FOR THE MOMENT, NORTHVILLE HIGH SCHOOL WAS AGLOW with fall sunlight, but thick clouds glowered on the horizon. In the student parking lot waited the BMWs, Mercedeses and Corvettes that belonged to the Northville kids. Today, they were parked next to the Chevys and Fords from Westfield.
Casey sat on the bench, in her sweats, and clapped her hands together. Other girls from the team screamed support as the four-hundred-meter race pounded past them. Casey listened to the thud of sneakers on the track and the huff of breath on the air. Mr. Young stood near the track, screaming his throat out.
The kids and parents in the stands yelled and Casey could feel the noise in her stomach. Janie Barker, from Westfield, was pulling up on a Northville girl. Those Northville girls ran gracefully, with long, pistoning legs. It was like they all took hormones or something. But Janie was catching up, and Casey felt excitement in her throat.
"Yeah!" she screamed. "Go! Go!" She leaped up and punched her fist in the air.
The whole field shook with screaming now, as six girls closed in on the tape. A Northville girl threw back her head and her sneakers seemed to leave the ground. Janie pumped her arms. Mr. Young was practically on the track, urging Janie to win.
But it was obvious that Janie wouldn't make it. There was one moment in a race when you could make your move and a miracle could happen. The moment was gone. Northville put empty space between her and Janie, and the Northville crowd bellowed with joy as their girl windmilled through the tape and thrust her arms high in a two-fisted salute.
Janie stumbled to a walk, and Mr. Young grabbed her around her shoulders and walked with her, talking low. The other girls straggled over the finish line. "This sucks," the girl next to Casey said.
"I know." Casey looked with anger at the Northville bench, where the girls were hugging and high-fiving each other.
Casey caught herself getting emotional over the meet. It surprised her. She'd avoided thinking about it all day in school. But the girls sang songs on the bus, and gossiped, and the sun was hot through the bus windows. It all brought back the feeling.
The girls were stretching out now for the next heat of the four hundred meters. Then came the hurdles. Casey had asked Mr. Young on the bus if she was running the event, and he said, "There ain't nobody else."
She blew out a calming breath and leaned over on the bench. Her thighs ached and her knee creaked where the cut had healed. Her rib had knitted pretty well, and she'd done her morning run the last three days. She tried to probe her joints and muscles mentally. The air was becoming wetter, and that made her aches worse.
Just as the girls took their places at the blocks, Casey saw Paul's Oldsmobile pull into the parking area. She was surprised to see him. He'd never come to watch her run. But she was also scared. And to her surprise, she was angry. She didn't want to give up her time with the girls on the team.
He got out of the car and looked for her. He wore his sunglasses and a leather bomber jacket and jeans. The gun went off, making Casey jump. All the girls on the bench were on their feet, edging toward the track and screaming. Casey sat alone, surrounded by nylon gym bags and folded coats.
For a moment, she huddled on the bench, hoping that he wouldn't see her. It was so weird how she cherished this stupid track meet. It was like a remnant of her old life, when her mom and dad still talked to her and she hung out with Faye and Heather and Glenn. If she just sat here on this bench and cheered her heart out, then she would be back in time, before Paul.
She remembered seeing him for the first time, carrying the fence section into her backyard. The whole fence was together now, and the pool was covered, and it was as if it had always been there. Paul, too. When would it stop hurting to be in love with him?
Angrily, she stood up and waved to attract his attention. Her ears still heard the thudding feet and the screaming, but she didn't look at the race. She walked briskly away from the bench, past spectators who hung around in little groups. Paul saw her and waved back.
A shadow swept across the earth and chilled the colors. She hurried to Paul and hugged him. She liked the smell of his jacket. He held her at arm's length, and she felt the pressure of his fingers in her arms.
"Hi," she said. "What brings you here?"
"I went to school to pick you up," he said. "I figured we'd drive down to the beach, walk on the dunes."
"That would've been great," she said.
"I waited fifteen minutes," he said. "Everybody came out of the building except you. Then I walked around the place for ten minutes."
A chill rippled through her, partly from the damp wind that had sprung up. "Well, I was here. I told you about the meet."
"Never."
"Yeah, I think I did, Paul."
"I don't remember it."
He dropped his hands and jammed them into the pockets of his jacket. She said, "Well, you never were very interested in my track meets."
