“Feeling good about next week?”
My father asks me this before every track meet. The closer we get to an event, the more his questions about my preparedness replace normal inquiries, like asking about my day or how school is going.
“Yup,” I say, watching the toaster. He didn’t even say good morning.
“You know, some big scouts are going to be there.” He opens the cabinet and reaches for his silver travel mug. “Carl from SC and Troy from Arkansas and—”
“I know. You told me. I’m ready.”
My two pieces of toast pop up. Dad fills his mug while I slather on butter. He looks over when the knife clangs against the counter and frowns.
“Mavis, what’d I tell you about toast? If you insist on having that over something more rich in protein, you could at least eat it with peanut butter.”
“I’ll make up for it at lunch.” I bite the inside of my cheek so I won’t sigh as I walk my plate to the kitchen table.
Probably other people my age have way more exciting fantasies, but my dream come true would be only having to deal with my father at one place: school or home. Not both. Everyone at school loves him—his health and wellness students and my fellow teammates. I love him, but I think I’d like him a lot more if he were just my dad and not my coach too.
Jacob says I’m lucky. His parents don’t understand what track means to him. But sometimes I wonder if my relationship with hurdles means more to my father than it ever will to me.
I get my period as I’m walking to my first class and make a detour to the English-wing bathroom. The bell sounds while I’m still standing at the sinks, digging through my bag for a tampon. Shit. I’ll have to go up to the office for a late pass.
I take my time walking to the front of the school, thinking about the meet next week. I am ready—I’m always ready . . . the part of me that everyone’s watching, that is. But something’s missing. I used to feel a rush of excitement at least a week before I’d be competing. I used to go online to look at the members of the opposing teams to see who I’d be up against and then picture their faces as I practiced jumping.
This year is different. Dad is being even harder on me than normal because I’m a junior. He says now is when scouts are going to start looking at me, and that if I want to get to the Olympics, I have to start treating hurdles like they’re my job.
The older secretary is working the attendance office. She barely even looks up as she scrawls on the square of paper and rips it from the pad, sliding it across the counter.
“Thanks,” I say, and when I turn around to walk back out, I run straight into a guy. I lose my grip on the late pass, and it flutters to the floor. “Sorry,” I mumble automatically, bending down to grab it.
When I stand, I’m face-to-face with the love of my life.
“Hey,” he says, appraising me with his sleepy brown eyes.
I haven’t seen him in three months. I feel like someone has sewn my throat closed. I open my mouth, and all that comes out is air. I swallow and try again. “Hi. Bobby. I . . . Edwina didn’t tell me you were coming back today.”
He shrugs. “I think she liked it better when I was gone.”
We both know he’s right, but I don’t acknowledge it.
“How are you?”
“Sober,” he says with that wry smile that still makes my knees feel like pudding. “Been staying out of trouble?”
“My life is basically school, hurdles, and listening to my dad talk about school and hurdles, so . . .”
Bobby touches my elbow and I try not to melt into a liquid version of myself as he pulls me into the hallway, a few feet from the office door. “You want to get out of here?”
I stare at him. “Didn’t you just get here?”
“Yeah, and two minutes back in this place is enough to remind me how much I fucking hate it.” He cocks his head to the side. “Got my car back. We could go grab some breakfast. Or head down to the beach? Your choice.”
I can’t think of anything I want more than to blow off the rest of the day and spend it with Bobby Neeley instead. I feel like another part of me comes alive when I’m with him. Even when he was just sitting in the same room as his sister and me, not paying attention to either of us, I’ve always felt better with Bobby around. We’ve never talked about it, but I think he feels the same way.
“I can’t,” I say, after the pause has become too long. “I’ll have to miss practice if I get detention, and my dad would kill me. I have a meet next week.”
There’s also the matter of my boyfriend, Jacob. He knows I’m friends with Bobby, and how upset I was when he had to go to rehab. But Jacob is so easygoing and trusting, I don’t believe it would even occur to him to think I could have feelings for someone else. And I like Jacob. It would feel dishonest to spend a whole day alone with Bobby, no matter how badly I want to.
