Jeremiah folds his hands behind his head and stares at the tent ceiling. “They’re just jealous.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I exclaim.
“You’ve been in love. They’re probably jealous of that. I am…”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“Nope.”
I pause. “But you want to be?”
“Who doesn’t?”
Talk about something you don’t hear guys say very often. “You haven’t met anybody?” I ask, propping myself up on an elbow.
He rolls over onto his side to face me. Then slowly shakes his head. “I’ve dated a lot,” he admits quietly. “And like, sometimes I feel a rush at first, but then it goes away…even when I don’t want the feeling to go away, it does.”
“So you’ve never been close with a girl?”
“What’s your definition of close?” he asks with a nervous laugh.
“Like, you keep a spare toothbrush in her dorm room. Or you scratch her back for her.” I groan. “God, I miss the back scratches.”
“Don’t they sell backscratchers so you can scratch your back yourself?”
“It’s not the same,” I pout.
“Is this your way of saying you want me to scratch your back?”
“Would you mind?” I ask hurriedly, flipping over to face away from him. “Top left.”
He chuckles, then gently scratches my left shoulder blade.
“Now go down,” I say. “Now to the right. Now to the left. Go up a little. Now down. To the middle of my back. Right there. Yes. Now up.”
“Yeah, I can see how this is so much more efficient than a backscratcher,” he says sarcastically.
“Go back up and to the left. Yeah, there,” I groan.
“Jesus. This is gonna take all night.”
“Do you have somewhere else to be?”
“Nope.” His fingers go still on my shoulder. “So can I get one of these back scratches next?”
•••
On Monday when I meet Matt at the doctor, his eyes immediately dart to my knee.
“It doesn’t look too swollen,” he says, falling into step beside me as we walk through the parking lot.
“Hello to you too.”
“How do you feel?”
“It doesn’t hurt today.”
He drags a hand through his dirty blond hair. “I’m anxious to see the X-rays.”
“I hope it’s like what Jeremiah said, that I might be overusing it. I don’t think I’ve torn anything or sprained it. It only hurts when I run for a long time.”
Matt glances at my face as he opens the door to the orthopedist’s office. “He told me he went camping with you on Saturday night.”
“It was fun,” I say, and I smile until he gives me a look. “We’re just friends.”
“I know, I know, Jere’s told me that about fifty times.”
How often do he and his brother talk about me? And why? Yeah, we’re attracted to each other, but we really are only friends.
“Just be careful,” Matt adds.
“We’re fine. You should trust your brother more.”
He smiles at me sideways. “You’re right.”
We sit down in a waiting room filled in equal parts with fish tanks and anatomical posters of hips and knees. After I fill out paperwork on a clipboard, the nurse leads me into the X-ray room. I wore shorts today, so I don’t have to bother with a gown. I climb onto the table and answer the questions about whether I could be pregnant. The X-ray technician asks me three times if I’m sure, and I’m tempted to yell that I haven’t had sex since October…since the night I lost Kyle.
“There is absolutely no way I could be pregnant.”
The look on my face makes her back off. Finally. She takes the X-rays, then leads me back to the exam room, where Matt is texting. “Jere says to call him after we’re done here,” Matt says, pocketing his phone.
I take a deep breath. Dealing with that X-ray technician upset me, and I’m worried about my knee. It started hurting a few minutes ago. Or am I just imagining that?
The door opens and the doctor walks in, reading a chart. “Annie Winters? I’m Dr. Sanders.”
“Hi,” I say, shaking his hand. Matt and the doctor nod at each other. Dr. Sanders hangs my X-rays up over the fluorescent light, and Matt stands to study them.
“And you’re having trouble with your left knee?” the doctor asks.
“Yep.”
“I’m not surprised. Your chart says you’re running forty miles a week.”
“That’s right. To train for the Country Music Marathon in October,” I say slowly.
The doctor takes my foot in his hands and pulls it toward his chest, extending my leg. I wince. “What have you been doing to alleviate the pain?”
“Icing it, stretching it, and taking ibuprofen.”
“You’ve been taking ibuprofen?” Matt blurts.
“It’s a good anti-inflammatory,” the doctor says.
Matt stares at my torso. “But sometimes it causes stomach problems.”
What? I’ve been taking it for months. Could ibuprofen be the reason my stomach is wrecked after every long run?
“Why didn’t you tell me you were taking ibuprofen?” Matt asks.
“I didn’t know it was such a big deal. I mean, you’ve given me Tylenol before. I figured ibuprofen was okay.”
“Tell me everything you swallow from now on, okay? And no more ibuprofen. Hopefully there’s no permanent damage to your stomach lining.”
“Okay,” I whisper, touching my stomach. I’ll stop taking it right away, but if I don’t take an anti-inflammatory, will my knee hurt worse? “Dr. Sanders, what about my knee?”
“I can see the swelling. It’s coming down, but it’ll go back up when you do another long run.”
I suck in a gasp as the doctor keeps talking.
“It’s the way your knee is shaped. Your bones are misaligned, and when you overuse it, the nerves in your kneecap get aggravated. We call it runner’s knee. It’s not meant for long distances.”
