Eleven Things I Promised by Catherine Clark Page A

left!”
    â€œSorry!” I called, correcting my line.
    â€œOh. It’s okay,” she said, riding beside me for a second. “I just don’t want to bite it.”
    I nodded. “Neither do I.”
    We pedaled side by side.
    â€œThe good thing about riding in the back? Fewer people see your screwups.” She laughed.
    I smiled. Maybe I’d get that printed on one of those cute little motto signs they sold at gift shops.
    Ride in the Back. No One Will See Your Screwups.
    Ride in the Back. No One Will See You Crash.
    Just . . . Ride in the Back.

CHAPTER 8
    â€œWe’re kicking ass as a team, you know that?” Max said at lunch.
    I’d gotten there later than most people, but this time lunch was sub sandwiches, and there were plenty left to choose from. I’d taken extra bags of potato chips to stash for later; the salt would taste good when I was near death.
    My team was sitting in the shade, under a tree beside a huge, beautiful lake that I wanted to dive into in all my clothes. Everyone was talking about the morning, how Max, Oxendale, and Alex had been third, fifth, and seventh in a wild sprint finish. “It’s all going according to plan,” Cameron said confidently, leaning back against a tree trunk, straw in his mouth.
    â€œYou forgot your evil laugh,” said Oxendale. “You can’t talk like a supervillain without an evil laugh.”
    â€œWhen did I become a villain?” Cameron wondered out loud. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “Is this trip starting to take a turn into a weird area?”
    â€œI’ve always thought it was in a weird area,” I said.
    â€œNo, it’s just we’re back in New Hampshire,” said Oxendale. “I have yet to see a shire. New or old.”
    â€œOxo, quit it with the Brit talk,” said Cameron. “You’re not from here. We get it.” He tossed the straw at Oxendale, and it bounced off his bony knee.
    Everyone was analyzing the team results showing that we were third in the rankings, which was amazing considering we came from such a small town. Rankings factored in total fund-raising, and our town appeared to be very generous, when it came to that. When you added up our riders doing well in the challenges, winning even more in matching funds, our donation to the children’s cancer research fund was going to be huge. That made me feel better about losing my phone. But not much.
    After lunch, I asked Cameron if I could borrow his phone and found a private spot under a shady tree. I called Stella’s number and crossed my fingers, hoping she’d been trying to call me and not getting through due to my misplaced phone.Then again, she had been avoiding me for weeks. That probably wouldn’t change in a day.
    â€œStella’s phone,” said a male voice.
    â€œWhat? Is that Mason?” I said.
    â€œFrances?” he replied. “Hey. Is everything okay?”
    â€œYes, fine. More or less,” I said.
    â€œWhat’s this number? Why aren’t you calling from your phone?”
    â€œAnd why are
you
answering Stella’s phone?” I teased back. Then it suddenly occurred to me that there might be a not-so-good reason for it, and I felt bad for laughing.
    â€œStella’s busy. I’m in the waiting room.”
    â€œWhich one?” I asked.
    â€œDoes it matter?” he complained. He sounded stressed out. “Sorry. We’re at Mercy. They do outpatient stuff.”
    â€œSay hi to LaDonna for me?” I asked, referring to a nurse I’d recently met.
    â€œSure. So, what’s up?” he asked.
    I cleared my throat. “Well, here’s the thing. I sort of lost my phone last night.”
    Mason laughed. “Sort of? How do you sort of lose a phone?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” I admitted. “I had it last night and I wascharging it, and then I was late getting up today and I started riding before I