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My sixteenth birthday arrived on January 17. My birthday wasn’t usually that big a deal, just a regular day, except that Mom would bake me a chocolate cake and my parents would sing “Happy Birthday” while I blew out the candles. I would get a few presents—clothes mostly—and that would be that.
But turning sixteen was special. In my daydreams, I would pass my driver’s test in the morning and then take my parents’ truck out for a spin after school. In the evening, I would have a party with a big cake and a huge stack of presents. And smiling parents like the ones on TV shows. A girl could hope, couldn’t she?
My birthday turned out to be on one of the coldest days of the season. Even though it was usually relatively warm in Central Florida, winter brought a few really cold spells. The temperature had hovered around thirty degrees all night. If the citrus froze, it would be worthless, and Mr. Barrett might have to let us go. Dad had been up all night, working the smudge pots—buckets filled with fuel oil and set afire to keep the fruit from freezing. Unfortunately, the burning pots sent up thick black smoke that covered everything and stank like a skunk. He must have kept at least two dozen pots burning all night.
By breakfast time, the temperature had risen enough that Dad could blow out the smudge pots and come inside. He thought he’d saved the fruit, so he was weary but smiling. He ate a few bites and fell into bed.
Mom made me French toast for breakfast, and as usual, we had fresh-picked grapefruit. To demonstrate that I was an adult, I said, “I want to start drinking coffee.”
She smiled. “Okay. How do you want it?”
“Uh, black.” I was determined to be a real coffee drinker, and to my mind, real coffee drinkers drank it black.
She poured me a cup. I’d tasted coffee before, but my parents drank it with milk and sugar. This was bitter and awful. I made a face and set the cup down with a plunk. Mom shoved the milk and sugar closer, but I shook my head. I drank the entire cup, wincing every time I swallowed a sip.
When I was finished, I asked Mom, “So when can I get my driver’s license?”
We’d had the conversation before, and it always ended the same way: “Wait until your birthday, and then we’ll see.” But today was my birthday, so she couldn’t use that excuse anymore.
“You can go ahead and take the written part of your driver’s test after you’ve finished driver’s ed, but there’s going to be a problem with getting the practice hours you need. Your dad and I are too busy right now to take you driving, and besides, we don’t have the money to add you to our insurance. So I hate to tell you this, but it might be a while until you’re able to get your license. I’m sorry.”
How could she do such a terrible thing to me, and on my birthday, too? Without thinking, I yelled, “Why can’t you take me driving? That’s not fair.”
Dad called from the bedroom, “What’s going on out there? Can’t a guy get some sleep? Keep it down.”
Mom and I locked eyes. She said, “Remember when I took you driving last year, and you kept stalling out because you couldn’t work the clutch? I swore then that I’d never do it again. It makes me too nervous, and I’ve got enough to worry about as it is.”
“Then what about Dad? He could do it.”
“You’ll have to ask him. But he’s very busy right now. He’ll probably have more time after the citrus has been picked.”
That wouldn’t be until spring. My heart sank. I wasn’t done with the subject of driving, and she was not getting off that easily. But I could hear the school bus chugging down the road. The rest of the conversation would have to wait until after school.
As I headed out the door, holding back tears of fury, Mom said, “I’ll have your special dinner ready when you get home.”
I stomped out, letting the door slam behind me. The daydream was already unraveling.
When I got to school, Reese was waiting at my locker. “Happy birthday,” he said, blushing. He handed me a small white box with a bow on top. I hadn’t seen much of him recently. Before Christmas, he’d regularly eaten lunch with Francie and me, but then he got the lead in the school play and started rehearsing during lunch. The play also kept him too busy to run track. I’d missed spending time with him.
I didn’t recall mentioning my birthday to him. Francie must have told him. Surprised, I opened the box, and inside was a pretty necklace with a sparkly rhinestone. I managed to stammer out, “Thank you,” before he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. His face was as red as a fireplug as he bolted away from me and galloped toward his class.
I stood in the hall, clutching the necklace and wondering what had just happened. It was possible he was trying to tell me he wanted to be my boyfriend. But not likely. I didn’t have much experience with boys, but I thought I would have noticed if he’d been flirting with me. While I stood there, wondering, the bell rang, and I had to run to class.
Afterward, I grabbed Francie and showed her the necklace. “What do you think? Is this a boyfriend-girlfriend kind of gift?”
“I don’t think so. I know he’s shy, but he’s not twelve, after all. He’d probably hang around you, ask you out, things like that, if he was interested in you as a girlfriend.”
I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or not. “That’s what I thought, too. But nobody’s ever bought me a necklace before.”
She gave me a questioning look. “But do you like him? You haven’t said.”
“He’s a good friend. I like him that way.” Shaking my head, I added, “Not as a boyfriend.”
“Oh, I forgot. You’ve got a crush on Kyle.” She grinned at my guilty expression and seemed about to say something else when the bell rang. We headed to the next class.
