My first half-marathon is tomorrow, so I skip cross-country practice today. I know enough about running to know that I shouldn’t work out the day before a race. Mari decides to skip in a show of support, but I’m pretty sure it’s mostly because it’s a Friday, it’s wicked hot, and she hates running. Her mom is down with another migraine, so I invite her over to do some homework.
My heart hammers as we approach the house. Susan is back to showing up regularly and Grandma hasn’t had any of her spells, but it’s still a box of chocolates anytime I come home.
I enter slowly, pausing in the doorway, and I hear my grandma before I see her. Her voice sings out some Broadway show tune from the kitchen. My tension dissolves, and I step fully inside and motion for Mari to follow me to the kitchen.
“Hey, Grandma.” Her hands are immersed in a bowl, and Susan stands next to her spotted all over with flour.
“Hi, sweetie,” Grandma sings out as she removes her hands from the bowl and twirls around to face us. Susan looks over, and the flour spots are even more prevalent on her front side. The two of them look like long lost friends reunited. My mouth remains open, and Grandma laughs, probably inferring my thoughts. She wipes her hands on a yellow towel. “Susan and I thought we’d make some homemade pizza for dinner. I’m teaching her how to make the dough.” Susan wipes a hand across her forehead. This leaves a streak of flour, which elicits chuckles from both of them.
“Maybe your friend would like to stay, too?” Grandma suggests, aiming her head at Mari.
I pick up my jaw from the floor. I’d forgotten Mari was next to me. “Oh yeah, sorry. Grandma, this is Mari.” I turn to Mari. “This is my grandmother and Susan, her nurse.”
Mari holds out her hand, but Grandma pulls her in for a quick hug. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mari. I do hope you’ll stay for pizza.”
“I think I can.” She looks from Grandma to me.
Susan dons one of her serious nods, and I feel a sense of normalcy return. “We’re going to study,” I say as I grab a couple of waters from the refrigerator and a bag of chips from the pantry.
“Okay, you let me know if you need anything,” Grandma says and returns to her bowl of dough. As we walk down the hall, a chorus of laughter rattles the walls.
“Your grandma seems to be doing better,” Mari says in a low voice once we’re in my room.
“Yeah.” I’m still bewildered at the warm and fuzzy scene in the kitchen. “Susan has been here consistently, and that’s helped.”
We both plop to the floor and unzip our backpacks. I hand Mari a water and set the chips in between us. We agree to work on our math homework first, and I’ll help with her essay after that. She scoots back to lean against the dresser, and I sit against the bed.
I’ve only finished one math problem when Mari holds her paper out in my direction. “Check out what I drew today in my notes. Mrs. Clayton is so boring.” I let out a laugh at her BORING acrostic poem.
I thought it was just because Callie and I were such good friends for so long that we could never actually do our homework together. We would start but end up talking about cheer or whatever guy we were interested in or one of us would start a cat GIF war. So we never actually did the studying part of studying together.
I realize now that maybe it’s not just because Callie and I are best friends. Maybe it’s homework with anyone because after only one more math problem, I ask Mari, “Did you have Mr. Martin for Algebra II?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I overheard a kid in my Calculus class say he’s like some professional food eater.”
“Oh yeah, he talks about that all the time in class. All. The. Time.”
“What does that even mean?”
“He goes to all these competitions and like eats as much as he can. He says it’s a sport.”
A burst of laughter escapes from me.
“Yeah, like he was in some hot dog eating contest on July 4th.”
The Nathans Hot Dog Eating Contest. Connor loved that. He forced us to watch it every year. He called us in when it started and made us watch these people eat like sixty hot dogs in ten minutes. It was so gross. I got sick to my stomach just watching them. But Connor thought it was so awesome. He’d keep repeating, “This is SO awesome!” all the way through. I only watched it so he’d shut up and stop pestering me, but now I’d give anything to watch it on repeat with him all day long.
“What?” Mari’s voice jolts the needle on the record of my thoughts.
