Freshman Year (37 page)

“Damn it,” I yell after landing on the blue mat. A second later the bar falls to the ground. I only have one more try to get over the 4'2” mark. I have been sailing over the 4'3” bar in other meets with room to spare, but today I'm officially sucking and letting down my team.

As the other three girls successfully contort their limber bodies over the bar, I curse the wind, I curse Garrett for showing up, and I curse myself for not being able to get my ass over the damn bar.

Coach Parker gives me some encouraging advice. “Just take your time, Abbey. Watch your steps. You're rushing it.”

I nod and set myself up for my last attempt. When I think the wind has taken a brief breather, I propel myself forward, counting out my steps like I've done a hundred times before. But when I push off the ground to jump, something goes terribly wrong. My ankle, the one I wrecked when I fell off my bike, slides oddly in its joint like a doll's plastic limb. The pain jolts up my leg and my body seems to stop in midair. I somehow manage to land on my knee on the asphalt, missing the mat entirely.

I shout an inappropriate expletive and punch the mat.

“Whoa, Abbey. Settle down.” Coach kneels besides me. “Let's take a look,” he says and squeezes my already swelling ankle. “Does this hurt?”

I shake my head.

“How about this?”

“Not really.”

“And this?”

“Ow!” I want to kick him in the groin to show him how much it hurts, but he stands up before I get the chance.

“It's not too bad. Hang on, I'll get some help.”

Being carried off the field by a couple of the pole vault guys makes my list of top ten most uncomfortable moments in high school without doubt. At least, so far. And since I'm all sweaty, bleeding from the knee, and haven't shaved for three days, the guys carrying me must be feeling the same way and want the experience to end as quickly as possible, too.

Kate's in the middle of her long jumps, so she can't join the fun, but I give her a reassuring thumbs-up as my entourage and I pass by. She doesn't look too worried. Actually, she laughs at me before giving me a thumbs-up back.

The dudes dump me on a padded table in the trainer's office.

The buff female trainer makes my gaydar go off the charts, but that doesn't help my situation. She gives me a quick look over, gathers some items, and sprays down my knee with antiseptic. “You'll need to ice your ankle for about twenty minutes. Here ya go,” she says, putting a bucket filled with ice in front of me.

“Are you kidding me?” I look at her like she's just told me to dip my toes in wet dog food. “I'm not sticking my whole foot in there.”

She sighs and crosses her supermuscular arms across her chest. “Look, I can't make you do anything. But if you want to keep the swelling down and heal faster, you'll do it. Don't be such a wimp.” Then she walks off to help another injured runner.

I stare at the bucket and paint my face with the tip of my braid for about five minutes. Then I slide my big toe in first but pull it out quickly once it hits the icy slush, which causes my ankle to tense up and throb even more. Another four-letter word slips out of my mouth.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?”

I look up, and there's Mia standing in the doorway watching me act like an enormous baby. She has on her tiny blue silk running shorts and a Gila High tank top. Her hair is haphazardly pulled back in a low ponytail.

“I saw your manly men carry you in here.”

“Yeah? Great.”

She points to the bucket. “The best way to go in is fast and fearless.”

It's not Mia's fault, but her lighthearted attitude that I normally enjoy is only irritating me today. “Don't you have a race to run?”

“Nope, I'm all done.” She sits down next to me. “Got second place in the sixteen hundred meter.”

She's just trying to help
, I tell myself.
Be nice
. “God, how do you run that far? That's impressive.”

“Thanks.” Her smile is like a muscle relaxant. It's weird, but it seems no matter what my mood, it's always improved when I talk to Mia.

“So, just dunk it in?”

“I'm serious. I'll hold your hand.”

“Okay, on three,” I say and grab her hand.

She counts with me. “One, two, threeeee…”

As soon as my foot is submerged, the profanities shoot out of my mouth like bullets from an AK-47. I squeeze Mia's hand like I'm giving birth.

“Clean it up, young lady,” the trainer shouts.

“Breathe through the pain,” Mia coaches.