He didn't answer. He took a crushed pack of Marlboros from his jacket and stuck one between his lips. His hidden eyes swept the field as he cupped his hands to light the cigarette. It took him a couple of matches. Casey turned to watch the small figures as they sprinted around the far turn. Clouds advanced across the sky, and only patches of blue showed.
Paul blew out smoke. "So let's go."
"Huh?"
He smiled. "To the beach."
She looked up at the sky. "Well, it might be kind of wet by the time we get out of here."
He bent his head and scuffed his boot toe on the concrete. "Casey, wake up. I meant now."
"I can't go now," she said. "I'm running next."
He sighed. "Boy, you get me tired."
Casey heard loud cheers, and spun. People were blocking her view and she couldn't tell what was happening. Mr. Young would be looking around for her. Mr. Young might also freak if he saw Paul, and Casey got scared at the idea of the two of them fighting.
"Paul, don't pull a scene now," she said. "You know I can't leave the meet."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm on the team. And I've got to get back for my race. Why don't you watch me?"
Paul dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his heel. "I didn't drive here to watch you run races."
"Paul, don't do this."
"I need you," he said.
"I can't walk out on them."
"Then you walk out on me."
"No." Her anger pumped her full of energy. "It's not that simple. You always make it a choice."
Mr. Young's voice sailed through the air like a grappling hook and caught Casey's back. "CASEY!! Let's GO!"
Casey felt like a car was dragging her along a road. "I have to run, Paul."
He looked at her with a frozen expression. "If I walked away now, you'd stay here?"
"I have to, Paul."
He scratched the side of his mouth. "What about after the meet? You going out with the girls?"
Her heart leaped. "No! I mean, not if you want me to go with you."
He nodded. "I'll hang out. We'll go for dinner later."
She felt breathless. She grabbed him and pressed her mouth against his in a grateful kiss. She felt him stiffen and not give it back.
She folded her hands over his shoulders. "I love you."
Mr. Young yelled again. "CASEY!"
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him again, then turned and ran with long strides back to the team bench. The girls milled around and stared at her with open disgust. Mr. Young held his clipboard and his mouth was a thin line.
"Sorry," she panted. "How'd our girls do?"
"Dolores won," another girl said coldly.
Casey noticed Dolores on the bench, head between her legs. "Way to go, Dot!"
Dolores didn't look up. Casey could feel the deep freeze. She stripped off her sweat pants and folded them over her gym bag, then took off her top. Mr. Young said, "We're ten points behind. We need the hurdles. How do you feel?"
"Good," Casey said.
"Stretch out," he said. "I'll stall them."
Casey nodded. She looked around at the other girls, red-faced. "My idiot fiance," she said. She stretched out one leg and bent gracefully over it, sliding her fingertips to the ankle. "I tell him I've got to run and he keeps yakking."
Nobody said anything. Blow away, she thought viciously. She stretched the other leg, then jogged in place. She walked through the raw air to the starting line. The official looked at her like she was a toad. She drew a Popsicle stick from his clenched hand and saw that she had the outside position. Her heart sank.
Mr. Young was waiting as she walked to the blocks. He grabbed her around the shoulders. "Don't think about anything but running," he said in a low voice. "You've got the talent to take her."
He squeezed her and let her go. Shivering, Casey knelt by the blocks and glanced sidelong at Northville. She was a slim blonde, not taller than Casey, but richer. You could see by her expensive haircut and her all-over tan. She locked stares with Casey for a moment. Northville's eyes were green and gem-cold. She looked away, with a smirk.
Casey stared ahead, down the black ribbon of track, at the first hurdles. The sky moved overhead, masses of clouds thickening and seething. The wind smelled of rain. Casey ducked her head and flexed. She wondered if Paul was going to watch her or just get a beer and come back. She shuddered from their encounter. She had been sure he was going to hit her right there.
The gun cracked. Casey got a good jump. She glimpsed Northville ahead of her; the satiny red of her top and shorts seemed even brighter under the gray sky. Casey pulled together her concentration and felt her legs moving smoothly. Her sneakers hit hard, sending shocks up her calves. Her lungs burned too soon and she felt perspiration break out on her back.
She ran past the stands, glimpsing open mouths, waving arms, coats, and banners. Then she was out in the open, hearing only the wind rushing past her ears. The first hurdles seemed to race toward her like an oncoming train. Out of the side of her eye, she saw Northville leap. She kept her eyes on the hurdle, bunched her muscles, and pushed off.