“Nothing,” I say, pushing against the unexpected surge of emotion. I take a breath and add, “It’s just that my brother used to love watching that.”
Her face tilts. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” I’m determined to cast aside the sadness. “It’s so gross. Have you ever watched it?”
“I did this past year, just to see Mr. Martin. And yeah, it was gross.”
“I think it would be so weird to see your teacher on TV shoving his face full of food,” I say.
“It was.” We both laugh and begin listing other teachers with weird quirks.
We manage to finish our math homework right before Grandma calls us for dinner at the usual 7:00 p.m. Susan eats with us, and their giggling and gabbing continues through the entire meal. I finally see why Grandma has been so adamant about keeping Susan around despite her friends’ pleas to request a change. Susan really is a nice lady, and I can see she cares about my grandma. I guess I’m not around all day to see how she really is. She is even sure to include Mari in every conversation and talks loudly so Mari can hear.
They also made peanut butter cookies for dessert. My favorite. Grandma won’t let us help with the dishes, so we go back to my room with a plate full of cookies and work more on the essay. Mari is still getting her notes out when my phone dings. It’s almost 8:30. Where did the time go? It’s a text from Ryan.
You up for yogurt?
I quickly type a response. Studying
I put the phone face down on the floor. My stare lingers on it, though, and Mari asks, “Who was it?”
“Just Ryan.”
Mari turns dreamy eyes on me. “What did he want?”
“Nothing.” I dismiss it with a shrug.
“C’mon. What did he want?” Her dreamy eyes reproach me.
“He wanted to meet at the yogurt place.”
“You should go!”
“No, we’re studying.” I reach over for her essay outline as the phone dings again.
She playfully swats at my hand. “We can do this some other time. You need to go!”
“I won’t have any time to help you until Sunday night.”
“That’s fine.” She closes her notebook.
“Well, I’m not going unless you go, too.”
Mari squints hard at me with her book half-inside her backpack.
“We’re hanging out. I’m not just going to ditch you. You’re coming, too,” I insist.
Mari relents. “Fine. You win. But only because I know it’s the only way you’ll go.”
A few nervous flutters escape from my heart as I reach for the phone to text him.
We pull into the parking lot of the strip mall where kids swarm like bees. I manage to find a parking spot down in front of the teal-colored nail salon. Each storefront is a different bold color, so the whole place looks like a giant rainbow. The Big Chill is an ugly mustard yellow, but that doesn’t seem to be hurting business. The crowd spills out onto the sidewalk in front of the store. I guess this is the place where everyone hangs out. It’s the first time I’ve been out on a Friday night.
“Is it always this crowded?” I ask Mari after we’ve gotten out of the car. She doesn’t hear me, so I move to the other side of her and repeat my question.
“Well, since the football team was winless this year, their season is over, and this is what people do instead.”
We approach the door, and I spot Ryan to our right in the middle of a cluster of guys and girls. He’s wearing more Union High basketball gear. I’d think he didn’t own any other clothes if I didn’t see him at work and once when I was at church with Grandma. I’d been surprised to see him there. He told me his dad’s had some crazy work hours lately—pulling all-nighters because of some big project—so his mom isn’t sleeping well. She goes to early Mass since she’s awake anyway, and Ryan and his little brother take turns going with her if they can get themselves out of bed.
I feel stupid going up to Ryan in a big group. “Let’s order, then we’ll try to find him,” I lie to Mari. We step inside and get in the long line. We’re inching along, studying the flavors, when I hear Ryan’s voice from behind us. “Now, I recommend the vanilla. It may seem boring to most, but TBC’s is no average vanilla. It’s rich and creamy with floral undertones. It pairs nicely with the Strawberry Sensation.”
“You’re such a goof,” I say to him through my laughter. He grins and his two dimples ignite tiny goose bumps on my arms. Moments later, a few girls approach us and corral Ryan with their flirty smiles. I wipe off the goose bumps and move forward in line.
“What are you going to get?” I ask Mari.
“I don’t know. I may get the vanilla.” She laughs.