“That’s what Matt’s brother said,” I say with a shaky voice. “What can I do?”
“The best thing to do is rest it. Work on your core strength. Maybe run the race next year.”
“I can’t!”
“She can’t,” Matt repeats after me.
“I have to finish this.”
The doctor gives me a long look, then studies my X-ray again. “There are a few things we can try. I’ll get you fitted for a brace that’ll keep your knee from moving from side-to-side. That’ll help the nerves. But you need to keep it pointed straight all the time, understand?”
I nod, internally freaking out. I have enough trouble reminding myself to keep my feet facing forward! And now I have to remember for my knees too?
“And Matt can work with you on some exercises to strengthen your knee and thighs. That’ll help.” He pulls a deep breath and scribbles something on my chart. “But, Annie? I have to tell you, I’m not sure if your knee will make it through the race.”
I drop my face into my hands. I think of Mr. and Mrs. Crocker. Of Connor and Isaac. Of Seth. All the people that Kyle cared about most. They were all so excited when they heard I was finishing the marathon on his behalf. How shitty would it be if I failed? If I disappointed them?
And as much as I hated it at first, running and training have become a huge part of my life. I’ve made friends with Jeremiah and Matt and Liza. Who am I without this training program?
Matt squeezes my shoulder as I tell the doctor thank you. We make our way out of the office to the parking lot, where Matt grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him.
“Listen, Annie. I’m no doctor, but I want you to know that whatever you decide, I’ll be there every step of the w
ay.”
I wipe a tear from my eye before it trickles out. “But what about your one hundred percent race-day success rate?”
He waves a hand at me. “This is all up to you. I’ll do everything I can to get you there. But you have to keep talking to me. Tell me everything you put in your body.”
“I can do that.”
I say good-bye to Matt, then sit in my driver’s seat, grip my steering wheel, and stare at a redbrick building.
I can’t give up now. I already let Kyle down once.
After I turned down his proposal, he dumped me, and I thought nothing could hurt worse than that. Mom kept encouraging me to ask old friends to hang out or to spend time with my brother and his friends, but all I did was curl up on the couch and watch reruns of Friends and Law & Order, anything to get my mind off him. Every time I saw him at school, his face looked ghost white, like Elmer’s glue, and I never saw him smile anymore. How could he stand it? I couldn’t even fall asleep at night.
A few weeks later, he skipped his mom’s Sunday family dinner and came to my trailer. “I wasn’t thinking. I made a mistake.”
“When you asked me to marry you?”
His deep chocolate eyes lit up. “No, that wasn’t a mistake. It was a mistake when I broke up with you.”
He promised not to propose again until I was ready, and we crawled under the covers and made up, showing how much we loved each other. The terrible feelings weighing my body down floated away as he kissed me everywhere. His mother would’ve flipped out if she’d known we were doing it during her weekly turkey dinner.
When we were finished, he pulled his polo shirt back on and zipped his jeans. “I have to go home before Mom sends out a search party.”
“You just want leftovers,” I teased.
“Damn straight.” He loved his mother’s cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes.
We kissed good-bye, and that was the last time I saw him.
If I hadn’t said no to his proposal, he never would’ve come to my house that Sunday evening to apologize. He wouldn’t have missed his mom’s dinner.
He would still be alive.
It’s my fault.
In the present, I forget to blink until my eyes start burning. Decide to call Jeremiah. He answers on the first ring.
“What’d the doctor say?”
“What you told me. That some knees aren’t made for long distances. That maybe I should quit.”
“What do you wanna do?” Jeremiah asks.
I sniffle and wipe my nose. There’s only one answer. “I need to finish this for Kyle.”
A long pause. “Then let’s get you there.”
PART III
A Beginning
MOVE-IN DAY
Two Months Until the Country Music Marathon
“He’ll be here.”
Mom glances down at her watch. “He’s five minutes late.”
“And he’s never been late before,” I reply. “I hope nothing’s wrong.”
Mom and Nick share a look.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” they say in unison.
“Can’t we just start moving your stuff inside?” Nick asks. “We’ll leave all the heavy boxes for Jere to carry.”
“Two more minutes.” I check the time on my phone and look to make sure he didn’t text. He didn’t. “Fine, let’s go.”
Nick leads the way through a busy courtyard up to the dorm where I’ll be living. It’s five stories high and made of brick. A group of smokers is lounging on benches. Kids are tossing a Frisbee. The courtyard is full of laughter. And yelling. And whooping.
Mom sees the smile on my face and wraps an arm around me. “I’m so, so proud of you.”
Hearing that makes me happy and sad at the same time—sad because now that we’re finally getting along, I’ll really miss her. A piece of me wants to stay home and commute to school, but I need some newness in my life. And some time apart might be good for us.
“Annie!”
We turn around to find Jeremiah sprinting up.
“I’m so sorry I’m late.” He swallows hard. “I misestimated how long it would take to walk here. I didn’t factor in welcome-back-to-school gridlock.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means that everyone and their mom stopped me to talk about nonsense. I barely escaped Gloria, the little old lady who runs the copy center at the library. They have a new high-volume color printer, by the way.”
