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Every day when I went into the cafeteria to eat lunch, I faced the dilemma of where to sit. The school system had recently been desegregated, and the black and white kids sat with their friends on opposite sides of the room. Even though I was white, I didn’t have any friends, so I usually sat by myself at an empty table in the middle and pretended to enjoy munching on cheese crackers and reading whatever I’d checked out from the library.
One day I was reading a story about Sherlock Holmes when somebody pulled out the chair across from me. I glanced up, prepared to move if a group of kids wanted the table. Fortunately, it was just one girl, smiling at me. Francie. I recognized her this time. I could tell by her rumpled jean skirt, straggly brown hair, and minimal makeup that she wasn’t one of the popular girls. I gave her the tiniest smile I could manage. The ironclad rule was firmly in place.
She asked, “How come you haven’t been out at the track again?”
“My parents won’t let me stay after school anymore.” I tried not to sound resentful, but it was hard. I hesitated. “You been running?”
“Yeah, I have. Most days, anyway. I’m training for the Boston Marathon, and I’m up to two miles now. The coach asked about you.”
I shrugged and stared down at the book while I waited for her to go somewhere else.
After a few seconds, she asked, “Where do you live, anyway?”
“Way out on Wolf Branch Road, at the Barretts’ farm.”
“Hey, you’re my next-door neighbor. I knew somebody had moved into that little cottage, but I didn’t know who.”
“Huh,” I said, interested in spite of myself. “Do you live in that yellow farm house about half a mile toward town?”
“Yep. My parents and my brother—Kyle—and me. Kyle’s a freshman at the University of Florida, so it’s just me now.” She leaned toward me, smiling. “My mom’s the school nurse, so we have to stay after school in case any of the athletes gets hurt. Maybe you could ride home with us, and then we could run together. I’m sure Mom wouldn’t mind dropping you off.”
Excitement rushed through me as I considered her offer. Maybe this was my miracle. Then I remembered Dad’s tone when he told me I couldn’t run anymore. I shook my head. “That was your mom in the clinic?” When she nodded, I said, “No wonder you knew where it was.” I hesitated. “Thanks for the offer, but my parents want me to come home and do chores.” I paused. Then I burst out, “Why are you being so nice to me?”
She chuckled. “You’re not making it easy, that’s for sure. I don’t like running by myself, and you’re the only other girl in this entire school who wants to run.”
Even without the ironclad rule, there was no point in trying to be friends if I couldn’t run with her. “I wish I could, but I can’t. Sorry. Enjoy your running.” I took a bite of cracker and looked down at my book.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Francie asked, “Where did you move from, anyway?”
Sighing, I gave up and closed the book. She had been rude to me at first on the track, but today she was like a puppy, all enthusiastic about everything. I wasn’t sure how to discourage her without bopping her on the nose.
“Illinois.”
“Wow. It sounds exotic. The farthest I’ve ever been from Valencia is Miami. We went there once when I was little.”
That was only four or five hours away. What a strange life, to be so rooted. I’d have given my left arm to be her. “I’ve lived in twelve different states and gone to seventeen different schools. It’s not so great, believe me.”
“Huh. Why do you move so often?”
I gave my stock answer for when somebody asked that question. “Mainly because my dad does farm work, and it’s seasonal. But also he likes to do different things. He says he’s got itchy feet.” That wasn’t a lie, but there was more to it. My dad liked to flirt with the ladies, for one thing, and that didn’t turn out well. He had a bad temper, too. He sometimes got into fights with other workers or told off the boss, and then he’d get fired and we’d have to move. But I wasn’t going to get into that. People already thought I was weird because I was the new girl, and I didn’t want Francie to think I was even weirder.
“Huh. How long do you think you’ll stay here?”
I sighed. “We usually move every three or four months.” I hesitated, and then, trying not to sound too hopeful, I added, “But my mom promised that we would stay here until I graduated. I don’t know whether to believe her or not.”
“That would be cool. I hope you do.” She paused. “Listen, we’re in the same geometry class, and... uh, I’ve noticed that you’re struggling. I can help you catch up during study hall if you want.”
I didn’t know how to respond. It was true I would likely fail the class without help, and no one else was offering to tutor me. But I couldn’t break my ironclad rule. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
She finally got it. “Suit yourself,” she said in a strained voice and concentrated on finishing her salad.
* * *
AFTER SCHOOL, I USUALLY helped Mom with cooking and cleaning, but on Saturdays, I was Dad’s teenage slave. He was toughening me up so I could work with him full-time when I graduated from high school, and he didn’t care whether I liked it or not.