We move again, and before I can reach for two cups, Ryan swoops in and hands one to each of us. We fill them, with Ryan cramming as many toppings as he can on and around his mountain of yogurt. I squirm a little as he insists on paying for ours, too.
We find an empty table outside around the side of the store and sit. We take a few bites in silence, then Ryan inspects my cup.
“So, I see you went with the vanilla.” My cheeks ignite. “Good choice. And rainbow sprinkles,” he observes.
“Yep. My favorite,” I say and take another bite, hoping to cool the fire under my skin.
Ryan shifts his eyes to Mari’s cup. “Gummi bears. Solid choice. Although, don’t you find the chill takes away their gumminess?”
I know she hasn’t heard him, so I motion to Ryan to switch seats with Mari, so we’re both on her left side. Ryan looks confused, and Mari points to her ear.
“Oh yeah, right. Sorry,” he says and trades places with her.
Now Ryan sits next to me, and my heart pounds as the fresh-from-the-dryer smell of his sweatshirt drifts into my space. I stare at my yogurt, strategically moving around each rainbow sprinkle as we all shift in our seats.
Mari finally breaks the silence. “Are you nervous about tomorrow, Emma?”
My head darts up, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“What’s tomorrow?” Ryan asks.
I blink several times at Mari, and she nods, understanding her mistake. I still haven’t told Ryan about my situation and what I’m working on. Now I have to tell him about the race, at least.
“I’m running a half-marathon tomorrow.”
His eyes double in size. “A half-marathon? Damn. I knew you were in cross country, Loukas, but I didn’t know you were like a real runner.”
I snort out a laugh. “I’m not. Trust me. I don’t even know if I can finish the thirteen miles.”
“You’ll do fine,” Mari chimes in, trying, I think, to end the conversation.
Ryan keeps it going. “So why are you running a half-marathon then?”
I can’t tell him why without telling him my whole tragic tale. And even though I feel like I owe him the truth, I don’t want to do it in a crowd of kids at The Big Chill. So I lie. “I guess for the challenge.”
“A challenge? Geez. Well, yeah, I guess that’s a challenge, all right.” He takes his last bite of yogurt. I’m only halfway done. “Maybe you should’ve started with a 5k,” he jokes.
“I guess, but—”
“What’s up, dude?” Two guys in basketball hoodies come from behind and slap Ryan on the back. A few more guys and girls follow, and Ryan stands. Mari and I fade into the background as they all talk. We finish our yogurts, and I catch a couple of the girls sneak a glance at Mari and exchange a knowing look with each other.
“Do you want to go?” I whisper at Mari.
“No. It’s okay,” she says, but I can sense she does.
“We’re headed over to Tracey’s house. Her parents are gone,” one of the tall boys says to Ryan. “You in?”
“Nah, I’m good here,” Ryan says and aims an elbow at us. “I’m hanging with Loukas and Mari tonight.”
They frown at us. I smile awkwardly, and Mari shrinks about five sizes.
I nudge Ryan’s leg. “It’s okay. You should go.” My mouth says the words, but my heart wants him to stay.
“No way. I’m hanging with you guys.” He turns to the guys. “I’ll catch the next one.”
“Okay, bro,” the blond non-basketball player says. “Later,” they echo one after the other. They do some sort of bro handshake and leave with the girls trailing behind.
“Really,” I insist. “You should go. I have to leave anyway. I have the race tomorrow.” I stand and Mari follows. I only said that so he’d not feel obligated to stay with us, but I should probably go anyway. I imagine staying up late will only make the thirteen miles more difficult.
“Where’s the race?” Ryan asks.
“In Huntington Beach. I don’t even know where that is. I have to get directions.”
“It’s like thirty minutes away. What time does it start?”
“Seven.”
“Yikes.” He collects our empty yogurt cups. “Well, yeah, you probably should go to bed early.”
I agree and grab my keys and phone from the table.
“Well, I’m at least going to walk you to your car.” He stretches out an arm. “Ladies, after you.”
