chapter one

I was excited about seeing the soccer game later, but there was something about the way Kurt was acting at lunch that worried me. He looked pale.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said. He didn’t look fine.

“Is there something wrong?” He was staring at his lunch tray, but he wasn’t eating.

“I just don’t think I can eat another cafeteria meal.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, but I was sure there was more to Kurt’s loss of appetite. “Are you nervous about the game?”

“No way,” he said defensively. “I can’t wait to play. I’ve been training for this day all summer.”

“But if you’re sick …” He didn’t let me finish the sentence.

Suddenly he was angry at me. “Hey, what’s going on today? First my mom gives me a hard time and says I should stay home from school. Now you start hassling me.”

“Sorry,” I said. It wasn’t like Kurt to be nasty to me. We always got along so well.

I was the reason Kurt made the soccer team—because I like to run. I don’t know why I like to run. My mother said I never walked anywhere when I was a little girl. I ran. I was always the first to arrive. It wasn’t that I was in a hurry. I just liked the way I felt when I was running. Free and alive.

For a while, Kurt made fun of me. He kept saying I should slow down. And I did. If I wanted to walk to school with Kurt, I had to walk at his pace. It drove me crazy at first, but I learned to do it because I needed him as a friend. I really did.

I had asked Kurt once if there was anything he liked to do as much as I liked running. “When I was younger, I really wanted to be good at something. First it was hockey. Then swimming. But I sucked. I was just never very good at the things I wanted to be good at.”

“What about now?” I’d asked.

“I’d like to be good at … something. Soccer, I think. I play with the guys for fun, but I’m not that good. I don’t have what it takes.”

“I bet you could if you wanted to.”

“I’d like to be on the school team more than just about anything in the world.”

“Then do it.”

“I can’t. Tryouts are in three weeks. But it would just be a waste of time.”

“We’ll train. What are you weakest at?”

He had laughed. “Running,” he’d said. “I don’t seem to have any endurance. After ten minutes in a game, I’m wasted. It’s embarrassing.”

“I’ll be your trainer,” I’d said. “In three weeks you’ll be able to run a mile. If you can run a mile, you’ll do well in soccer.”

“I can’t do it. I’ve tried before. I can’t.”

“You just never had the right coach,” I’d said. “Follow me.”

And I started running. Kurt followed.

I taught him to pace himself. I told him about breathing. Sometimes he’d get a cramp and we’d stop. Even then I worried there was something physically wrong with him. Once he felt better we’d run some more. First we ran one block. Then two. Then all the way to the school. Then to the river. Then farther. By the time the tryouts started, Kurt was a runner.

He made the team and was really excited. So was I—at first. But then I was kind of mad at him. Now it was all about soccer. No more running after school with me. Kurt started hanging out with this older guy on the team named Jason. He’d known Jason from way back, but I don’t think they’d had much in common before. Now they were both on the team. Jason didn’t like me, but I tried not to let it bother me.

Jason could be mean to Kurt too. Jason was sixteen, two years older than Kurt and me, and he had this way of putting people down. In the halls he’d make fun of Kurt for having a girl for a best friend as if there was something wrong with it. I’d just snap back something like, “Why don’t you clean the grunge out from under your toenails and eat it for breakfast?” Jason would fake like he was hurt and slink off down the hall.

I think Jason was angry that Kurt played soccer as well as he did, even though Kurt was younger. Kurt and Jason both played halfback. They could both run five miles without getting winded, and they both had legs like lighting when it came to kicking the ball into the net.

But every time Kurt passed the ball because he had three players all over him, Jason was on him like maggots on dead meat. “What’s wrong, Kurtie, legs turn to mush again?” Or, “C’mon, dude, you can’t wimp out like that.” And Jason’s theme song on the field, the phrase he said over and over to Kurt was, “You’ll never do anything great unless you take a few chances. Go for it, man. Don’t always play it safe.” Maybe that philosophy worked for Jason.