I HADN’T REALLY thought about the fact that I wasn’t going to have a parent at the track meet until the doorbell rang, and it was time to go. Before that, I was just focused on getting myself together. But now that Skunk had arrived, it hit me that when I looked out into the stands, Momly wouldn’t be there. Uncle Tony wouldn’t be there either.
But Maddy would. And when I opened the door, I found out Cotton surprised me by coming too! Cotton! I thought she was coming home from her cruise the next day, but she showed up a day early.
“I got so much tea to spill!” I said, throwing my arms around her. And instead of us immediately going in about everything, she whispered, “We’ll talk later. There’s somebody else here to see you.”
I looked past Cotton, and there was a head full of tight curls poking out the passenger side window, a sly grin on her face. “You ready, Pancake?”
“Ma? What are you . . .” I was so surprised I could barely speak. I mean, she never came to my meets. Not because she didn’t want to but because she was always so drained from the blood cleaning and Saturday was her only real recuperating day, and she needed to save up her energy for church on Sunday.
“Yeah, you ready, Pancake?” Cotton repeated.
“Shut up,” I said, giving Cotton another hug. Then I ran over to give Ma a kiss on the cheek.
Uncle Tony came to the door with Maddy. Peered over at me standing at the passenger side of Skunk’s car, my mother’s face still out the window. “Bev? What a surprise!” he exclaimed. I shot my eyes at him: that goofy look on his face was a dead giveaway that he set this whole thing up. “What?” he said to me, his shoulders lifted to his ears. Then he waved me over so he could give me one. With his arms around me, he whispered in my ear, “I hope you’ve been practicing the Running Man, like I showed you.” Then he released me and did a quick two-second dance that looked like he was being electrocuted.
I told him I hadn’t been practicing that—how to look ridiculous—and as he walked me and Maddy (and Cotton) to the car, he assured me that we could work on it some more later that evening when Momly got back. Then Ma told Uncle Tony that even though she had to tell Skunk to turn his music down because “ain’t nobody trying to go deaf with all that boom, boom, boom,” at least his car was clean.
“And cleanliness is next to godliness,” she plucked at Uncle Tony as he closed the back door after Maddy and me climbed in. Maddy had to sit on the hump, between me and Cotton, my duffel bag on my lap. These people. They were my constellation, or however Becca was saying it. The dots all connected.
“I know, Bev. I know.” Uncle Tony bent down and looked through the passenger-side window, past Ma over to Skunk in the driver’s seat. “You remember what I told you yesterday on the phone?”
“Yeah, I got it, Mr. Tony,” Skunk said with that same annoyed voice that all of us get around naggy oldheads. “The speed limit.”
“Not. One. Mile. Over it.”
On the way to the park, Ma (who was sipping from a big cup of coffee) and Skunk talked about how Skunk was having a hard time finding a job, while Cotton and Maddy were doing their Maddy fo-faddy game. They were also yapping about how nice my hair looked, especially those three braids in the back.
“She looks so chic, like a throwback Serena Williams,” Cotton said, trying to be funny, but Maddy didn’t get the joke, and loves Serena Williams (who doesn’t?), so she just whipped toward me and blurted out, “Yeah! You do look like a throwback Serena, Patty.” Skunk and Ma paused their conversation and had a good laugh at that. But I ain’t have time for all this jokey-jokey. I needed to get focused. Especially since Ma—Ma!—was going to see me run.
The park was teeming with parents and friends, runners and coaches. But I was going to do my best to block out all the noise on the outside, and all the noise on the inside. I was here for one reason. To win.
And so was Cotton.
“You think if I wink at Lu on the track, he’ll wink back?” Cotton asked.
“What? Are you serious? I can’t do this right now, Cotton.” I said that, but of course I still did it. “You think Lu is gonna be able to see you wink?” I pulled Ma’s wheelchair out of Skunk’s trunk. Unfolded it. Maddy held my duffel bag and looked out at the track.
“Uh, Patty, have you seen these lashes? Yeah, I think he’ll be able to see me wink.”