That Saturday, at Mr. Barrett’s suggestion, we were raking up the oak leaves that covered the lawn in front of our house. Our landlord liked to watch us from his picture window. He was lonely, I thought, since his wife was losing her mind and his daughter rarely visited. It was why we were there—so Dad could help Mr. Barrett in the orange groves and Mom could take care of Mrs. Barrett, who wasn’t allowed near the stove anymore. I saw Mr. Barrett watching us and waved. He waved back but stayed inside.
The day was muggy and still, and puffy clouds were building for the usual afternoon storm. Scents were stronger in Florida than anywhere else I’d lived. I could already smell my sweat when I lifted my arms. But that odor was overwhelmed by something wonderfully sweet wafting through the air that Dad said was orange blossoms.
I jumped when Dad whistled. “Well, looky here.” He leaned on his rake and stared down the two-lane road that meandered between New Smyrna Beach on Florida’s east coast and Valencia, which was smack in the center of the state. Francie and her mom were running—or rather, slowly jogging—toward us. I recognized Mrs. Ivey from my visit to the clinic a couple of weeks before. Sweat dripped off her face and made her T-shirt cling to her breasts. Francie, who was much slimmer, looked like a preteen boy. Still, with their straight brown hair and fair skin, they were clearly mother and daughter.
They stopped when they were even with us. Dad’s eyes twinkled. “Well, hello there. Do you pretty ladies need rescuing?”
Mrs. Ivey laughed. “Believe it or not, I’m not running from anybody. I actually chose to do this, although right now, I’m not sure why. My daughter has started running, and I thought I’d join her.” She rubbed sweat off her face with her forearm. “I’m Laney Ivey, by the way. And this is my daughter, Frances. She prefers to be called Francie. We live down the road, sort of next door. Welcome to Valencia.” She nodded toward me. “Hi, Faye.”
Francie looked up the road, back down it, and then at her feet. Anywhere but at me. She stayed silent.
“Hi,” I said, smiling at Mrs. Ivey.
My dad grinned. “I’m Bud Smith. Looks like you know my daughter. Sue, my wife, is in the house.” He glanced my way. “Punkin, go inside and get these two ladies some ice water. They look hot.”
“That would be nice. It’s not that far between our houses, but I’m roasting.” Mrs. Ivey moved into the shade and wiped her face with a handkerchief she’d pulled from the pocket of her shorts. Francie stood beside her, face bright red, staring at the cows in the field across the road.
I threw down the rake and headed for the house. Mom stopped vacuuming to ask, “Who’s that talking to your dad?” By the time I explained and returned with aluminum glasses filled with ice water, a couple of minutes had passed.
Everybody was right where I’d left them, and Dad and Mrs. Ivey were clearly having a good talk. I heard him say in a friendly tone, “I don’t know. We need her in the afternoons for chores.”
Oh no. They were talking about me. Even worse, they were staring into each other’s eyes while they talked. Flirting, I thought. I felt my face flush, but I knew better than to interrupt when adults were talking, so I handed the glasses to Mrs. Ivey and Francie and then stood beside my dad.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Ivey said. “We’d have her back by four thirty. There’s still a lot of daylight left after that.”
Dad thought a minute. He glanced back at the house and over to Mrs. Ivey. Then he winked at me. “Punkin, this lady says you want to run with her daughter after school. Is that right? You didn’t get enough last week?” His voice was light and teasing, totally different from the voice that had told me on Thursday night that I could never run again.
I glanced at Francie, and she looked away. I didn’t understand why Mrs. Ivey was doing this for me, but I wasn’t going to turn her down. “Uh, yes, sir. I mean, no, I didn’t get enough. I’d like to do it.”
Mrs. Ivey asked Dad, “Have you seen her run? She’s amazing.”
He laughed. “She runs away from chores all the time. And I agree, she’s pretty fast.”
They chuckled. I wanted to sink into the earth, but I stood there, rooted. There was a long pause while we all waited for his decision. Finally, Dad shrugged. “I guess we could try it for a week or two.” He turned to Mrs. Ivey. “I hate to put you out, but she needs to be home by four thirty.”
Mrs. Ivey finished her water and handed the glass back to me. “We’ve got a date, then. See you on Monday, Faye. And please call me Laney, at least outside of school. Nice meeting you, Bud.”
Francie handed me her glass without a word, and she and her mom ran back toward their house. Dad took off his new Florida Gators cap and fanned himself. A few seconds later, he shook his head and gave me a sharp look. “Wipe that smug look off your face. We’ve got work to do.”
* * *
BEFORE SUPPER, I HEARD Dad tell Mom in a casual tone, “By the way, our neighbor Laney Ivey came by this afternoon. She asked if Faye could stay after school and run with her daughter, and she’ll bring her home by four thirty. I told her we’d try it for a week or two.”
There was a long silence. Finally, Mom said, “Why did you do that? We talked about this, and we agreed. It’s not healthy for her.”