“You sure?” Bobby raises his eyebrows, like it’s possible I could be missing the best day of my life.
“Sorry.” I bite my lip. “You should sit with us at lunch, though.”
“If I make it that long.” He salutes me and starts walking backward into the office. “Good to see your face, Mavis.”
“Yeah. You too, Bobby.”
The next day after practice, Dad says he has to wrap up a couple of things before we leave and tells me to meet him in his office. But when I get there, Jacob is sitting in the folding chair across from him. They’re laughing, and like always, their ease with each other makes me uncomfortable.
I guess that’s not fair. My father has been his coach since freshman year, since before Jacob and I started dating. Still, I feel like they should keep things strictly business. I don’t like the idea of a guy who regularly sees me naked being all chummy with my dad.
I knock on the doorframe, and they both turn toward me. Both smile. Jacob pats the empty seat next to him, but I decide to stand. “Almost ready?”
Dad slides some papers into a folder. “Sure. I can finish the rest of this at home. Your boyfriend here distracted me.”
Jacob grins, and I feel bad that I want to roll my eyes.
“Your mom’s working late tonight,” Dad says. Like he even needs to announce it at this point. Mom’s an attorney at an environmental law firm, and she’s working on a big case right now. I feel like I haven’t seen her in weeks, and when I do, it’s usually just a quick kiss good morning or good night. “So it’s just us for dinner. Should we do salmon and brown rice?”
“Um, actually, I’m going to Edwina’s for dinner.” I pause. “If that’s okay.”
“You’re going to leave your dear old dad to fend for himself?” he says in mock horror. “What if I end up eating ramen noodles?”
“You’ll survive,” I say. “Or, you know, you could live it up and swing by a Mickey D’s drive-through.”
Dad gives me a look, then turns to my boyfriend. “Well, what are you doing for dinner, Jacob? Do you like salmon?”
This time my eyes flick toward the ceiling before I can stop them. “I’m going to wait in the car.”
I like being at Edwina’s house—when no one is arguing. It’s a nice house, clean and comfortable and decorated well. And her parents like me. They seem to find it fascinating that I’m good at something physical. None of the Neeleys have ever played a sport in their life. Edwina’s father is an executive at a bank, her mother is a wedding planner, and Edwina is managing editor of our school’s literary magazine.
Bobby’s not particularly athletic or academic, and he always lists that as another reason he’s the black sheep of his family.
“I’m mediocre at everything,” he once told me at a party.
We were sitting on the back stoop of the house, and I knew I should be inside, looking for Jacob. Instead, I was drinking canned beer with my best friend’s brother.
“You are not,” I said, leaning back on my elbows.
“Tell me one thing I’m the best at.” Bobby took a long swig from his beer. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped down nearly half of the can in one drink.
I hesitated.
“See?” he said, nudging me. “You can’t think of anything. Mediocre. At everything besides drinking.”
He threw back the rest of his beer.
And I wasn’t brave enough to tell him that I hadn’t paused for the reason he’d thought. It’s just that I wasn’t sure how to tell him he was really good at being Bobby, and that was good enough for me.
Dinner at their house isn’t so bad tonight. Maybe everyone is on their best behavior because he just got back a few days ago. The worst was when Bobby would come to dinner drunk and everyone could tell but no one would say anything. He picked a lot of fights, and his parents couldn’t always keep their cool. Edwina straight up ignored him on those evenings, even the time he screamed across the table that she was a fucking bitch.
One thing I like about eating with Edwina’s family is that it doesn’t occur to them that I’m supposed to be avoiding certain foods. I put on muscle easily, but I’m still small, so nobody thinks I need to watch my weight. Dad is so obsessed with me staying in optimal shape that it’s usually easier to just eat what he suggests. It’s not like it’s bad food; just boring. But my mouth waters at the smell of the lasagna that Mr. Neeley places in the center of the table, and I’m already thinking about having seconds before he’s served the first helping.