Thirty seconds go by and I'm ready to give up. “It hurts too much. I can't do this.”

“No, no, no. You're almost through the hardest part. Wait. In three minutes, it'll be numb and you'll be like, ‘Hey, no sweat.'”

She must be losing blood circulation in her hand, but the stabbing tingles in my foot are getting worse and I need her. I also bounce my other leg to help distract me. “You've done this before?”

“All the time. I've got bad ankles. That's what I get for running so much.”

Our conversation is helping me ignore the pain, so I do my best to keep it going. “So you run a lot? For, like, fun?” It's then I realize she probably didn't try out for track just to stalk me. Of course. Who do I think I am?

“Yeah, every morning. I usually run up Sabino Canyon on the weekends.”

“My dad and I used to go there a lot. I helped him collect native plant samples for his classes. Did you know the paloverde's leaves are bipinnately compound? They're like that so they won't lose as much water during the summer.”

She smiles sweetly at my trivia. “I didn't know that. We should go sometime. You can tell me more about plant survival, and I can show you the best swimming hole in the canyon. Sometimes, after a long run, I just strip off everything and dive in. I haven't been caught bare butt yet.”

I look down at my red foot in the icy water so she can't see my blushing face. “You're right. It doesn't hurt anymore.” I let go of her hand and she rubs life back into it. “Mia,” I start but don't really know where I'm heading.

“Yeah?” She leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. “What's up?”

“I'm still seeing someone,” I say even though it's a total lie and she probably knows it. I don't know why I say it. I guess in my heart I hope it might become true. Because even with Mia sitting next to me, planting naked swimming images in my head, I miss Keeta more than ever. Sometimes, my longing for her is stronger than my longing for my dad. How can that be?

“That's cool,” she says without missing a beat. “So am I.”

“Oh. Cool,” I say, but it's really not. I guess I thought she was going to be my stalker until we both graduated from high school or maybe even college.

She stands and stretches her legs. “Man, I'm stiff. I better go stretch.” She points to my icing foot. “Hope it's not too bad.”

“Yeah, thanks.” She's almost out the door. “Hey, Mia?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks a lot for holding my hand.”

“Anytime, Abbey. I mean it.” Then she's gone.

The trainer tosses a towel in my face. “Ten more minutes and you're done. See, that wasn't so bad, was it?”

I wiggle my frozen toes. “No, I guess it wasn't so bad after all.”

*

After my track meet my mom sets me up in my room and makes sure I have everything I need before she goes to the art gallery opening where some of her paintings are being displayed.

“I made some fresh iced tea today. Here you go.”

She hands me a glass already sweating with condensation. “Thanks, Mom. Wow, you look really nice.” I sound kind of shocked because it's not often that she paints her nails one solid color and puts on makeup and jewelry. She even borrowed my curling iron to add body to her slightly graying blond locks.

“Thanks, honey. I feel nice. It's been too long since I've dressed up,” she says and then pats my head. “You be good. I'll be home soon.”

Then she's gone and it's completely quiet. I don't know if it's my boredom or the injury or the humiliation of falling on the high jump bar, or even if it's seeing Garrett moving on with her life like nothing ever happened, but as I lie in my bed, I have a sudden epiphany: I can't live without Keeta for one more second.

I grab my cell and speed-dial her number. But then before pushing send, I drop the phone. What am I doing? What do I plan on saying to her? Should I just pretend that day never happened? I wait for some inspiration. I could tell Keeta about the track meet. How I had to put my foot in a bucket of ice. I realize quickly how lame that sounds. But thinking about the ice does get me thinking about more important things. Like how close I am to getting over Keeta. Plus, there's the fun I've been having every weekend with Kate and the love and closeness of my mom. Why would I give all that up for Keeta when I'm almost healed?

Maybe getting over Keeta is like plunging my foot into a bucket of ice. Sure, at first it's painful, but if I just stick it out, I can do it, and sooner than I think, everything will go numb and the pain will leave and my heart will heal. I just need to endure it for a few more days, or maybe a week, and then the stinging will stop. Of course, like the ice bucket, getting over Keeta would be a lot easier if someone was here to hold my hand.