“He won’t. Trust me. When you’re on the track, the only thing you’re looking at are the runners around you, and the finish line. I mean, sometimes I can see family, but still. He might not even look up in your direction.” I wheeled the chair to the side, while Ma balanced herself and slowly slid onto the seat.
“Well, even if he don’t see it, he’ll feel it and it’ll still be good luck,” Cotton said low so my mother wouldn’t hear.
“Then wink at me, too.”
“Patty, please. Maddy already told me you got all the good luck you need,” she teased, flicking one of my beaded braids. “And don’t forget, if you win, you gotta strut off the track like Mary.” Cotton did a few power steps, MJB style.
“I got it, Pancake,” Ma interjected as I tried to push her. “You get over there to your team.”
“Ma, it’s grass and other stuff over there. I’ll push you.”
“Patty, go. We here to support you. Not for you to worry about us. I got Skunky here if I need help. Ain’t that right?”
“Yeah, I got her, Patty.” Skunk hit the alarm on his car. Bloop-bloop!
“So give me a hug.” Ma spread her arms out. I leaned into her, pressed my lips to her cheek again. She whispered, “Remember, you ain’t no junk.” She grabbed my hands and it was like she whispered electricity into me, my insides fluttering in a weird way. I couldn’t help but cheese. I couldn’t help but stand up straighter, roll my shoulders back like Momly always be saying, and if she was here, she would’ve said it again. To walk like there’s nothing on my back. No weight. And today, that’s what I felt like. Then, and I didn’t see this coming, Ma glanced down at my fingers. And then the glance became a stare. My nails! Uh-oh. And I snatched my hands from her with the quickness and tried to get going.
“Let’s go, y’all,” I said, scurrying and rallying Cotton and Maddy, taking my bag back from her. And as the three of us headed toward the park, Ma called out to me.
“Patina!” No. No. Please, not right now. Not today. Not here. Not before the race. I turned around, because if I didn’t, it was only going to be worse. “I like your nails.” She smiled wide, still rolled her eyes just a little, and wiggled her fingers in the air.
I threw my duffel back over my shoulder and we headed toward all the action, my face feeling like a bright star.
“Okay, Defenders, here we are, back on the battleground—” Coach was starting strong on his windup speech, when he glanced at me. I was sitting on my butt doing butterfly stretches with the rest of the team. “Nice hair, Patty. Different,” he said, which of course caused a few giggles, the loudest coming from corny Curron. Whatever. “The lineup will be the same as it was last week, which means relays are up first.” First? We were up first? My mind flashed to last week’s meet. Not just the whole second-place thing, but also the fact that during the girls’ 4x800 relay, one team dropped the baton. Yikes.
After stretching, we went over to the benches, got our last-minute jitters out by adjusting our jerseys and tightening the drawstrings on our shorts. I checked my nails. No chips yet even after fooling with that wheelchair. Flo Jo perfect.
Mrs. Margo, Coach’s wife, started handing out Gatorades. Lu’s mom, who’d been talking to my mom, was now bopping over with a Tupperware full of orange slices. “Hey, everybody!” she sang out. She been doing this—the oranges—since me and Lu ran for the Sparks. Then she was holding the container out toward me. “Hey, Patty-Patty.” Her voice only got scary-sounding when she was cheering for Lu. “Lu told me your auntie was in the hospital. Just talked to your mom about it. You know you can always come see me if you need to. I know you don’t live as close anymore, but I’m still Mrs. Richardson. You and Cotton still my girls.”
I nodded thanks and waved off the oranges. I can’t eat oranges before a race. Too nervous.
But at least I wasn’t first first. Boys’ 4x800 was. Curron, Mikey, Eric, and Freddy took the track and the rest of us erupted in cheers. They huddled together for a quick talk, and then Freddy headed to the starting line. The other guys stood by the side of the track until their leg was up. I watched closely, my heart kicking as if I was already out there. Freddy stretched his arms over his head, did a few jumps, readying himself. The other runners around him were doing the same. Then . . .