Good timing! She landed on her toes, dug, and kept moving. Her form felt terrific, better than ever. But her body was hurting. Suddenly, her cracked rib sizzled with fire, and her groin stabbed her. Breath rasped in her throat. She knew she was out of condition. So did Mr. Young. And he let her run anyway, in a race that meant everything for Westfield. He should have scratched her. What was so important to prove that he had to risk the whole season?
Casey leaned into the first turn, glancing at a leafy wall of brown and yellow woods. It looked dreary and sad under the clouds. But there was a break in the clouds farther down the track. Casey drank in the colors and the smell of her own sweat and the rhythmic thunder of her sneakers. The next hurdles looked a million miles away.
She pumped her arms and thought about Daddy and how he'd whaled on Mom at the kitchen table. She thought of Faye and Heather, who'd wished her luck after she'd turned her back on them. She thought about the changes happening in her own head, that made her feel like she was shedding her skin.
Damn. Northville was way ahead, shrinking into the distance. Casey felt herself get mad. With her head banging, she ripsawed her legs, digging deeper. Every step shot a white-hot javelin into her hip. She moaned as she gasped for breath. She nearly tripped just ahead of the next hurdle, and cleared it by an inch.
She stumbled, and screamed as fire circled her knee. She was around the second turn, all by herself. She ran in her own wind, on her own track. She ran under the break in the clouds and, suddenly, warm pink light flooded her and the sky sang. She couldn't hear her sneakers anymore. She'd run right through her endurance level, into a trance state that numbed her muscles. She felt her arms pump, and she threw her head back, and tears of exhaustion blurred her vision.
She saw Glenn and Faye as if they stood by the track watching her. She saw Glenn charging Paul at the dance, getting hit, and doubling over. She remembered walking with Glenn by her house and Glenn telling her that he loved her. She felt his hands on her shoulders and looked into his clear eyes.
Casey ran through the tunnel of numbness and out again, as her reveries were sheared off by the wind. Agony enveloped her body; fires burned everywhere. The last hurdle was just ahead, but Northville was gone. Casey was running the race alone. Her solo. Her swan song. But she pounded down the track and she scissored her legs and she leaped. She felt her foot knock over the hurdle, but she came down cleanly and grunted at the shock.
She heard the crowd now. She saw Northville, already punching the sky with her fists. Northville tossed back her golden blonde head and her red tank top rippled like a flag. Her flawless bronze legs slowed to a balletic trot as she broke the tape. She seemed to be prancing in slow motion.
Casey could almost see herself gasping and staggering. She could see the purplish blotches on her legs that always came out when she ran in cold weather. She felt ugly and humiliated as she saw the Westfield bench waiting. There were no girls clustered at the finish line to catch her and hug her. The girls sat glumly. Dolores slammed a towel viciously on the bench. Janie turned away.
Casey couldn't feel her legs moving as she ran the last few feet. Mr. Young stopped to her and she collapsed into his arms. He enfolded her, and she shivered in his embrace.
"You're bleeding again," he said. "Come on and sit down."
She sucked in deep breaths, fighting nausea. She looked at the ground, vaguely hearing the applause and the voices. A car sped by somewhere. She felt cold splashes of rain on her cheeks. Mr. Young practically carried her to the bench and guided her to lie down. She braced herself with her hands and stretched out her legs. She saw the trickle of bright blood down her left calf.
The bench was empty. Some girls were getting ready for the next event. Others shoved stuff into their bags. Mr. Young sat next to Casey. "Get your sweats on," he said. "You'll catch a chill."
"I'm sorry," Casey said.
"I'm sure you are."
"I tried my best."
"It wasn't very impressive."
She looked at him, feeling her eyes mist. Exhaustion stripped away her control. She could feel her chest heaving and her shoulders quaking. "What do you want? I couldn't run any faster."
"You could run faster two months ago. You let yourself fall apart."
"So why did you let me run? Why didn't you scratch me?"
"Because you're a member of the team and this is your best event." His voice softened. "And I couldn't be sure what you had inside. I had to gamble on that."
She lifted her sweat top from her bag and draped it across her lap. "Okay. I had nothing inside. So bounce me."
"No, I won't bounce you. Not for one time. But I'll cut you the next time you do this."
Casey ached with losing, and she stung with the rejection of her teammates. "Look, Mr. Young. I know you want to help me and all, but forget it, okay? !just want to be left alone."
