* * *
I soon find myself in a community changing room, similar to a locker room, with the six other girls on the list: Beth Hammond, Shanika Williams, Ashley Bryant, Kayla Cooper, Lizbeth Morales, and Jessica Harper.
According to the list Chris created, our entire team, the guys included, ranges from age thirteen to twenty-three. I am shocked to learn two thirteen-year-old girls, Shanika and Ashley, are even allowed to go on the trip. Don’t their parents have to give approval for such a thing? If they were at my school and about to go on a field trip, they would need a signed release form. Somehow I doubt that is the case here.
Shanika and Ashley look like they’re close friends. They both have short, pixie-type haircuts, however Shanika is a brunette who looks to be part African-American and Ashley is a blonde with freckles. They aren’t much smaller than everyone else, but it’s obvious they are younger. Jessica is a stunning redhead. Her smooth complexion and green eyes complement her long curls. I think she’s probably eighteen. Kayla is the girl from the lunch line who thinks Chris likes her. She has light brown hair and looks to be close to my age. Lizbeth is the oldest girl on the team at twenty-one. She’s Hispanic with beautiful dark skin, brown eyes, and long black hair. Beth stands out like a sore thumb with her black hair and pale skin. I’m thinking she’s a year older than me.
Clara and Ms. Wood bring in several piles of running clothing, all in a forest-green color. I figure there must be some wisdom behind this choice.
The running outfit is similar to the one I saw Chris wearing in Clara’s office the day before. The fabric consists of a strange material that is kind of a cross between silk, gossamer, and finely spun steel. The outfit has virtually no weight and is designed to endure excessive friction and not wear out. The form-fitting design of the suit makes me extremely self-conscious. The cut fits the contours of my body like a glove fits a hand—a very thin, silky glove. My father wouldn’t let me leave the house in this outfit—it’s that scandalous. Clara explains the fabric keeps moisture off our bodies but also acts as a thermal insulator to keep us warm. I catch my reflection in the mirror, astonished at what I see. A different girl with an hour-glass figure stares back at me.
Our specially-designed underclothing is made of the same material. Our bras fit tight, like sports bras, to prevent bouncing, yet don’t flatten us down to nothing. The boxer-brief underwear ensures no snuggies will have to be pulled out. Sweet.
On the jacket, the front pouch has zippers designed to prevent accidental opening. Individual pockets inside the pouch allow space for personal items, such as Beth’s black eyeliner, I think, smiling to myself, and additional hair bands for Lizbeth’s and Jessica’s long hair. A detachable hood folds neatly in one of the pockets, not taking up any more space than a folded dollar bill. On the back of the jacket, near the collar, another pouch contains an incredibly thin blanket, no thicker than plastic wrap. I assume this, too, will keep us warm if needed. Our running shoes are a slipper-type design with a firm bottom. They remind me of high-tech ballet slippers. Socks don’t seem necessary with these shoes.
We will each carry our own four-day supply of food, consisting of nothing more than four individually wrapped granola bars formulated to give us energy and fill our stomachs. Each bar has three pieces, one for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The kind of granola bars I’m used to eating certainly wouldn’t have lasted all day—I can eat four normal bars and still be hungry—but these are special. We will be able to obtain water from rivers and streams using a collapsible cup, and we can purify the water using a small bag of purification tablets. Each tablet is the size of the head of a pin.
The basic idea here is to take only the bare necessities without adding extra weight or wind resistance. Therefore, no jewelry, wallets, or unnecessary items are allowed. Clara also emphasizes there are to be absolutely no phone calls except to communicate with the other team members in adjacent rooms once we are in hotel rooms.
Clara explains further, and I feel this is for my benefit more than anyone else’s, “Remember, once this party leaves here, you’ll be on your own. The leadership trio will make the decisions for sleeping accommodations every night. No reservations have been made in advance for any motel, since that would mark your trail if anyone is watching the clan’s credit card transactions. You may find, at some point, many of you could be crammed into the same room due to limited room availability. If that happens, I expect maturity and consideration from everyone, and no inappropriate conduct.”
A few girls giggle, while others groan. At least that part of my new world is normal.
Clara continues. “There have been missions in the past where hotel rooms were unavailable, and quick decisions had to be made about where to stay for the night. I expect you to act without question if you find yourselves in such a situation. Chris has the responsibility on his shoulders to make sure the Runners are safe at all times. Do exactly as he says. Am I understood?”
A collective “Yes ma’am” echoes throughout the room.
Clara begins talking with each individual girl, inspecting and approving what they’ve placed in their pouches. A few personal items don’t pass inspection. I watch the other girls intermingle with one another, and wonder if they will ever include me. Beth is the only one who will even speak to me at this point, and that isn’t saying much.
The door opens, and I swear fog rolls in to dramatize the entrance of the eight guys. I’m pretty sure they walk in slow motion with a spotlight trained on Chris—at least that’s how my eyes see them. They wear similar dark green running suits which enhance their physical shapes even more than seems humanly possible, with Chris winning grand prize in my book.
Chris is the oldest of the team at twenty-three, according to the giggling girls. It’s only appropriate he’s the leader, I suppose. The youngest boy on the list is a fourteen-year-old named Jonas Flemming. He’s easy to spot in the group because he’s the shortest. He has dark hair that’s trimmed short like most of the other guys. The next oldest is Yang Chan. He’s fifteen with thick, black hair, and still has a smaller, lighter, more agile frame. I think he’s Chinese. Ricky Chavez and Michael Fields are my age. Ricky is Hispanic with dark features and black hair. He’s one of the few Runners who smiles often. Michael looks like a California surfer with blond hair and tan skin. Justin and Will Malone are like the dynamic duo: dark hair, dark, deep-set eyes, and sharp jaw lines . . . and rude to the core. I’ve heard Beth say they are eighteen. Then there’s Tyler Beck. He’s nineteen and on the whiney side, in my opinion. His overgrown blond hair is always in his eyes, well, except for when he’s running.
My assessment of the guys comes to a halt when I make eye contact with Chris. My heart rate jumps a notch. I think about how, only a few days ago, I was nothing but a normal girl at a regular high school with only a couple of semi-good-looking guys there. None of them could hold a candle to Chris’s looks or . . . “assets.”
Suz would kill to be in my position.
My position. What’s my position? Oh, yeah, that’s right, slowest muck around, the loser who will be the tag-along and slow everyone else down on this assignment.
As the boys near, I watch Chris’s expression change, and the look isn’t attractive. I feel like I represent failure in his eyes. After losing the time trials this morning, I feel completely inadequate around him. I hope my day will end on a different note. It can’t get much worse.