On Tuesday the volleyball game is at our school—the last league match before playoffs—and the bleachers are filled. So, of course, the first time I touch the ball, I shank it. Then I serve it into the net—twice. When I miss a block, my coach has seen enough. He pulls me, and I ride the pine for the rest of the match. That’s fine with me. Let somebody else be in the spotlight. In the last two weeks I’ve been stared at enough to last me a lifetime.
It’s hard to believe it’s only been two weeks since I was rushed to the hospital and the rumors started to fly. It feels like forever. This is shaping up to be the longest year of my life.
Somehow I make it through the week, though, and finally it’s Friday again. Not that weekends are any better than school days. With only my parents and the television for company, it’s not exactly a laugh a minute.
Tonight one of the guys on the boys’ team is hosting a pre-playoff party. The girls’ team is invited, but I don’t even consider going. I still haven’t recovered from my run-in with Ross, and Jen and I haven’t spoken since she yelled at me over the phone. Neither one of them would want me at the party, and everyone else would treat me like I had the plague. Not a tough decision. I stay home.
There’s not much on television, but I plant myself in front of it anyway. By ten o’clock I’ve had enough and go to bed. But I can’t sleep. I spend the night flipping my pillow and fighting with my covers. When morning arrives I’m as restless as ever. I’m in a rotten mood, too, and have a terrible headache. At breakfast I force down my eggs and toast in sullen silence.
“Where are you going?” my mother asks when I show up at the front door in my sweats.
“For a run.”
“It’s cold out there.”
I shrug. “I’m dressed in layers, and I’ll be running. If anything, I’ll probably end up too warm.”
She eyeballs the sky through the living-room window. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”
I glance at her as I reach for the doorknob. “I’m pretty sure I won’t shrink, Mother.” Then I head outside before she can come up with any more reasons for me to stay home. She’s right. It is cold, but I don’t care. I’ll go crazy if I stay in the house one more minute.
At the end of the driveway, I stop and breathe in the morning while I decide on a route. The air smells of burning leaves. I spy a wisp of smoke curling upward from the neighbors’ yard. They must be doing a fall cleanup. I wonder if their kids bury potatoes in the fire’s embers like Jen and I used to do. Those were the best baked potatoes—crusty, charred skins and crunchy, half-cooked insides that we’d slather with butter. My mouth waters, and I almost smile.
Then I feel my muscles tighten. That was then, and this is now. I push the memory aside and start to run. I don’t want to think, so I concentrate on how the pounding in my head is keeping time with my feet thumping the pavement.
My plan is to go to the sports center, run a few laps around the outdoor track and then jog home again. Hopefully the exercise and fresh air will clear my head.
I have to pass Jen’s place to get to the sports center, but I keep my eyes focused on the sidewalk until her house is behind me. I’m just about to turn the corner when I hear someone calling me.
“Emma!”
I glance over my shoulder. It’s Jen, standing on the sidewalk in front of her house. I keep running.
“Emma, wait.”
I slow down slightly, but I don’t stop.
“Please, Emma! Wait!”
The desperation in her voice makes me put on the brakes and spin around. When she catches up, I can see that she’s crying, and from the look of her, she has been for quite a while. Suddenly I don’t care that the last time we talked she screamed at me and called me a liar.
“What’s the matter?” I say. “What’s happened?”
Her answer is to break down completely, and though she’s trying to speak, I can’t make out a single word through her sobs. I don’t know what’s upset her, but it must be something pretty awful. Jen doesn’t cry easily.
“Come on,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”
She pulls away, her eyes bulging with fear. “No! My parents can’t see me like this.”
“But you’re not wearing a coat,” I say. “You’re going to freeze out here.”
“No!” She shakes her head. “Please, Emma. I can’t.” She looks so panicked, I don’t push it.
“Fine.” I nod. “We’ll go to the sports center then. It’s only a block away. It’ll be open, and we can go inside and talk. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I peel off my hoodie and offer it to her. “Put this on. It’s a bit sweaty, but it’s warm.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me,” I say, pushing the top into her arms. “You’re wearing a T-shirt. You’ve got goose bumps on your goose bumps.” I snap the arm of my long-sleeved shirt. “This is thermal. I’ll be fine.”
We jog the block to the sports center without talking. Jen isn’t crying anymore. But the second we step inside—whoosh—on come the waterworks again. The people standing nearby start to stare, so I steer Jen into the washroom.
Since I have no tissues, I grab a fistful of toilet paper from one of the cubicles. She swipes at her tears and blows her nose. I wet some paper towels. She wipes her face.
I wait until she’s breathing normally again and then say, “So tell me what’s wrong.”
Tears start streaming down her cheeks again.
She’s clearly hurting so much that I tear up too.
“Oh, Emma!” She can barely choke out the words. “You were right.”
My body stiffens, and cold dread shoots up my spine. I know what she’s going to say. A heavy metal door inside my brain slams shut. No. Not again.
“Ross,” she squeaks. “He…he...”
I shake my head. “Shhhh.” She doesn’t need to say anything. I pull her into a hug, and her pain becomes mine. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I say as we slide down the wall to the floor. She buries her face in my shoulder, as broken as a person can be, and together we cry. “It’s going to be okay.” I rock her and stroke her hair. “Everything is going to be okay.”
I don’t know how it can be, but if I keep saying it, maybe it’ll be true.