After dinner, Edwina shows me a sneak preview of next month’s lit mag. She pushes her red-framed glasses up her nose as she scrolls down the layout on her computer screen. Edwina generally dresses like an art teacher—all bright colors and big patterns and prints that don’t necessarily go together but look amazing against her dark skin. It’s the opposite of what has basically become my uniform: a plain T-shirt, long or short sleeved depending on the weather, but mostly short sleeved because we live in L.A.; dark jeans; and running shoes. Edwina always says I’m wasting my fashion potential, as if I am the sort of person who likes to call attention to herself.
“We still need submissions for our environmental issue,” she says pointedly.
“E, stop trying to recruit me.” I lie back on her bed and close my eyes. “Writing papers for school is bad enough.”
“That’s not creative writing,” she says. “And you should kick ass at environmental topics. Hello, your mom?”
“Sure, I’ll just whip up a haiku about her firm suing the shit out of an oil company.”
Edwina sighs, but I know without looking that she’s only doing so to cover up her smile. My eyes are still closed, and I’m so full from my plateful of pasta and cheese that I start to drift off. When Edwina speaks again, it takes me a moment to catch up.
“Wait, what?” I say.
She sighs again, but this one is heavier. Longer. She’s quiet for a moment, then: “Does it make me a horrible person if I say I wish he hadn’t come back?”
I keep my eyes closed. I don’t answer her right away. Edwina knows how I feel about Bobby. She used to tease me about him when we were younger, but we haven’t talked about it in a while. Not since Jacob and I got together. I think a part of her believes that it was a schoolgirl crush and I’m over him. She doesn’t understand that my feelings are real.
“You’re not a horrible person.” I sit up and look at her. She’s staring at her computer, but I know she’s not seeing what’s on the screen. “You’re just being honest.”
“Yeah, but people use that as an excuse to be a bitch.” She meets my eye. “I don’t want to be a bitch. But he was really mean to me before he left. For a long time. And now he’s sober and we’re just supposed to forget how he treated us?”
“He didn’t mean it, E.”
“Really?” She takes a shuddery breath. “Don’t people say what they actually feel when they’re drinking?”
“E . . .” I trail off because I don’t know what to say. She’s right. I cringed my way through more than one of Bobby’s bad nights at the dinner table, but I guess a part of me hoped that once Edwina realized what was really going on with him, she’d forgive him for the awful things he said. That maybe his problem with alcohol would trump his vicious outbursts . . . even if he did mean what he was saying.
“He was never mean to you. Not around me,” she says.
I sweep my box braids up in one hand and let them fall down around my shoulders. I don’t know what to say to that, because she’s right. Bobby has never said a mean word to me, not even at his drunkest.
I stay for another half hour, but it’s not the same. I pretend to be overly interested in Edwina’s short story, and she pretends not to notice how hard I’m trying. She once told me that I always seemed to take Bobby’s side, even when he was at his worst. She didn’t sound mad at me then, just sad.
Now she looks closed off. Like even though we’re best friends, there’s a part of her she can’t share with me. Like if it came down to choosing between the two of them, she knows Bobby would come first.
I’m halfway down the walk before the front door of the Neeleys’ house opens and I hear my name.
“Wait up,” Bobby says. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, turning around. I only live three blocks away, and it’s not too late.
But now he’s standing next to me, and we fall into step together. When he was gone, sometimes I worried I would forget how he looked. Bobby hates being in pictures, so pretty much all I had was my yearbook. But I didn’t like looking at his posed photograph, with the stiff, unsmiling face. It turned out I didn’t need to. I’d never forget him. I memorized every line and curve of his face years ago, along with his strong jaw and the coppery brown of his skin.
The night is cool and crisp, and even though the moon is partly shielded by clouds, it feels like a perfect February night in Los Angeles.