Nick stares him down. “You’re carrying the heavy stuff, Brown.”
“You got it.”
After Jeremiah gives Mom and me quick hugs, we head inside my dorm and check in. The front desk guy makes me fill out an emergency-point-of-contact form and sign for keys to my room and mailbox. He also hands over a huge student-life policy package, complete with all the rules of dorm living.
“This code of ethics booklet is bigger than a Bible,” I mutter to Jeremiah.
“It probably has more rules than the Bible too,” he replies. “I bet we’ll break every one this year.”
Mom and Nick share another look. Ugh. Maybe I can’t wait for them to be gone.
My room is on the fourth floor. When I step off the elevator, I find a common room with a big screen TV and cushy sofas. A girl is arguing with her mother about who accidentally left one of her bags at home in Alabama. Two girls who seem to be new roommates are fighting over who gets the top bunk. They are so loud you could probably hear them on the other side of campus.
A guy wanders down the hall wearing only a white towel tied around his waist. Jeremiah doesn’t find this odd at all, but Nick looks like he might kill the guy, and Mom does a double-take, blushing. I pucker my lips and make a kissy noise, to tease her, and she scowls at me. When I see the monstrous safe sex bulletin board, Mom and I both start blushing. Is that a bucket of condoms hanging on the wall? A little sign announces, Take as many as you need!
Noted.
I stick my key in the lock to my room. This is where I’ll be living until next summer. Here goes. I push the door open and discover I’m the first person here. Nick and Mom come in and look around at the tiny kitchenette and bathroom that links my room to Kelsey’s.
She and Vanessa texted me earlier, saying they’d be arriving in the late afternoon. I’m glad I got here before Iggy. This is so overwhelming I need the time alone to adjust.
“Want me to start moving your stuff?” Jeremiah asks, and I nod. He and Nick disappear out the door and I try to decide which bed I should take. The one closest to the door? Vanessa would probably like the window. No reason to start the year off with a fight like those girls in the hall.
I set my backpack down on the bed by the door and check out my closet, desk, and dresser space.
Jeremiah, a guy I thought was the epitome of muscle, staggers through the door, weighed down by a box of my stuff. “Oh my God, Annie, what’s in here?”
“Books, I think.”
“Did you pack an entire library?” He lurches to my desk and sets the box down. On the next trip, he brings a heavy box of my clothes. Sweat gleams on his forehead. I give him a break after he hauls my printer upstairs.
While Mom sits on the floor refolding all my clothes that got jostled in the box, I’m busy working to fix a bulletin board to the wall. Jeremiah takes the hammer and nails from my hand and swiftly hangs it. Hooray for my own personal handyman!
“Thanks,” I say, sorting my small pile of pictures I’m planning to tack up.
Jeremiah lifts a worn picture of me, Mom, and Nick at the USS Alabama, the big World War II ship that’s docked in Mobile.
“Don’t ever go on a ship like that in July,” I say. “We boiled in there.”
He smiles and sets the photo down. He shuffles through the stack until he comes across a picture of me and Kyle from Th
anksgiving the year we convinced our families to eat together. In the photo, I’m feeding Kyle a bite of pumpkin pie and he’s cringing.
“He hated pumpkin pie,” Mom says, refolding a tank top. “But he ate it that time because Annie tried to make it.”
My spine stiffens as I glance at Jeremiah’s expression: interested, but nervous.
“That was the worst pumpkin pie I’ve ever had,” Mom adds.
“Mommmm,” I whine.
Jeremiah makes a face. “Please don’t ever bake pumpkin pie for me, Annie.”
I shove his arm, making him laugh. Then he focuses on the picture again. “His name was Kyle, right?”
I nod and take the photo from his hand. I need to sniffle, but I don’t let myself. I should be able to look at a fucking picture without becoming a geyser. I slowly pick up a thumbtack and hang the photo. Let out a long breath.
Jeremiah grabs another picture and a thumbtack and pins it to the middle of the board, lopsided.
“No,” I say. “That looks terrible.”
“It looks fine,” he grumbles and hangs another picture in a not-pretty way.
“Ugh. Would you go get the rest of my heavy boxes already?”
Mom sniggers. Jeremiah and I both turn and give her a look. She clears her throat, then goes back to folding clothes.
It doesn’t take much longer to unpack the car and lock my bike up outside on the rack, and soon, it’s time for Nick to go meet his girlfriend. It’s time for Mom to head on back to the Quick Pick. And it’s time for me to start my new life.
Jeremiah must sense that I want to say good-bye to my family alone. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay? Text me if you want to hang out.”
I nod slowly. “Thank you for helping us.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” He gives me a quick side hug and goes into the hallway, looking over his shoulder at me. My room suddenly feels darker. I need to pick some flowers or hang posters on the wall or fish my cows out of the closet at home.
“You’re coming home Labor Day weekend, right?” Mom asks.
I nod. “I might come home before then though, you know, if I need to.”
“Call me anytime, okay?” Nick says. “Day or night. I’ll be here.”