His voice hardened. “Mrs. Ivey’s the school nurse. She’ll look out for her.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, the bus doesn’t come by here much earlier than that, anyway.”
I could tell that Mom was trying to speak softly so I wouldn’t hear, but her loud whisper carried easily into the bathroom, where I was washing my hands. “I saw her from the window, you know, with her tight T-shirt. You’ll do anything a pretty woman asks you to.”
His voice lowered in pitch, and it sounded harsh and dangerous. “Yeah, well, I’m still here, aren’t I? And the last I checked, I was still wearing the pants in the family.” He’d never hit Mom, as far as I knew, but I thought he might if things went any further. Mom probably didn’t want to test his restraint. She didn’t say another word, and he stomped outside, slamming the door behind him.
I’d won, at least for the moment. But things in my family tended to change pretty quickly, so I didn’t count on it lasting. I had no idea what Mrs. Ivey was up to, but I’d make sure to have her drop me off at the road instead of coming up the driveway. That way, there’d be less of a chance that Dad would be able to flirt with her again.
* * *
ON MONDAY AFTERNOON, I walked out to the track, nervous about how things would go with Francie. She was sitting in the bleachers, reading To Kill a Mockingbird, which I had already finished. She came down, stood in front of me, and spoke in a rush as though she’d memorized the words. “Look, you don’t have to run with me. My mom saw us running together the other day and thought we were friends. But you’ve made it clear you don’t want to be my friend, so I won’t bother you.”
Uh-oh. She was really mad. The ironclad rule was designed to protect me, not to make enemies. I bit my lip and looked away until I had myself under control. Finally, I said in a shaky voice, “I don’t mind running with you.” I headed toward the track.
Running was as much fun as I remembered. Unfortunately, my big toes hit the end of my old Keds with every step. My toenails would likely turn blue the next day, and Mom might have to stick a needle in them to let the blood out, but for the moment, I didn’t care. I just enjoyed the thrill of running.
Francie and I ran together at her slow pace, but she didn’t talk to me. After a couple of laps, I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I waited for a group of sprinters to pass us, and then the words fell out of my mouth like hot coals. “I’m sorry I was rude to you. Could we start over? I haven’t had a friend in a long time.”
There. I’d said it, and I wasn’t struck by lightning. The seconds before she answered seemed like an eternity. Then she said, “That’s cool.”
Just like that, the ironclad rule was history. The weight of carrying it around all the time was lifted from my shoulders, and I laughed. “Why did your mom try so hard to get Dad to let me run with you? You didn’t even like me then.”
Francie shook her head. “I don’t have many friends, so I guess she was trying to help me. She knows how to twist men around her little finger to get what she wants. She embarrasses me sometimes.”
“Geez, my dad embarrasses me, too.” I hoped things wouldn’t get out of hand and force us to move, but it was nice to have something in common with my new friend.
Coach Lopez appeared as we were walking off the track after running eight long laps. “Good to see you out here again,” he said to me. “Have you given any thought to running in a race? There’s a meet here in two weeks, and I need at least one more runner for the mile.” He glanced toward Francie. “Either of you interested?”
Francie shook her head. “No. I just like doing my own thing. Sorry.”
I considered. “Do you think I’m fast enough?”
“Sure. And competition will make you even faster. Why don’t you give it a try?”
“I’ll think about it.” It sounded like fun, but I knew Mom wouldn’t let me run in a race. She was still mad that Dad had agreed to let me run with Francie. Before I’d left for school that morning, she’d warned me again that running might bring on a seizure. She told me to run really slowly and keep my pills in my pocket. And take breaks every few minutes. And don’t blame her if I fall down, foaming at the mouth, and conk my head.
I knew I would have to kiss running goodbye if my parents found out I’d run in a race without their permission. But if I didn’t run in any races, how would I manage to get a college scholarship? It was a puzzle. I was pretty good at figuring out puzzles, so I’d give this one some thought.
* * *
FRANCIE AND I SAT IN the back seat of her mother’s car on the way home so we could talk. She went on and on about the Boston Marathon. “It happens every April, and you run for 26.2 miles around Boston. Even though the race is officially limited to men, two women ran it last year. Bobbi Gibb did it just for fun, but Kathrine Switzer managed to register using her initials. The race director saw her running and flipped out. He jumped on her and tried to pull the bib off her shirt.”
“Bib? Like babies wear?” I frowned and shook my head. Why would anyone, male or female, want to run twenty-six miles? Wearing a bib?
“No, silly. It has a number on it so the judges can track how fast you run. It’s what makes your time official. Anyway, her boyfriend pulled him off her, and she finished the race.”
“Okay. That’s interesting. But why do you care?”
