from the fake grass on the football field, the longer the walk.
Jack continues to pass without saying a word, barely breaking a sweat. I’ve never seen such drive and force.
After fifteen minutes of laps, Boley lets us off the hook. “Okay, for those who don’t want to run any more, back to class for your reps. Legs today.”
Most of the class casually leaves the track. Natalie, Vianna, and I speed toward the gym. According to Boley, this is the only time we move. You don’t need to tell us twice.
“Miss Bring It On. You can stay out here for the remainder of class, even if you walk. Your friends can go inside.”
Natalie and Vianna giggle.
“You both suck.” I stomp back to the track.
I can’t and won’t argue with Boley. He knows it, too. I won’t be able to call my parents to get out of this like my classmates can. It sucks having your dad as a football coach. If I protest, I’ll only end up running. I’d rather walk the entire class than face an even worse sentence.
I walk around the track while Jack and Laney Cavanaugh run laps. I look pathetic. Laney could’ve been the spokesgirl for any of the weight-loss programs. She dropped at least thirty pounds over the summer. She’s not skinny, she’s fit.
I wait for Jack to make fun of her. He doesn’t. Only someone like Colby would sink to that level of pond scum. Jack runs past Laney. He saves the teasing for me, “Girl, you’re slower than molasses in January.”
“Am not.” I pick up my pace. I can feel the little balls of sweat forming around my hairline. But I can’t slow down, it will only show defeat.
Jack keeps his pace steady. He catches up to Laney, they say something to each other, and she giggles. Her laugh is cute and sweet.
“What, I’m your new joke?” I ask when he passes by me for the millionth time.
He ignores me. I feel stupid now. What if he likes her? She is quite adorable. Although I thought that I heard Rafe Torres had his eye on her. Rumors. When you want them to be true, they never are.
I speed up more, even though I’ll never catch up with him. But I can catch up with Laney, barely. I’m always nice to her. She’ll tell me what the jerk is saying.
Dang it! I’ve turned into one of those girls, the girls who only talk to the outcasts to secure information. I pull back. This is not who I am. I’ve never considered Laney as an outcast like the rest of my class does. I could care less if her mom went off and joined some cult. At least her dad gives a shit about her. I’ve always been nice to Laney. We’ve never hung out or anything. But I’m not going to use her for information.
“I think he likes you.” Laney says. Somehow she’s either slowed to allow me to catch up or she ran another lap and caught up with me. Probably the latter.
“I doubt it,” I say, feeling stupid.
“Boys only pick on you when they like you. You told me that in second grade. I want to believe it, so don’t ruin it for me.”
“What?” Now I’m confused.
“I’ve had a few boys start to pick on me this year. And not like they did last year. I want to believe they like me,” Laney confesses. And, before I’m able to agree with her assumption, she jogs away.
I pick up my pace as Jack easily passes by me again. He turns and jogs backward. “I’ll slow down.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re slower than cream rising on buttermilk.” He moves sideways on the track. He’s light and fast on his feet.
If he doesn’t quit, I’m going to sock him. “I thought I was slower than molasses?” My arms coil together and I slow even more.
“In January. Or maybe like that turtle you were sketching at the coffee shop.”
“It wasn’t a turtle,” I say. I’m out of breath and I want to die.
“Then what was it?”
I don’t answer. Instead my eyes move to the bleachers. Blake is sitting on the top bench watching us. When Blake sees that I’ve spotted him, he stands and starts walking down the stairs.
“Looks like your
Jack continues to pass without saying a word, barely breaking a sweat. I’ve never seen such drive and force.
After fifteen minutes of laps, Boley lets us off the hook. “Okay, for those who don’t want to run any more, back to class for your reps. Legs today.”
Most of the class casually leaves the track. Natalie, Vianna, and I speed toward the gym. According to Boley, this is the only time we move. You don’t need to tell us twice.
“Miss Bring It On. You can stay out here for the remainder of class, even if you walk. Your friends can go inside.”
Natalie and Vianna giggle.
“You both suck.” I stomp back to the track.
I can’t and won’t argue with Boley. He knows it, too. I won’t be able to call my parents to get out of this like my classmates can. It sucks having your dad as a football coach. If I protest, I’ll only end up running. I’d rather walk the entire class than face an even worse sentence.
I walk around the track while Jack and Laney Cavanaugh run laps. I look pathetic. Laney could’ve been the spokesgirl for any of the weight-loss programs. She dropped at least thirty pounds over the summer. She’s not skinny, she’s fit.
I wait for Jack to make fun of her. He doesn’t. Only someone like Colby would sink to that level of pond scum. Jack runs past Laney. He saves the teasing for me, “Girl, you’re slower than molasses in January.”
“Am not.” I pick up my pace. I can feel the little balls of sweat forming around my hairline. But I can’t slow down, it will only show defeat.
Jack keeps his pace steady. He catches up to Laney, they say something to each other, and she giggles. Her laugh is cute and sweet.
“What, I’m your new joke?” I ask when he passes by me for the millionth time.
He ignores me. I feel stupid now. What if he likes her? She is quite adorable. Although I thought that I heard Rafe Torres had his eye on her. Rumors. When you want them to be true, they never are.
I speed up more, even though I’ll never catch up with him. But I can catch up with Laney, barely. I’m always nice to her. She’ll tell me what the jerk is saying.
Dang it! I’ve turned into one of those girls, the girls who only talk to the outcasts to secure information. I pull back. This is not who I am. I’ve never considered Laney as an outcast like the rest of my class does. I could care less if her mom went off and joined some cult. At least her dad gives a shit about her. I’ve always been nice to Laney. We’ve never hung out or anything. But I’m not going to use her for information.
“I think he likes you.” Laney says. Somehow she’s either slowed to allow me to catch up or she ran another lap and caught up with me. Probably the latter.
“I doubt it,” I say, feeling stupid.
“Boys only pick on you when they like you. You told me that in second grade. I want to believe it, so don’t ruin it for me.”
“What?” Now I’m confused.
“I’ve had a few boys start to pick on me this year. And not like they did last year. I want to believe they like me,” Laney confesses. And, before I’m able to agree with her assumption, she jogs away.
I pick up my pace as Jack easily passes by me again. He turns and jogs backward. “I’ll slow down.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re slower than cream rising on buttermilk.” He moves sideways on the track. He’s light and fast on his feet.
If he doesn’t quit, I’m going to sock him. “I thought I was slower than molasses?” My arms coil together and I slow even more.
“In January. Or maybe like that turtle you were sketching at the coffee shop.”
“It wasn’t a turtle,” I say. I’m out of breath and I want to die.
“Then what was it?”
I don’t answer. Instead my eyes move to the bleachers. Blake is sitting on the top bench watching us. When Blake sees that I’ve spotted him, he stands and starts walking down the stairs.
“Looks like your
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