On your mark, get set . . . Bang!
They were off, Freddy keeping pace with the pack. No one broke out on the first lap, but on the second, Freddy and a kid from another team started to lead out. Mikey took his position on the starting line as Freddy rounded the final bend of the second lap and was about to take the straightaway. He was still neck and neck with the other kid. I glanced over at Coach, who had one finger in his mouth, gnawing on a nail. The red zone was coming up. The handoff.
Now people began shouting at the top of their lungs as Freddy came charging into the handoff zone and Mikey broke out. We couldn’t hear him call “Stick!” but he must have because Mikey threw his arm back and two seconds later had the baton. The other teams did it the regular way, sort of, sidestepping and waiting for the runner to hand them the stick before taking off. Our coaches were right. This blind handoff would be the game changer.
By the time the other second legs got their batons, Mikey had taken the lead. And his handoff to Eric was just as smooth, as was Eric’s to Curron, too. The other teams didn’t stand a chance; our boys smoked everyone. After we all finished screaming and cheering, I looked down the line at Coach. His finger was out of his mouth, and he was nodding. He caught my eye. You ready? he mouthed. Then he waved me and the other three girls over.
“Next up, the girls’ 4x800 meter relay,” the announcer said over the loudspeaker.
“Y’all ready?” Coach this time asking all four of us. Whit, beside him, her hands behind her back, had a serious mug on her face. “This is rhythm, connection, and timing. Just like we practiced,” she reminded us. “This is nothing but the waltz.”
“Be there for each other,” Coach added the last word, eye-lasering us.
We hit the track. The bleachers started stomping and cheering, each section for a different team or a different person. Me, Krystal, Brit-Brat, and Deja huddled up. “Let’s show ’em how we dance, y’all,” Krystal said, fierce. She looked at me and grinned. “Leave our legs on the track.” Oh yeah.
“Wipe the floor with ’em. Together,” I snarled.
Deja was up first. She didn’t do any extra stretches. Just went out there, looked every other runner up and down, then took her place in lane three. She ran her tongue over her teeth like a wolf ready to feast. Slapped the baton against her leg a few times, then got set. And . . .
Bang!
Deja jumped out in front of everyone. Zipped from the third lane to the first in a matter of seconds.
Too fast. Too fast. Pace yourself, Deja. But Deja didn’t slow up. By the time she hit the second lap, she had a pretty big lead on everyone . . . until the home stretch, when her legs turned to mush. You could literally see her downshifting from the fastest to the slowest.
“Come on, Deja! Come on!” we were calling out, Brit-Brat already in position for the handoff. As Deja fought her way into the red zone, Brit-Brat took off. Deja’s face was a grimace—I could almost see her fighting through the cramps, taking one for the team, leaving her legs out there. She pushed through, screaming in pain as she handed the baton to Brit-Brat.
Deja collapsed, and Coach ran out onto the track to help her up. Brit-Brat, however, was able to hold on to what was left of the lead. She ran a steady race, her long ballerina legs graceful, which was ironic since she couldn’t stop stepping on my toes during practice. Grace. Such grace. Until the red zone.
“Stick!” Brit-Brat shouted. Krystal had already taken off, and she thrust her arm back to receive the baton. Brit-Brat reached out to give it to her.
Except it slipped out of Brit’s hand before it had Krystal’s fingers around it.
Oh . . . God . . .
The sound of the metal cylinder clanging on the track could be heard over the howls and groans of people who knew exactly what that sound meant. It seemed like everyone froze, everyone watching it bounce and roll. Really, nobody froze. Brit-Brat scrambled frantically to pick it up, like chasing down a rolling quarter. And once she finally did, Krystal, whose face looked like it was going to literally jump off . . . her face, and who had already run twenty meters, had to backtrack and meet Brit halfway to take the handoff. It was a fumble, and I slammed my hands together. No. Noooo.
