Whatever Life Throws at You

  “You should probably get an agent,” Brody suggests.

  I notice today he’s wearing the St. Teresa’s T-shirt I gave him and a Chicago Bulls cap pulled low over his eyes. This returns me to reality because, hello, what happened to the suit jacket and skinny tie he was just wearing at that premiere. In Chicago.

  “Hey…” I say. “How did you get here from—”

  “From where?” his eyes dance with amusement.

  Damn, I think I’ve just been caught internet stalking Jason Brody.

  “Nowhere.” My face flushes. “Just…you know, figured you had somewhere else to be. Besides a high school track meet.”

  Brody opens his mouth, and I know he’s about to tease me for the stalking, but Dad claps a hand on his shoulder and says, “I asked him to come. Figured you’d be excited to have more people cheering for you instead of Jackie.” He glances around the bleachers. “Frank’s here somewhere, too. Might be negotiating those perks with college coaches…And Savannah and Lily.”

  So Dad asked him to come. Makes sense. I release a sigh and attempt to hide my disappointment, but Brody leans in close, invading my personal space. “In case you were wondering, I watched about five minutes of that movie and then left.”

  I snort back a laugh. “Seriously?”

  Before Brody can explain, Dad interrupts, pointing to my knee. “How’s your leg? You gonna make it through this next race?”

  I jump up and down a few times, then lift my knees one at a time, testing out my hamstring. “It honestly feels great. Better than ever.”

  Dad’s eyes narrow like he’s not sure whether to believe me. “I’m gonna get you a heating pad from the trainer.” He hobbles away before I can stop him. But whatever. If he wants me to heat, I’ll heat.

  Since we’re alone, I bend down and open my gym bag. “I’ve got something for you,” I tell Brody, before standing up and handing him my old iPod. He stares at it, confused. “I made you some lessons for your GED studying. I figured you could listen to them while you’re on the road.”

  “Lessons? Like you read the test prep book and recorded it?”

  I nod. “The first three study guides for each section plus the first practice quizzes. It’s like sixteen hours of material. You can write your answers down on paper and then grade them yourself.”

  He opens his mouth and then closes it again as he lifts his eyes to meet mine. “How long did this take you?”

  I laugh trying to brush it off. Maybe my real intentions are too obvious. “About sixteen hours.”

  He squeezes the iPod in his hand. “Thanks, Annie. This is…really nice.”

  I divert my eyes to the bleachers. “Okay, so tell me again how awesome I am? Which colleges want me and who’s going to beg the most and worship me the most? Because I totally have to be worshipped at all times.”

  “They all want you.” He levels me with one of his famous Jason Brody intense athlete looks. “But they might not if you totally choke on this next race.”

  I stick my tongue out at him and accept the heating pad Dad hands me after returning. That’s when I glance up, above Brody’s and Dad’s heads, and notice the crowd hanging on the railing of the bleachers, like we’re at Kauffman Stadium and not a high school track meet.

  “Uh-oh,” I mumble, low enough for only Dad and Brody to hear. “Your disguise failed.”

  For a split second, I’m sure I catch something that resembles annoyance or exhaustion cross Brody’s face. But then it’s gone and he’s wearing a huge grin, looking up over his shoulder at the gathering crowd of fans.

  Savannah appears behind me. “So, we’re going to have you do some autographs now,” she says to Brody. “Nothing formal, just accept one request and the rest will start flowing.”

  Brody lifts an eyebrow at Savannah. “What happened to your no high school girls policy?”

  Savannah grins like she’s five steps ahead of him. She probably is. “There are three sororities volunteering here today. I’ve already invited them over to meet you. That should keep you busy for a while.”

  “College girls,” Brody says with a nod. “All right then.”

  And I think that’s my cue to leave. “Coach Kessler is going to have a breakdown if I don’t get over to the warm-up area soon.”

  Dad leans forward and plants a kiss on top of my head. “Good luck, Ann.”

  I wave to Lenny on my way back out on the track. She’s sitting in the fourth row from the bottom with several other girls I recognize from the junior class at St. Teresa’s.