“I know Edwina hates that I’m back,” he says, digging his hands deep into the front pocket of his hoodie. “I’m honestly not sure my parents feel any different. And that just makes me want a drink. Or ten.”
He doesn’t look at me, so I don’t look at him either.
“Have you called your sponsor?” Edwina told me he has one, but I immediately wish I hadn’t said anything. That’s not something she should be telling people. He should have told me first, or I shouldn’t know at all.
“No. It’s still weird. Calling myself an alcoholic. Feels like I’m talking about someone else.”
This is a conversation for sitting down and looking straight into each other’s faces, not one to be had on the go. But we keep trucking along down the street, so quickly it feels like we’re seconds away from breaking into a run.
“Well, I won’t let you have a drink.”
Of course I felt guilty when I found out his parents were shipping him off to rehab. I thought about all the times I’d heard him slurring his words and seen him stumbling around and when I’d been drinking right next to him, knowing he’d had too much. But that wasn’t just Bobby, that could be nearly anyone at a party on any given weekend. I hadn’t known what was just a good time and when I should have been concerned, because Bobby’s life didn’t visibly fall apart. He still went to school and he still showed up to dinner each night; it only became an issue when people started smelling liquor on him during the day.
“I know I’m an alcoholic,” he says, slowing down his pace just a bit. “But I hate the way that word makes people look at me. My parents don’t say it. They won’t even say AA.”
Edwina told me when he was gone that she doesn’t think it’s a disease—just a weakness. Their parents feel the same way.
“My sponsor is cool, but he’s this old white dude and . . . he’s been where I was . . . where I am, but it feels like he doesn’t know. What it’s like to be me.” Bobby stops in front of a house surrounded by clean-cut hedges with an arched wooden door in the middle that leads to the front yard. “Sometimes I think my parents are more worried about how it looks instead of how I’m doing. Like I’ve shamed our entire race.”
This isn’t news to me. I’ve spent more than one dinner at their house where the conversation turns, at length, to all the ways black people are failing black people. I’ll never forget the deadly look their father shot Bobby when he brought up the fact that maybe he should examine how the systems set up in this country fail us instead.
“Well, you haven’t,” I say, wanting to touch him—hold his hand, hug him—but knowing I shouldn’t. Even if he doesn’t want me like I want him, it would be disrespectful to Jacob. “You got help, like they wanted. You haven’t had a drink in three months.”
“Three months, six days, and two hours.” He sighs. “Do you ever just want to get the fuck out of here?”
“L.A.?” I look around at the manicured lawns and hear the song of the crickets and feel the cool breeze that rustles the tree leaves and floats over my face. “I don’t know, it’s not so bad. Maybe not as pretty as Santa Barbara—”
I stop. I shouldn’t be so flippant about his rehab.
But Bobby shakes his head and pushes down his hood, running a hand over the top of his tightly packed curls. “Not like that, just, like . . . do you ever want to start a new life?”
I swallow hard, trying not to think about the fact that it sounds like he’s leaving again. How he’ll be eighteen in a couple of months and soon his parents will have no say in anything he does.
“I don’t know.” I haven’t thought about that, not really. But I don’t want him to feel more alone than he already does.
He doesn’t say anything else about it. We spend the rest of our walk in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, and I wonder what he’s thinking, but I don’t want to break the easy way we have of being around each other.
When we get to my house, the porch light is on. Dad’s car is in the driveway, but the space behind it, where Mom parks hers, is still empty.
“I’d invite you in,” I say, “but . . .”
“Yeah, it’s getting late. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.” Bobby gives me a tight smile.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m gonna call Ray. My sponsor,” he says in response to my confused look.
“Oh. Well . . . you know you can call me if you need anything, right? Anytime.”
“Yeah.” Bobby nods, and his smile loosens. Grows a little wider for me. “Night, Mavis.”
He stands at the curb and watches me. While I walk to the porch and get out my key and turn it in the lock. He watches until I’m safely inside.