Around eight o'clock my mom returns home and checks in on me. “How are you feeling, Abbey Road?”

“Starving and bored.”

“Guess what,” she says, smiling bigger than usual. “I sold three pieces tonight.” It's been a really long time since I've seen her like this. Maybe that's because it's been a long time since I've really seen her at all. “And they want to see more of my work.”

“Congrats, Mom,” I say, and it appears that besides being my mom, she has a life, too. And maybe she might someday need to love someone else again, just like me. Then my stomach reminds me that if she sold three paintings at $750 a pop, that means she just might be willing to splurge. “I know, let's celebrate. Who wants pizza?”

“Mmm. Sounds good,” she says. “Call Kate and see if she wants to come. And for God's sake, put on some clothes. You've been running around here half naked since it hit eighty outside.”

I find some clean-enough shorts in the laundry hamper and pick out a shirt with sleeves to make my mom happy. Then I call Kate to see if she wants to come, but she's already at Mama's Pizza with her dad and Jenn. I guess everyone is in the mood for carbs.

My mom and I meet up with the Townsends and cram into the booth with them. Jenn's on one side of me and Kate's on the other, so I feel like I'm surrounded by padded walls of comfort, and that's when I get it: I haven't been alone at all this whole time. They've been holding my hand, metaphorically speaking, all year. Then I get a little teary eyed as I look across the table at my mom. She's so strong and wise and knows more about heartbreak than I can ever imagine, and she's made it through this far without anyone holding her hand. Why would I push her away like this? Hasn't she been through enough? Someday soon, I'll tell her the truth. At least, I'll try. In the meantime, I'll admire her for waiting for me to come to her with it.

My mom smiles at me. “You okay, Abbey?”

I nod, but before I get a chance to answer, Jenn butts in with her usual obnoxious sentiments. “Oh, she's just still embarrassed about her back flop on the high bar. That'll teach you to lose track of your steps.”

“At least I didn't almost throw my discus into the crowd.” My comeback smears the smile off her face rather quickly. “And don't even try to blame it on the wind.”

“How did you hear about that?” Jenn leans forward and glares at Kate.

“I have my sources.” I give Kate knuckles and we laugh. Nothing brings the two of us closer than making fun of Jenn.

“This sounds like something I should bring up at Jenn's graduation party,” their dad says.

“You guys are such punks.” Jenn punches me in the side.

When the giant steaming pizza arrives, we all cheer, but before our first bite we pick up our plastic tumblers and toast our successes. We toast my mom's big sales, Jenn's brush with homicide by discus, Kate's third place in the long jump, and finally, we toast my bravery. Yes, I dipped my foot in the Ice Bucket of Doom and lived to tell about it. In my head, I also say a silent toast to myself. For the first time since that horrible day at Keeta's, I really believe I'm going to make it through.

Tonight is Jenn's graduation party, a night I haven't been looking forward to because I know that Garrett is going to be there, too. I tried to back out last week, but Jenn said, “Do it and die, freshmeat,” so here I am.

Before the guests arrive, Kate assures me everything's going to be cool. “You and Garrett are mature enough to give each other a polite nod and then mingle in the other direction, right?”

“Really? You think I'm mature? Have you not been my BFF and seen how wrong this assumption is?” Then the doorbell rings and I don't have a choice other than to suck it up and behave.

So far, the food table and I are getting along just fine, and I'm quietly, yet artfully, piling chips, dip, and brownies on my plate, minding my own business.
See, this isn't so bad
, I think. Then, letting down my guard a little, I look around the decorated basement. Bad move. Garrett's gaze meets mine, and instead of nodding, I freak out and turn around to run but can't get my feet to move.

A few seconds later, I feel her touch my arm which causes me to jump and my tower of Doritos to tumble. My heart begins to race.
Be chill, be chill
, I say in my head like a mantra. I don't want to blow this because maybe it's not too late to make things right. Maybe now's my chance to forgive and forget again.