  Jackie’s already stretching, staring straight ahead, her face completely tense and focused. Coach Kessler is pacing in front of her. I toss the heating pad on the ground and then roll it under my right leg after sitting down.

  Coach K bends down to talk to Jackie. “I don’t want you thinking about the scouts or scholarships or the future. I only want you to think about the lap you’re on and the next lap. Nothing else, understood?”

  “Yeah,” Jackie says. “I know.”

  “Lucas,” Coach K says to me. “You’ve got to hold back a little longer on this one. I don’t want you kicking at all until lap seven or you’ll run out of gas or aggravate that hamstring again.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I know. Thanks.”

  We each down a cup of Gatorade and go through a series of warm-up jumps and drills in unison, neither of us speaking. The closer we get to race time, the more tense I get. About ten minutes before we start, I glance over at Dad and Brody, still in the same spot. Brody’s now signing autographs for sorority girls with tan skin and all kinds of cleavage.

  I do not need this distraction right now. I shift my eyes down to the track at my feet and take in ten slow, deep breaths, rolling out my shoulders and swinging my arms back and forth. When I look up again, he’s got three other girls around him and one of them is handing over a Sharpie and lifting her shirt, pointing to her super flat stomach. I scowl to myself as he raises the marker and signs the girl’s fucking stomach. Is she not planning on showering anytime soon? Seriously, what’s the deal with getting body parts autographed? I don’t get it. Not like you can sell it on eBay. Why don’t they just ask, Can you please touch me somewhere inappropriate in public?

  Dad watches Brody for a minute then shakes his head, moves over to keep from getting clobbered by girls, and returns his attention to the track. The race in front of ours finishes, and Jackie and I move to our starting lanes. She turns to face me before taking her stance. “Good luck, Annie.”

  “Thanks. You too,” I murmur, watching as she glances up into the stands, swallows hard, and then faces forward again.

  “Let’s go one-two again, okay?” she adds. “For Coach Kessler.”

  “Sure.” Somehow, this verbal commitment sends the butterflies loose in my stomach. My legs are shaking and my hands tingling. I take one more glance over my shoulder at Dad and Brody, who now has a five-girl entourage surrounding him. Now I kind of wish he had stayed in Chicago watching that stupid-ass movie.

  Focus, Annie!

  The gun goes off and I and nineteen other girls take off running. For the entire first mile, I stick close to Jackie, toward the front of the pack, but neither of us moves into the lead. After lap six, Jackie and I both pull ahead, running side by side. Her stride is so perfect, so precise, it’s like she’s decided to leave everything here on the track for this race. I guess she doesn’t really have any other options. And instead of intimidating me, her confidence gives me confidence, especially knowing I beat her once already today.

  We’re so together it’s like we’ve rehearsed this choreography. The bell rings for the final lap and both of us simultaneously kick harder, our heels raising. Our arms are swinging to an identical rhythm. We’re going to fight all the way to the finish line. But then as we come around the final straightaway, I do something that I’ve only ever done once in my life and that was during this race at sectionals.

  I look at the clock.

  We’re both on pac
e to break the state record. And only one of us will get credit for it. My lungs and legs are screaming but I feel that addiction Brody mentioned last week. I’m addicted to breaking records, to seeing my foot cross that finish line first. I break away from Jackie, getting half a stride ahead of her.

  “Come on, Annie!” I hear Dad shout as if I’m running alone around our neighborhood, Dad and Grams seated on the front porch waiting for me to come around the corner.

  With only fifty meters to go, my thoughts shift to Jackie crying after the last race, the way she glanced up in the stands at the scouts, the details Lenny inadvertently told me last weekend about her needing that scholarship.

  Ninety percent of my brain is shouting, Win, Win, WIN. And the remainder is telling me something else.

  Jackie’s going to break the state two-mile record and no one will ever know.

  I’ve already got my name down, and I can beat her time next year.

  The decision is made.