“Because it’s wrong for women to not be allowed to do anything they can.”
Laney said, “Some people say that running a long distance will cause women’s female organs to fall out. But that’s simply not true.”
I cleared my throat. “Uh, what about running causing seizures?”
She thought a minute. “A lot of things can trigger a seizure. It’s different for different people.” She glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Faye, is this a concern for you?”
“I’ve got epilepsy, but I take medicine for it. Besides, I feel better when I run.”
“Hmm. I don’t know what to tell you. What kind of seizures do you have?”
“Kind? I didn’t know there was a specific kind.”
“You know, like grand mal, where you lose consciousness and your whole body jerks, or petit mal, where you might just stare into space for a few seconds. There are lots of other kinds, too, depending on where the brain is affected. I’m surprised you don’t know this.”
“I... I don’t know what kind I have. My mom’s never told me.”
She paused. “Well, anyway, you should probably get a doctor’s approval before you run too hard or too far.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“Maybe you should listen to her.”
I hated when people told me to listen to my mom. If I listened to her, I’d never do anything but chores. I tried to keep my voice even. “But I told you, I take medicine, and it works. Besides, the coach said I might be good enough to get a track scholarship to college.”
She was quiet for a minute. “Yes, I see the problem. I would definitely take it up with your doctor, though.”
My mom would make me quit running if I told her I needed to talk to a doctor. We didn’t have a personal doctor in Valencia or anywhere else. The only time I ever saw one was at a clinic when I got my school physical.
After a few minutes, Francie said, “So do you want to run the marathon with me next April?”
I forgot all about my mom and epilepsy. Turning to Francie, I said, “Are you crazy? That’s way too far to run. Twenty-six miles?”
“If those two women can do it, so can I,” Francie said. “I might not be able to run fast, but I can keep going. You’re faster than me, but you can keep going, too. We can do it together. Wouldn’t that be a blast?”
“That’s six months from now. I... I don’t think I could run that far. Besides, I doubt if we’ll even be living here next April.”
“I know you move a lot, but didn’t you tell me your mom said you could stay here until you graduated? Maybe running Boston would help you get a scholarship.”
Huh. She had a point. But the whole thing was a long, long shot. I didn’t want to disappoint the first friend I’d had in years, so I gave my stock answer. “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
I PUSHED MY FOOD AROUND on the dinner plate that evening as I tried to figure out a way to convince Mom that it would be fine for me to run in the marathon. Even though running that far seemed next to impossible, I wanted to give it a try. I bit into my hamburger and talked as I chewed. “Francie told me there’s a road race called the Boston Marathon. It’s more than twenty-six miles long. It’s usually only for men, but two women ran it last year. The race director saw one of them and tried to stop her from running. Can you believe that?”
“Faye, don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Mom.
Dad shrugged. “I can’t imagine wanting to run that far to begin with. When I was in the army, I had to run ten miles with a pack on my back, and it nearly killed me. Running for pleasure doesn’t make sense to me, whether you’re male or female.”
I laughed. “Francie wants me to run it with her next year. Do you think I could if I earn enough money to pay my expenses?”
Mom glanced at Dad then shook her head. “The Boston Marathon is in Boston. That’s too far for you to go by yourself. And we will not go with you, so don’t ask. I don’t want you trying to run that far anyway. How many times do I have to tell you it’s not good for your health?”
As she talked, neon strings of lights started to dance in front of my eyes. I tried to see past them, but I couldn’t. I closed my eyes.
“Faye, are you all right?” Mom’s voice was sharp.
The neon strings started to fade, and I opened my eyes.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.
“There was something...” But I couldn’t continue. I had no words to describe the overall blankness that consumed me. I covered my face with my hands and sat there, mind and stomach churning.
“Here.” Mom got up and went to the counter, where she kept my pills. She plunked a pill down on the table. “Take this. Now.”
I drank a sip of tea and swallowed the pill. Slowly, my nausea faded. The strings gradually disappeared, and the room came back into focus.
Every few months, I had a spell. Most of them were similar to this one. I hadn’t thought of them as seizures, because I didn’t jerk or fall down or anything. But according to Mrs. Ivey, I might be having a different kind of seizure. What did Mrs. Ivey call it—petty mall? Mom had always just called them spells.
My head still felt strange, like something inside it was loose, but I was finally able to speak. “May I be excused?”
“Yes, of course. Go lie down. I’ll take care of the dishes.”
I walked slowly to my room and lay down on my bed. I usually felt bad for hours after a spell. Could running have been responsible for this one?
I hoped Mom wouldn’t think of that possibility, because I didn’t want to stop running. It was the only way out of my crummy life, and I wasn’t going to give it up unless I fell down, foaming at the mouth, and conked my head.