We walk back to the car and Ryan’s hint of cologne mixes with his dryer fresh smell to create a perfect cloud of boy that hovers all around me. A rush of warmth travels through my veins until the sight of an out-of-state license plate next to my car halts its flow. Pictures of Ohio and my mom, dad, and brother flash in my mind. And my race tomorrow. I don’t have the space to let in a boy. And my fragmented heart certainly can’t afford another splinter.
I shiver and quickly get in the car.
When I get home, Grandma is already asleep, but there is a light on for me. She also left a note out on the counter wishing me good luck tomorrow, and she and Susan even printed out directions to the race for me. I haven’t told Grandma about Mom’s goal. I told her running helps me deal with everything, and as a result, she’s letting me out of therapy.
I tiptoe to my room to get my clothes ready for tomorrow morning. I set an alarm for 5:00 a.m. Ugh. Another early morning. I second-guess this goal, wondering again if it’s simply a stupid idea that doesn’t matter anyway. But I see Mom’s picture next to the race medal on my dresser, and I know it’s the right thing to do. I turn out the lights and crawl into bed.
After a while, the ping of my phone wakes me. I fumble in the darkness and see a blurry 1:05 a.m. I don’t have a good grip on the phone, and it drops to the floor before I can read who the message is from. My head falls back on the pillow, and I consider ignoring it. But Ryan still lingers in my heart like bits of confetti after a party, and I secretly hope it’s a message from him even though my brain says it would be weird for him to be texting me at this hour and that I should stop thinking about him.
Tired of the volleying between my head and my heart, I lean over the side of the bed and pick up the phone. I prop myself on an elbow and squint to read the screen.
My heart drops with a thud and not a swoon. It’s a news alert. There’s been another terror attack. I tap the alert, and it opens to an article headline that indicates it happened in Brussels. My finger jumps to click off the screen, and I put the phone face down on the nightstand. I roll over and curl up on my side.
I tell myself I don’t care and demand sleep, but my brain switchboard is the Las Vegas strip. I wonder how many died and were injured. And where exactly was it and how did they do it this time? And I wonder who all the lost faces belong to. Are they adults or kids? Is there anyone who lost her family in this attack?
I can’t stand it anymore, so I throw off the covers and sneak into the living room. I locate the remote and press the power button, lowering the volume immediately. I flip to channel 1064, and the Breaking News banner at the bottom of the screen starts feeding me answers. Eleven injured and five confirmed dead. A trio of pictures shows an outdoor market and the large white windowless van that drove through it. A new alert flashes, telling me it’s a Saturday morning festival in Brussels. I sit on my knees a foot from the TV.
I study the images rotating at even intervals on the screen. Tables are upturned and broken, some scattered in pieces. The ripped white tops of E-Z UPs flutter in the breeze, and the rainbow splinters of fruit and shredded art resemble the smeary up-close mess of the Monets we studied in art class last year. Another picture sends that nasally wail into Grandma’s living room as European police cars rush to the scene. Still more images show a montage of bodies—bloodied, bandaged, and blanketed.
The blond female news anchor introduces a young woman who survived the carnage. She describes the chaos and the terror she saw in the eyes of people fleeing the scene. She recalls comforting an older man who couldn’t find his wife. She doesn’t know where the van came from, but all of a sudden, she heard the roaring of an engine and tables and goods shooting off into the air one row away from where she was. The news anchor tells the woman she appreciates her visit during this difficult time.
“Wait!” I say to the news anchor. I need to know more about the moment when it happened. I need to know who escaped and who didn’t and why.
It’s 1:30 a.m. now, and my alarm is going to blast me awake in a few hours. I can’t go to bed without answers, though. So I continue watching until I see their faces and feel their final breaths and know exactly how it happened. I sit in the living room in front of the TV until I’ve traveled to Brussels and can feel the late morning sun and hear the chaos of sirens and cries that sound like an orchestra tuning.
Finally, around three I stumble back to bed, my mind still wandering around in all the rubble, looking for all the answers.