“Ready?” said Cam.
“Ready for what?” Alexa was wary. The last time Cam showed up at her door and asked if she was ready, he was on his way to pick her up for a brisk hike straight up Mount Major.
“For the water stop. Remember? Yankee Homecoming Ten-Miler? Mile five? I volunteered us. I’m positive you said yes.”
Alexa groaned. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
“You did,” Cam confirmed. “You definitely said yes.”
Yankee Homecoming was the big summer event in Newburyport. It lasted a week, with different events every day, and would culminate with fireworks on Saturday followed by a parade on Sunday. The Yankee Homecoming race was on the Tuesday evening before the fireworks and comprised a 5K and a ten-miler; it was almost always unbearably humid during the race.
“Can’t we at least do mile nine?” asked Alexa. Mile nine would be almost at the finish. It would be so much more interesting to watch people who were really close to achieving their goal than those who were seriously considering dropping out halfway through, just before the hills.
“Nope,” said Cam. “Mile five. It’s the best mile. It’s where people really need encouragement because they’re starting to falter. Here, put this on.” He handed her a shirt that said race volunteer on the back. Alexa couldn’t remember the last time she volunteered for anything, or wore an ill-fitting cotton T-shirt, but she put the shirt on. It hung down to her knees. “Sorry,” said Cam. “They were out of smalls by the time I picked them up. I had to get large for both of us. If it helps, you look hot in that.”
“It doesn’t help,” muttered Alexa, even though actually it did, a little.
Once they were set up with their supplies, Alexa peered down Merrimac Street, which was an asphalt wasteland. The sun was so bright and so high she couldn’t imagine running to the corner and back. She wished she’d thought to wear a hat. Most of the volunteers were wearing hats, and Alexa knew a brim suited her. Cam’s hat was from the Newburyport Brewing Company and had a picture of a greenhead on it, for the Greenhead IPA. The green of the hat did something wondrous to his brown eyes. She knew that if she asked, Cam would give her the hat right off his head. But if the old Alexa would have asked for the hat, the new Alexa would let Cam retain it. Moral growth!
After some time there rose a stir of excitement as the lead runner came toward them. There was a slight bend in the road before the five-mile point, and with the sun and the undulating heat he looked almost like a mirage. The people lining the street cheered. One volunteer held out a cup of water, but Cam leaned over to Alexa and said conspiratorially, “The first ten guys never take water. They’re too focused. They can’t break pace.”
He was right, but after the fastest people went by and the pace became somewhat normal, people were happy to have the water. Some of them even paused to say thank you, or at least to grunt pleasantly. Cam had prepared a string of helpful platitudes, and he said them over and over. “You can do it!” he said. “You’re stronger than you think you are! You’ve made it halfway! The worst is over!”
Alexa wasn’t sure that the worst was over at all (wasn’t a big hill coming right after this very water stop?) but still she appreciated Cam’s optimism and she could tell that the runners did too. She found herself getting a little caught up in the excitement. When one man went for the cup and missed, spilling it all over Alexa, she jogged a few steps after him with a fresh cup. He was so grateful that she couldn’t help herself: she panted, “The worst is over!” She ran out of breath before she had a chance to add, “You can do it,” but she figured he got the point.
The number of runners decreased from hordes to large groups and eventually to a slow trickle. After some time the pace slowed even more and the stragglers started to pass by. Many of them stopped outright to take the water, and some walked a little before recommencing their slow jog. And then Cam said, “Isn’t that Tyler?”
“Where?” said Alexa. And, “I doubt it.” Tyler was not a distance runner. However, as the figure Cam was pointing to grew closer she did recognize something in his gait (Tyler was the tiniest bit bowlegged) and in the musculature of the shoulders.
“Ugh,” she said. “It is Tyler.” Instinctively she held out a cup of water. She wasn’t going to shirk her duties because of a personal issue.
When Tyler got to her, he stopped. It was almost as if he knew Alexa would be here, as if he’d run five miles just to get to her.
“Hey,” she said uncertainly. “Good job?” She smiled.
Tyler did not smile back, nor did he take the water Alexa held out. Alexa was getting a bad vibe. An angry vibe, the vibe Tyler gave off when the lacrosse team lost a big game; the vibe that appeared when it took him three tries to pass the test for his learner’s permit. (He twice got stuck on the question about how far ahead high beams and low beams let you see.)
“I didn’t know you were running,” Alexa said.
“I just jumped in with some of the guys at mile three. I didn’t want to pay the entry fee. How would you know if I was running or not? And who’s that?” He nodded his head toward Cam. Cam was busy refilling water cups from gallon jugs at the far end of the table.
“Nobody,” said Alexa. “Don’t you want to keep running? To finish the race?”
“I know who he is,” said Tyler. “Don’t worry, I know exactly who he is.” And then he turned his head away, and then back toward her, and if she hadn’t actually been there she never would have believed it, because Tyler spit on her. Like, actually spit. On Alexa’s arm. There was a gob of spit on Alexa’s arm.
“What the hell?” cried Alexa.
“Oh, sorry,” said Tyler. “My bad.” And then he smiled a smile so awful that Alexa’s blood ran cold despite the hot evening. She could not believe she ever ever ever was attracted to Tyler. She couldn’t believe she’d bought him the Bluetooth headphones he was too cheap to buy for himself the previous Christmas, and that she very seriously considered sleeping with him after junior prom, and probably would have had he not passed out in the back of Lucas Spaulding’s father’s BMW.
Tyler broke back into a slow jog and continued along the course, rounding the corner that led to the hill. Alexa wiped her arm with the bottom of her volunteer shirt (she was grateful now for all of the extra material) and walked back toward the water table. She wanted to cry—she felt shocked and violated and frankly she couldn’t believe what had just happened—but with everything in her she forced the tears to remain in her eyes.
“Did he just spit on you?” asked Cam.
“No,” said Alexa, because she was too embarrassed to say yes.
“Really? Because it looked like he spit on you.” Cam’s mouth was set in a severe line.
“I think he was just, like, spitting out water or something,” explained Alexa. “You know how runners are.” (She had no idea how runners were, and they both knew it.)
“You want me to go after him?” asked Cam.
“No,” she said. “Of course not. Don’t be crazy.” For one thing, Tyler had rounded the bend on Spofford and was now suffering his way up the hill. Or he had dropped out. Either way, he was gone. For another, Alexa thought that Tyler could turn Cam into pulp with a flip of his massive paw if he wanted to. She filled more water cups from one of the gallon jugs even though they probably had plenty. Her hand was shaking, and she couldn’t get the water into the cups without spilling it.
When the last runner had gone by, the volunteers fanned out into the road and picked up the empty cups. There was something very team-oriented about the whole process that Alexa liked, even if they were literally clearing garbage from the street.
“That guy’s a jerk,” Cam said sternly as he held a giant garbage bag open for Alexa to dump the cups into. “I can’t believe you dated him.”
“I can’t believe it either,” said Alexa.
“Well, we all make mistakes,” said Cam. “I’m just glad you’ve come to your senses.” He grinned at her, and then he leaned down and kissed her. Just like that.
“What’s that for?” she asked, smiling.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” he said. “For being such a good volunteer.”
She rolled her eyes. “You kiss all the volunteers like that?”
He nodded. “It’s what keeps them coming back year after year. It’s why we have such a robust presence at mile five.” The way he smiled at her made Alexa’s stomach do that flippy-floppy thing, and she tried to concentrate on that, instead of the place on her arm where Tyler’s spit had landed.