So, detention is a uniquely terrifying experience. Afterward, I feel the need to go directly home, burn my clothes, and take a long, hot shower. But Jana waits for me, despondent.
“I’m sorry! So sorry!” she gushes.
“What’s she upset about? AK should be the one kissing my ass after shoving that organ in my face,” Dominic says.
“Andy did apologize,” I insist. Profusely. I even thought he was going to cry for a minute or two. And, though he didn’t dare say this out loud, I was also under the impression that he was disappointed in the rest of us for ruining his chance at an A in the lab. But once he realized the extent of Dom’s puking episode, Andy saved the day by fetching a wad of paper towels from the boys’ bathroom and cleaning up the mess. He must not have any form of a gag reflex.
And, in an act of pure cowardice, Dr. Brownstein asked Andy to deliver my punishment.
“How did you not get sick?” I asked when he handed me the pink paper pronouncing my sentence.
“I might not have seen my dad cut people up at work, but after years of spending Saturdays filing paperwork in his office during flu season, I’m pretty immune to vomit,” he said, with a touch of pride in his voice.
“Really? I don’t think working in your dad’s office has had the same effect on my mother.” Mom’s been a long-time receptionist for Andy’s dad’s practice. She’s strictly front-of-the-house material.
“Your mom can’t handle the gross stuff, huh?” He smiled. “Hey, do you need a ride home?”
I stared up at him, amazed, before concluding he was probably trying to be polite. Or he was still attempting to make up for the one-sided snowball fight. Or his guilt over fixing the Senior Superlative vote was eating him up inside.
“No, thanks. I would just stink up your car. The scent of vomit tends to linger.”
“Some other time, then.”
“Okay, sure,” I responded, not really thinking about it. But the lame answer echoed in my mind. Did I just subject myself to a future ride with Andy? Shoot. Maybe he missed my response. I hoped he wouldn’t bug me about it every day until I complied.
Anyway, back to Jana’s endless string of post-detention apologies.
“Really sorry, Sadie, I mean it,” she says, over and over.
“What is it with you two?” Dom asks. “Is it so painful to be apart for an hour? It’s like you share a brain or something.”
“No, we’re best friends,” I correct him. “And best friends do not let best friends serve detention alone.” I wrap my arm around Jana’s shoulders to comfort her. “It was fine though, Jana. I survived. How was track practice?”
“Oh, I, um, kind of skipped. I wasn’t in the mood to run alone. Will your detention count for the, you know?” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Or do I still have to go too?”
“I think once is enough for both of us. Fill it in.”
Dom lets out a loud huff. “How does anyone talk to the two of you? It’s like you have some obnoxious, secret language.”
Oops. Forgot about him. “We speak English just like you,” I insist.
“Right. So, what are you saying right now?”
“Nothing,” Jana says, and “It’s a girl thing,” I say, at the same time.
“Then shut up. It’s been real.” He heads for the nearest exit. Before the door slams shut behind him, I spy three cheerleaders perched on the hood of his car. Apparently, Jana and I aren’t getting a ride in his Corvette today.
***
Slumped against my locker, recovering from track practice, I hear the fast beat of footsteps approaching. Ben Wexler, senior running star, looks like he’s considering performing CPR on my limp, nearly lifeless body.
It didn’t take long for me to realize how much I hate running. My legs despise running. My lungs abhor running. Even my brain detests the mind-numbing, repetitive, leg-hammering on the floor action propelling me through the bleak school hallways.
Why am I torturing myself?
Keeping his round, hazel eyes trained on me, Ben glides to a stop. His dark eyebrows stand out like extra-long dashes and they seem to bounce up and down along with the rest of his body as he jogs in place. Although his cheeks are pink from exertion, his breathing appears normal. Meaning he isn’t gulping in air like yours truly.
“What do you run? Short or long?” he asks.
A pathetic whimper rises in my burning throat. “Prior to this week, I only ran when I was late for class. Or if my neighbor asked me to walk his dog and I accidentally dropped the leash.”
“For real?” Ben rolls his spine forward and touches his toes, all the while staring at me in a disconcerting fashion. He’s like an optical illusion, contorting his body in every direction, yet his head never moves. “You decided to try competitive running four months before graduation?”
“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” I admit. “I guess you’ve been running for a while?”
“Since third grade.” Ben cops a tight smile and glances further down the hall. “What about your friend?”
“Jana? She hasn’t run before either.”
“Is she seeing anyone?”
Now where did that come from? “Not that I’m aware of.”
Ben takes a second to digest my answer. He’s known around school as a man of few words. “Keep running,” he eventually says. “When you hit a runner’s high for the first time – there’s nothing like the feeling of all those endorphins kicking through your system.”
After imparting this piece of friendly advice, he changes course and sets off in the direction of Jana’s locker, leaving me alone to dream about the elusive drug-like effect of running.
***
And guess who actually enjoys running? Jana and both of her left feet. The girl who cannot travel from her locker to homeroom without tripping over some unseen speck of debris in the hallway.
But now, on any given day, Jana beats me to practice by ten minutes and runs warm-up laps with Dominic and Ben while I take my time lacing up my old sneakers.
During the few times the guys separate during practice, like when Dom decides to focus on sprint starts in the gym because the sophomore girls are practicing in there too, I notice Ben hovering near Jana, in an unobtrusive, non-stalkerly way. A casual onlooker might not notice the brief exchange of words passing between the two of them. But, as the most trusted member of Jana’s inner circle, I usually hear about these mini-conversations on the way home from practice.
“Wanna run the next circuit with us, Sadie?” Jana asks. She turns her head, scanning the hallway for me, and almost veers into a row of metal lockers. Without breaking his pace, Ben reaches out his arm and redirects her. Jana’s face lights up in a wide smile and she giggles at her misdirection.
Hmmm. Maybe the falling in love achievement she’s hoping for isn’t as unachievable as I anticipate.
“No more circuits,” I plead, sliding bonelessly to the floor. “I need a break.” But she’s already out of earshot. Every muscle in my body hurts. Gawd. What was I thinking joining the track team?