” Aunt Heidi says.

Mom crumples up the tape and starts heading to her room, most likely to get socks on her always-bare feet. Once she’s gone, Aunt Heidi makes herself comfortable on my bed. Her fingers curl in my dad’s shirt, and she slowly hands it over.

“You ready to talk about it?”

I shake my head before stuffing it through the baggy shirt. Aunt Heidi’s jaw clicks, and she crosses her legs.

“You’re going to anyway.” She points at the spot next to her. “Sit.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” I say with attempted breeziness, but my eyes are probably still very, very red.

“This is nothing?” She nods at my now-covered sides. “
That
is nothing?”

She’s pointing at the iPad, and I don’t want to admit to anything, though I’m a hundred percent sure she barged in here after she found that photo. I wonder who blabbed. Tiff. Or Jamal. Or could it be Oliver?

“Fine,” she says after a few seconds of my stubborn silence. “I’m going to talk then, tell you what I think is happening, and I’ll just read your very legible expressions.”

I give her a look, and she responds with an “Oh, yes I can.” Maybe I need to work on my poker face.

“While I really would like to yell at you till the cows come home over the tape, I’m going to take a stab at it and say that’s not going to do any good because you’re already thinking about strapping those babies back in.”

My eyes widen, and she crosses her arms—well, as much as she can since her own Sharpies get in the way of that.

“I was a runner, too. And I’ve told you over a hundred times my reason for quitting. I want you to forget that cock and bull story right now.”

I almost tell her that I never believed her story anyway—that Uncle Neil “distracted” her from her extracurriculars. Distraction would be an understatement. I really thought she was knocked up her senior year.

“Why’d you quit, then?” I ask instead, curious why she’s finally decided to tell me the truth.

“If you’d have asked me fifteen years ago, I would’ve said I didn’t quit.” She looks down at her lap. “I would’ve blamed my body. It took me a lot of growing up to realize what a mistake I made.”

“You wanted to run?”

“I
needed
it. But…” She sighs. “I grew quite a bit rounder up here.” She grins and waves her hands between her bosoms. “Every time I set foot on that track I’d feel inferior to it, as if I somehow wasn’t worthy to even be using it. I just knew my teammates would think the same. So I hung up my shoelaces for good, hid behind baggy clothing, and I let go of the person I was.”

I gulp and scratch an imaginary itch on my elbow. Do I have to let go of who I was to become this person I don’t even like?

“Well, I
know
my teammates think I’m ‘unworthy,’” I mutter to the iPad. Though the other day it seemed they were on my side, more comments keep popping up, and it’s like our unified practices weren’t anything but a show.

Aunt Heidi tilts an eyebrow up. “What do
you
think?”

“That they’re right.” I move my gaze to my open drawers, concentrating on the clothing hanging out. It makes it easier to admit the things I’ve kept close to the chest—no pun intended. “I think… I feel like people are treating me different. It makes me
feel
different.”

“They treat you differently because of the picture?”

I flinch at the thought of Aunt Heidi scrolling through the comments. “Even before then. Drake never would’ve asked me to a school dance. Jamal’s acting as if we haven’t been neighbors all our lives. The team thinks I can’t run a decent time because I’ve got such big”—I hold my arms out in front of my chest—“holding me back.”

Her brows furrow. “Are you sure that’s the reason? Or are you
worried
that’s the reason?”

“That picture pretty much sums it up.” I settle my chin in my hand. “I’m the butt of the joke. Or the boob of it.”

She lets out a small laugh and twists on the bed to face me right on. “Everyone is going to think what they think and do what they do and treat you how they feel like treating you.”

“That’s super encouraging, Aunt Heidi,” I lilt, dropping my hand away from my chin. “I’ve been ignoring them. Don’t know what else I can do.”

She shakes her head. “Forget everyone else for a minute. Forget the picture, the team, even what I think about all this. Are
you
treating yourself differently?”

I know the answer is yes, but it’s not so easy to admit. There are so many things I do now that I didn’t pre-Sharpie. I analyze them in the mirror, I blame them for all my shortcomings, I worry over people looking down, and I adjust my wardrobe so I’m drowning in fabric.

I tape.

I tape so hard I end up like this—hurt and confused and wishing I was someone else.

“Maybe,” I say in just over a whisper. Aunt Heidi pointedly looks at the rash hidden beneath my father’s shirt.

“I’d say obviously.” Her smart grin fades quickly, and her eyes grow distant, deep in thought. She brings her hand up to her neck, rubbing a birthstone necklace similar to the one I’m currently donning. “Don’t let go of who you are, Gee.”

“But…” I start, bringing my own hand up to play with the jewelry around my neck. “I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” she says, turning because Mom’s coming back into the room. She’s pulling her hair out from her jacket and nodding to me.

“Shoes and socks, hon.” She shares a look with my aunt before heading back out. I push off my bed and dig around in my laundry basket for okay-smelling socks. I’m hopping into one of my sneakers when Aunt Heidi finally starts talking again.

“Do you like your new coach?”

“Coach Fox?” My foot falls to the floor. “Yeah. She’s good.”

She nods, pressing her lips together but not saying anything. Then Mom calls from downstairs, and I pause before leaving my bedroom.

“Do you miss it?” I ask my aunt. “Running?”

“Not as much anymore.” Her mouth twitches. “But I’m not the Gingerbread Man.”

A light laugh escapes my mouth. It’s been a while since I’ve heard that nickname. It almost feels like maybe that version of me is still around somewhere. I just have to find her.