This was it. We blew it. I shook my head and huffed, so mad that I could’ve untied my shoes and flung them into the stands. Forget it. But then Deja started going off. And I do mean OFF.
“GO! GOOOO!!!!” Deja screamed, snapping me back into the race. She had gotten up—she left her legs on the track, but now she was jumping and screaming. What was I doing? Coach told me, no matter what, I couldn’t check out. I couldn’t leave my team hanging. They needed me. Not just my legs. But my support. My energy. We needed each other. I looked behind me. Ghost and Lu were screaming their heads off. Curron, Aaron, and even Mikey were at the edge of the track, punching at the air with their fists, urging Krystal onward. Whit was biting her fist, while Coach stood next to her, arms across his chest, too cool, just watching.
“GOOOOO!!!” I belted out. I caught Brit-Brat out of the corner of my eye, covering her face as she came over to where we were. I grabbed her—snatched her right up—turned her around, and threw an arm over her shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re still in it. We’re still here!”
We kept screaming, but we’d already lost the lead. There were four people in front of us, but Krystal wasn’t giving up. And neither would I.
As soon as she hit the back stretch on the second lap, I stepped onto the track. Rolled my neck, right to left, left to right. Stretched my arms behind me, clenched my hands to work out any shoulder and back kinks.
Lane three. I sized up the other girls who were taking their places beside me. Then I looked over and saw Ghost nodding at me and clapping. Sunny next to him doing the same thing. Lu had one of his arms flexed up, making a muscle. He slapped his bicep, then pointed at me. And Coach, still cool, was now looking at me, nodding. Like he knew something I ain’t know. Or maybe, something that I actually did know.
You are strong enough. Your mother’s legs. Patina Jones ain’t no junk.
I glanced up at the crowd. At first everyone was a smear of color and sound. Except for a few people. Then a few came into focus. Cotton. I couldn’t tell if she was winking or not, but she might’ve been. I could see Maddy, but even more, I could hear her, hear her screaming my name as if it was just her and me in a tunnel. And next to her, for the first time in forever, was Ma. Her arms raised high in the air, her fingers tickling the sky. I couldn’t hear her, but I could see her lips forming a P. Pancake. She might’ve been saying Patty. But she had to be saying Pancake.
TO DO: Just run.
And win.
Here we go.
The other three girls had just made their handoffs when Krystal pounded into the red zone. I broke out and could tell that I was in lockstep with Krystal—in sync.
“Stick! Stick!” she yelled, and I reached my left arm back and grabbed the baton smooth as smooth. From her hand to mine—the energy protected, the power transferred. I opened my stride early to make up for lost time, and it wasn’t long before I caught up to the pack, my beads clicking in time with my heartbeat. Thump-thump-click! Thump-thump-click! Long Ponytail was in lane two. Baldy in lane one. Twists in lane four.
Cannon to the right of me! Cannon to the left of me!
We all stayed together coming down the home stretch of the first lap. Now, for the second. Time to make my move. I opened my stride even more. Figured I’d make Long Ponytail, who was shorter than me, work for it. She couldn’t hang, and two hundred meters into the lap, she rigged and fell back, as if her legs locked up on her and she had to pull up or something. Like she gave up.
The other two were still with me. Well, actually Baldy was leading Twists and me by a few steps. And as we came down the back stretch and hit that final two hundred, I felt my legs start to stiffen. No! It was like my muscles were turning into wood or something. No!!
Come on, Patty. Push. Push. Push. Breathe. Thump-thump-click!
“Come on, Patty,” I said out loud.
“Come on, Patty!” I could hear Maddy screeching from the bleachers.
Thump-thump-click!
Final one hundred. The pain. The pain. The pain. Is nothing. You are strong enough. You got your mother’s legs.
The three of us were neck and neck, shoulder to shoulder, fighting until the end. The batons in our hands like broken sword handles. Warriors. The finish line. Right there. Leave your legs on the track. Heart pounding. Beads clicking in time with my steps, like a clock ticking in my ears.
Or a time bomb.
Come on, Patty. Come on!