I zoned out during geometry, thinking about past birthdays. Moving backward, I tried to remember where I’d been on every birthday. I did fine until around the age of nine or ten, when I lost track. Every year, we’d lived in a different place, and the schools tended to blend together. I was drifting along, trying to look interested in the boring lecture, when a memory—or a fantasy—popped up that almost made me cry out in surprise.
I was wearing a white dress with a big flower, possibly a rose, embroidered on the front. And white socks with ruffles. My black patent-leather shoes were so bright I could see my face when I bent over to look. And I had a big birthday cake with a few candles on top. I wasn’t sure, but there might have been four of them. There was a big pile of presents, like the stack in my daydream. I sat on a high stool, licking frosting off my chin. No, wait—someone else was wiping it off with a warm, wet cloth.
That was where things got weird. I was pretty sure Mom wasn’t the one wiping off the frosting. I wasn’t positive, but it seemed to be the woman whose face had come to mind when I was running. I had no idea who she was. And I knew for sure there were no pictures in the family photo album of any party like that.
Was it somebody else’s party? If so, whose? Maybe this was one of those times when my brain made up something that wasn’t true. That happened so often when I was having one of my spells that sometimes I got confused about what was real and what was pure imagination. My head started feeling weird, so I swallowed a pill from my container.
The bell rang, and I walked out with Francie.
“What was going on with you in class?” she asked. “You were a million miles away.”
“Francie, do you remember stuff from when you were really young, like four?”
“Sure. I got a bicycle that year. It was too big for me, and I fell and ground gravel into my forehead, and we had to go to the hospital to get it taken out. See, I still have the scars.” She raised her bangs so I could make out the tiny white dots. “Why?”
“Oh, I just remembered a birthday party, and I think I might have been four or five, but I’d forgotten all about it up till now.” I shook my head and smiled.
“Neat,” she said, hurrying toward her next class. “By the way, happy birthday.”
* * *
AFTER SCHOOL, COACH Lopez introduced us to Coach Jess Williams, who had been the track coach at the black high school that was shut down the previous year because of desegregation. When he’d lost his job, he’d gone to work selling real estate at a different company from Mr. Ivey’s. Coach Williams was middle-aged with light-brown skin, crinkly eyes, and a big smile. I liked him immediately.
Coach Lopez beamed. “This man is the best. I thought he’d moved away, which was why I didn’t call him right away.” He nodded toward us. “This is Francie, Richard Ivey’s daughter. You know him, right?” Coach Williams nodded, and he and Francie shook hands. Coach Lopez continued, “And this is Faye Smith. You might have heard about her.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about her. I saw her on television, too.” He smiled at me. “I’m happy to know you, Faye.”
We shook hands. After we told him we wanted to train for the Boston Marathon, he chuckled. “I’d be happy to coach you. It’ll be a pleasure to coach somebody who has the courage to dream big. I like that.”
I didn’t know how to say what I needed to say next, so I blurted out, “I’m real sorry, but I can’t pay you very much.”
At that, he laughed. “Who said anything about paying me? I wasn’t expecting to get paid. No, I miss coaching. And it’ll get me to start running again myself. I’ve slacked off recently.” He patted a tiny tummy.
Francie and I were ready to begin right then, but he shook his head. “We’ll start tomorrow after school. You’ll need to increase your mileage, and I’ll work you hard. That okay with y’all?”
Oh yes. It was okay. Better than okay.
We were ready to leave, but Coach Williams continued to stand there, looking as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin. Finally, he said, “I know Francie’s dad, but I should probably meet your parents, Faye. You know, get their permission to coach you.”
I stammered out, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Nobody said anything. Coach Williams looked down at his feet, a sad expression on his face. Coach Lopez opened his mouth, but no sounds came out. And Francie just stood there, gaping at me. Oh God. They must have thought I didn’t want him to meet my parents because they were racists. Maybe that was true, but mainly, I didn’t want to rub my parents’ noses in my plan to run the Boston Marathon. They’d never asked why I was training so hard, and I hadn’t volunteered the information.
“Uh, they’re really busy right now,” I said. “You can meet them later. They won’t mind if you train me, Coach Williams. They didn’t meet Coach Lopez, either.”
The silence drew out. Then Coach Lopez said, “That’s right. They didn’t.”
Coach Williams shrugged. “All right, then. See you tomorrow. But call me Jess. Or just Coach.”
* * *
INSTEAD OF LETTING me off at the road, Laney drove up our driveway and stopped in front of the house.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I said. “I’m used to walking.”
“I know. I need to talk to your mom for a minute. You don’t mind, do you?”
“I guess not.” This had never happened before, so I didn’t know what to think. Something was up, for sure. Laney got out of the car, and so did Francie.
I opened the front door. “Surprise!” The shout made me jump. Inside were Mom, Dad, and Mr. Barrett, all grinning like fools. A bunch of balloons hung from the ceiling. I laughed so hard that if I were a dog, my whole body would have wagged.
Francie had gone back out to the car and brought in a present wrapped in white paper. She’d kept the secret all day at school without even a hint or a sideways glance. “Did you really think I’d let your birthday go by without giving you a gift?”