  Ten meters before the finish line, I pull back just enough to let her left foot cross the line before mine. My eyes zoom in on the clock again. Five hundredths of a second separates our times.

  The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeaker once again. “A new state record set in the thirty-two hundred meter run by Jackie Stonington, senior and four-time state qualifier from St. Teresa’s Academy.”

  Jackie immediately falls to the ground in a heap, relief and pride spilling off of her. After we’ve both taken a minute to catch our breath, I bend over and reach out a hand to help her up. She grabs it and springs to her feet, wrapping me in a big hug. We’re quickly joined by Coach Kessler who’s crying and cheering at the same time.

  After I finally break away from the two of them, I catch Brody’s eye. He’s leaning against the fence, arms crossed, forehead wrinkled. Does he know that I just let Jackie win? I can’t decide if that’s a bad thing or not.

  The moment of us connecting from a distance is short-lived because a couple more girls and two guys have approached Brody. One of them taps him on the shoulder, and he turns his back to me.

  Lenny has hopped the fence and is heading over this way. She stops first to congratulate Jackie, giving her a big hug, and then she heads over to me. “You amaze me, Annie Lucas. I almost felt inspired to run a few laps beside you guys. Almost.”

  I laugh, but I can’t tear my eyes from Brody. Lenny’s gaze travels to where he and Dad stand. “You’re like a green-eyed monster right now.”

  “Am not,” I protest. “Just sick and tired of people lifting up clothing to get autographs. I bet they don’t even like baseball.”

  Lenny grabs my shoulders and twists me around to face her. “Annie, you seriously cannot spend all your time and energy crushing on a Royals player. It’s a pointless pursuit. Think about it. You’re in high school. And he’s on the road all the time, alone in hotel rooms with women who know exactly how to find players, get them to drop their pants, and they give some damn good blow jobs. Is that what you want to do? Get his attention by flashing your boobs and relenting to sexual favors? You’re not that girl.”

  I’ve never really had close female friends before, ones who can point out the obvious. It’s both aggravating and useful.

  I sigh. “I know I’m not that girl, but how do you know it’s really that wild on the road? They do have baseball games to play, right?”

  Lenny snorts back a laugh. “Because my dad’s been sleeping with other women for the last decade at least. It’s like it’s so easy for them it can’t be wrong. And Jason Brody isn’t even married, so he’s totally got an all-access pass.”

  My stomach drops. “God, Len, I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs. “I’m used to it. The only thing that pisses me off is all the stupid happy family, happy marriage, good Catholic ballplayer bullshit that gets told about my family in articles and TV clips. Why can’t the shit hit the fan at least once? Why can’t he get some bimbo on the road pregnant and have her sue him for child support?”

  It is surprising that First Base has never been caught considering how many photographs are printed or posted online of Brody with various women. Although maybe they don’t send photographers alongside the married players, like they obviously do with Brody. Or at least they did today.

  We walk toward the athlete hospitality area so I can grab some water. “You want that to happen?” I ask Lenny. “You want bad publicity?”

  “Not really.” She sighs. “I just want people to stop liking him for his fake personality. I want to believe at least to some extent that negative behavior has negative consequences, but obviously he’s invincible.”

  She swipes a bottle of water for herself and another for me. “Let’s not talk about my life anymore. We need to figure out what to do about your little problem.”

  “I don’t have a problem,” I lie. “I’m totally over it now that I’ve seen how disgustingly futile it is.”

  She levels me with a “yeah right” look and then digs through her purse, handing me what looks like a driver’s license. My school ID photo is in the corner, but the name reads: Marie Conner and according to the birth date on the card, Marie Conner is twenty-two years old.

  “You got me a fake ID?” I squeal.

  Lenny claps a hand over my mouth, glancing around quickly. “Say that a little louder and your dad might get to hear it, too.”

  “Sorry,” I whisper through her fingers.

  She drops her hand and grins. “Carl and his frat brothers are going to this club downtown tonight, and I bribed him to take us and get us these very believable IDs.”

  “And you have to be twenty-one to get in?”