The rain quickened. It was a slicing, chilly rain that pattered on the bench. Mr. Young pushed back his sparse hair and looked quietly at her. Casey had to turn away. The silence seemed to last for a year. Then Mr. Young put his arm around her damp shoulder and pinched her neck affectionately.
"You don't want to be left alone," he said. "That's what got you into this mess."
She didn't answer, but she knew he was right.
He took his arm away and sat very still, his hands in his lap. He looked funny in the rain. He was in such great shape, but he looked old. "I was going to be on the Olympic track team," he said. "Back in—" He drew his fingertips over his lips to garble the year and Casey smiled. "Then I got bursitis of the hip." He laughed ruefully. "So I ran in the middle-aged male division of the Empire Games. A profile in courage."
She touched his sleeve, suddenly filled with affection for him. "It is courageous."
He shrugged. "No. Just stupid. The pain was so bad I used to faint after a race. But I needed to be a hero."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Casey said.
"It was childish. And I stopped doing it. I run in easier races now, for fun." He stood up, grimacing, and looked balefully at the soggy field. "My wife divorced me a year ago, mostly because I was so involved with my students. She couldn't understand why I preferred to be with a bunch of teenagers rather than be with my family."
"It sounds crazy to me, too," Casey said.
He smiled. "I couldn't explain it. She wanted me to get more jobs, not waste my time coaching girls. Now she's gone. And so is my son, Robbie." He was remembering for himself now, not for her. "You know, I love that kid. He's got some missing teeth, and big blue eyes, and he hugs you with so much love that you just get warm all over .... "
He stopped talking. Casey stood up, hissing at the sharp fires in her legs. "Mr. Young, you don't have to talk about this—"
"Yes, I do." He turned to her. "I don't deserve to lose my son, or my legs. You don't deserve to be misunderstood by your parents. We sometimes get what we don't deserve. But it's not our fault. We don't suffer for our sins. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah," she said.
"And hurting yourself is no way to get back at people. Not your parents or your friends or anybody. They won't change for you."
"I know."
"I didn't mean to get into this," he said. "But I'm out of things to say. Somewhere, you figured out that if you hurt enough, you'd earn the right to be happy. And somewhere you figured that you were out there all alone, and nobody knew you, except Paul. You're wrong, Casey. People love you. They don't tell you everything you want to hear, like Paul does, but they love you. Just see it. I swore I wouldn't lecture, but I'm losing you and I don't want to lose anybody else in my life."
She felt like she'd swallowed a baseball. "Thanks."
His voice shook with emotion. "You matter, Casey. I don't care if nobody on Long Island feels like talking to you. I don't care if you screw up a hundred races. You don't deserve to hurt."
He stopped because it was raining harder. Casey felt the rain slide over her bare shoulders and down her aching legs. "Okay."
He scratched his ear and blinked away raindrops. "Well, good luck to you and Paul."
She impulsively hugged him. His strong arms wrapped around her and held her tightly. She could feel his warmth and his love, and she knew they were real. And Daddy's. And Faye's. And Glenn's. All this time.
"You're terrific," he whispered.
"You, too."
He broke the embrace and his fingers touched her neck. "Get the sweats on, and get on the bus to warm up."
"I can't go home on that bus. They'll throw things at me."
"So duck."
She smiled and he ruffled her wet hair. "Thanks again," she said. Then she remembered. "Oh."
"What?"
"I really can't go home on the bus. Paul's waiting for me."
Realizing that she might be wrong, she scanned the area and saw his car, glittering with rain beads. Mr. Young followed her gaze and then looked back at Casey. "He's not your legal guardian. I can't let you go with him."
"He's my fiance."
"Sorry. Tell him it's my fault. Or I'll tell him."
She shook her head, frightened. "I'll tell him."
Mr. Young lifted her chin with his forefinger. "It's okay to tell him that. It's something he has to accept. You shouldn't be afraid."
She flushed. "I'm not afraid."
"Okay. I have to get back to the action."
She nodded, feeling very much like a small girl. She remembered falling in the playground in third grade and Mrs. Grant picking her up and brushing the gravel from the bleeding scrape on her knee. She remembered crying and feeling stupid and just wanting to be hugged, but Mrs. Grant had kept yelling at her for being a klutz.
Mr. Young walked away, and Casey shivered in the rain. She took a deep breath, heavy-hearted over the lost meet, and started to limp toward the parking area. Yeah, she was scared to death of telling Paul he couldn't take her now. And so glad she was riding the bus.