“But I didn’t get you one for your birthday. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you didn’t even know me in July. You can make up for it next year.” She laughed, and I relaxed.
It was a special treat to see Mr. Barrett. His wife was failing, so he rarely came out of the house anymore. I liked the old man and his perpetual stories, but things had been tense between him and my dad since the incident with the marijuana. From what I could tell, Dad had been working harder lately, and he must have been behaving himself if Mr. Barrett was willing to leave his wife to come to our house.
Mom had prepared shrimp cocktail, french fries, garlic toast, and a salad. And of course, chocolate cake with sixteen fabulous candles. It was a rare feast at our house.
Three presents were stacked on the coffee table, all wrapped and beautiful. They almost looked like my daydream. After we ate, I wiped tears from my eyes and looked at my mom.
“Go ahead, open them,” she said, smiling.
I tore into the presents, starting with my parents’. Inside a huge box was a pair of white go-go boots that I’d eyed in a store one day. I hadn’t realized Mom had noticed. They’d look fantastic with a miniskirt—if Mom allowed me to wear one—and fishnet stockings.
I ran to hug both parents. “Thank you. I love them.” I could hardly wait to wear them somewhere special.
Mr. Barrett said, “Honey, I need to get back to Betty. Why don’t you open mine next?” He’d clearly wrapped it himself, using the Sunday comics. Inside was a nice pair of leather gardening gloves that fit perfectly. I’d worn out my old ones, and I needed them.
“Thank you so much,” I said, wishing he were my grandpa. I hugged him.
A blush rose from his neck up to his leathery face. “I’ve gotta go now. Thank you for the dinner, Sue. Happy birthday again, Faye.”
Last was Francie and Laney’s gift. Francie was so excited she was nearly bouncing up and down on the couch. “Okay, okay,” I said, happiness flowing out of me. I opened the box, and inside was a new pair of sneakers in my size. They were different from my other shoes—sleek and blue with padded heels and a silver racing stripe down the side. They looked as if they were made especially for running.
“Oh my gosh. These are amazing. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” I held them up for my parents to see. The sharp look on my mom’s face told me I had made a mistake. In addition to encouraging me to run, which she didn’t like, those shoes must have cost more than the go-go boots. My mom was probably embarrassed. I hurried to correct my error. “They’ll be great for running, and the go-go boots will be great for dancing. I can’t believe I got two pairs of fantastic shoes tonight. Thank you both.” I hugged Francie and Laney, holding back tears. Everything was so wonderful that I wanted to pinch myself to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.
That Francie had remembered how hard it was for me to run in my crappy Goodwill shoes made my heart feel full. She hadn’t said a word when I slapped on four or five Band-Aids before every run. A girl couldn’t ask for a better friend. And Laney was great, too. I sometimes wished she were my mom, although I’d never have said that out loud.
I slipped on the shoes, and they fit perfectly. “Where did you get such beautiful shoes?” I asked Francie.
“Mom ordered them all the way from Germany. There’s nothing like them in this country. I got a pair, too, but I’ve been waiting to use them until we could do it together.”
I could hardly wait to go running the next day. A new coach and a new pair of running shoes. Wow! This birthday almost lived up to my fantasy birthday.
Francie and Laney got up to leave, so Mom and I followed them out to the car. When we were outside, Mom said, “Francie, please get in the car. I need to talk to your mom.” Francie glanced at me and did as she was asked. I melted back toward the house, giving the two women a little privacy, but I could hear everything they said.
Mom glared at Laney. “I appreciate all you’ve done for my daughter—bringing her home from school, giving her presents, teaching her to drive. Everything. You’ve been a good friend to all of us. But I think you’re forgetting something. I’m Faye’s mother, not you. You’re overstepping, and you need to stop.”
Laney jerked as though she’d been slapped. She took in a deep breath and held it for a long time before letting it out. “I’m so sorry, Sue. I didn’t know you felt that way. Faye’s my daughter’s best friend. I was just trying to help. I never meant to upset you.” She paused, biting her lower lip. “What would you like me to do?”
“Just stop trying to be her mother. That’s all. Those shoes were too expensive.”
Laney brushed her eyes. I thought that she might break down, but she stood up straight and said in a shaky voice, “Uh, okay. Would you like me to return them, then?”
Mom glanced back at me. I shook my head, eyes wide. She turned back to Laney. Her voice softened a little. “It’s too late for that. Just don’t buy her any more expensive presents, please. It’s not appropriate.”
“All right.” Laney hesitated. I got the impression that she was trying to think of something to say that would make everything all right. Then she reached out to Mom and touched her shoulder. “I think the world of Faye, and I know that you all don’t have a lot of money. I thought the shoes would be helpful.”
Mom pulled away from the comforting hand. “Well, they’re not. But thank you for coming. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
Very stiffly, Laney said, “I apologize for overstepping my bounds.” She turned to me and said in a soft voice, “Good night, Faye. See you tomorrow.”
After they left, I helped clean up from the party and tried to act as if nothing had happened. But when I went into my room, I took my new running shoes with me. I wouldn’t have put it past Mom to make the shoes disappear overnight if I left them out.