  “Eighteen,” Lenny clarifies. “But what’s the fun of getting in if we can’t buy drinks, right?”

  I chew on my thumbnail feeling extremely conflicted. I hate lying to Dad. I still feel guilty from the last time, especially after running into Johnson. Then I glance over at Brody, who’s been given a chair so that some sorority girl can plop down on his lap and wrap herself around him while her friend takes a picture that will mostly likely be a Facebook status update in the next twenty seconds. Is he going to sign her boobs, too?

  And it’s not like Johnson is going to be hanging out in downtown dance clubs. I doubt they serve barbecue.

  “You know, I’m not one to coddle and talk about feelings,” Lenny states. “So I’ll just give this to you straight. You and Jason Brody are in a place that’s even worse than the friend zone, Annie.”

  “What? Like enemies?”

  She shakes her head. “That would be a step up. Enemies often have lots of pent-up sexual frustration. You’re in the kid sister zone. I’m afraid that’s about as hopeless as it gets.”

  I exhale, staying silent as we head toward Dad and Brody. She’s right. And the way I see it, I have two options: 1) stop looking and acting like the kid sister and/or 2) find someone more obtainable to crush on. I’m pretty sure going to a grown-up club with Lenny tonight could potentially achieve both of those things.

  “All right, I’m in. But what do I tell my dad?”

  She smiles at me. “Let me take care of that.”

  I get another big hug from Dad when we reach him. “What happened at the end, Annie? Was it your leg?”

  “Uh-huh,” I lie. “It just seized up all of a sudden. I think I pushed it too hard.”

  “So, Coach Lucas,” Lenny says, interrupting. “Mind if I steal your daughter for the night so we can celebrate her athletic achievement properly without adult supervision.”

  I glare at her and Dad leans back, folding his arms across his chest. “What do you two have planned?”

  Lenny bats her dark eyelashes. “Well, your daughter’s barely pulling a C in Spanish and finals are next week. She’s obviously in need of Lenny London tutor extraordinaire. But I won’t make her study all night. We’ll be eating plenty of ice cream, candy, and pizza.” She lifts up one of my hands and shakes her head in disgust. “Also some nail polishing…you know, the
usual sleepover activities.”

  Brody chooses that moment to spin around and face us. “Really, Lenny? You’re going to put nail polish on Annie Lucas? Alert the media.”

  Lenny’s brows go up and she gives me a look that says, See? Kid sister zone.

  “Be home for brunch with Grams tomorrow?” Dad says and after I nod he gives me another hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I’m sorry I doubted your ability to run both of those races. I was wrong. Next year, you can break Jackie’s two-mile record, all right?”

  I squeeze him back. “Deal.”

  After Dad lets me go, Brody holds up a hand to high-five me. I just stare at it, leaving him hanging and then glance at Lenny who’s managed to look both sympathetic and satisfied that her assumptions regarding our relationship were completely accurate. I wrinkle my nose before finally tapping my hand against his.

  Lenny and I walk toward the parking lot, and she hesitates then asks, “Is your dad always like that or was it just the ‘I’m here for my daughter act’?”

  I almost don’t want to tell her the truth, but there’s no point in lying because Lenny has an amazing talent for reading people. “It’s not an act.”

  She shakes her head, bewildered. “So weird.”

  When we get to her car, I tell her that I need to stop at home to shower and get a change of clothes. She rolls her eyes before unlocking the doors. “Honey, nothing you own is going to be club friendly. I can guarantee that without even glancing in your closet.”

  I plop into the car with a frustrated sigh. “You really are going to paint my nails, aren’t you?”

  She slides her sunglasses into place and starts the engine. “We’re going to do a hell of a lot more than that. You need to look twenty-two if you want to be Marie Conner.”

  “You know what?” I sit up straighter. “I think Marie Conner is going to be my much cooler, much more flirtatious, much more adventurous alter ego. So yeah, give me the full sexy woman makeover.”

  And if I’m Marie Conner then I won’t feel as guilty about lying to Dad. Because I didn’t lie. Marie did. She’s badass like that.