The next night, Jacob comes over to do homework. My dad is at some coaches’ meeting and Mom has another late night at the office, so Jacob brings over dinner from the burger stand we like on Fairfax.
It surprised me how easily I slipped into the we with Jacob. He was my first everything: crush who liked me back and did something about it. Kiss. Sex. I noticed him the first week of track practice our freshman year, just like anyone else who’s attracted to guys. He’s objectively good-looking, with thick honey-blond hair and dark green eyes and a smile that lights up the entire school and is almost always meant for me.
I think what surprised me the most about Jacob is how comfortable I am around him. I never assumed I would feel so relaxed with any guy but Bobby. I don’t like to think about it too much—I don’t feel for him what I feel for Bobby, but I’ve given more of myself to Jacob. Physically, of course, but I’m honest with him in a way that I’m not with Bobby. Maybe because I know Jacob can handle it, because he has a family that loves and respects him and believes he’s a good person.
I’m still eating by the time Jacob finishes his cheeseburger and fries. He steals one of my tater tots and swipes it through the dollop of ketchup on my plate.
“Your food okay?” He gestures to my mostly uneaten burger on the coffee table. We’re sitting on the floor, in front of the couch.
“It’s good, I’m just . . . I don’t know.” It seems like a waste, to not finish my burger when I know I’d get a huge lecture from Dad if he were here to see it. I should at least be able to enjoy my secret rebellion.
“Nervous about the meet? I watched you today at practice. You looked fucking awesome.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my dad. He thinks . . .”
“What?” Jacob brushes his hands on his jeans, still looking at me.
“Nothing.”
“Mavis, it’s not nothing. Come on. It’s me. What’s up?”
I take a deep breath. “Sometimes . . . I just think maybe I’ll never be good enough for him. I felt like I had a good practice too. One of my best in a while. Then he said my touchdown time had improved on the fourth hurdle, but I’m still slow off the block.”
“Well . . .” Jacob sighs. “You know he pushes us because he cares.”
“I live with him,” I say. “I’ve heard that more than anyone.”
“Fair enough.” He hesitates. “Sometimes I’m jealous of you.”
“Of me?”
“Yeah. You and your dad. He really does care about you.”
I push my plate across the coffee table and bring my knees up to my chest. “Your dads care about you.”
“Yeah, they’re great. But I feel like I don’t have anything in common with them.” Jacob pushes his hair out of his eyes. “They think sports are a school thing. They’d probably get it if I wanted to run in college, but it’ll never be a career to them. And your dad—”
“My dad will be severely disappointed if I don’t make it to the Olympics,” I say flatly.
Dad doesn’t talk about it often, but he was close to getting there himself. He tore his ACL during the trials and that was it for him. It’s so clichéd, him wanting me to succeed where he couldn’t; coaching because he never went pro.
“You’re gonna get there, Mavis.” Jacob puts his hand on my knee and gently rubs. “It’s not even a question.”
Jacob believes in me the way I believe in Bobby. He always thinks the best of me, and sometimes I wonder if I deserve it. Then sometimes, when I start feeling too bad about how much more he likes me than I like him, I let myself wonder if he really likes me for me or if it’s because I am good enough to get to the Olympics. Or because I’m the coach’s daughter.
So I kiss him. His lips are soft and sweet as ever. Familiar. And maybe, if I keep myself busy with him, my mind will stop going to places it shouldn’t.
Maybe then I won’t keep thinking about what Bobby said. About leaving.
I’m walking through the hall by myself, on my way to the cafeteria to meet Edwina and Jacob, when someone gently grabs my arm from behind. I stop, and before I even turn around, I know it’s Bobby.
“I’m taking the afternoon off,” he says. “Come with me.”
“I seriously can’t.” I look down at my feet and then at him. His eyes are so deep, deep brown; so intense that I’m afraid to keep meeting his gaze. I feel like they’re going to convince me to do something I shouldn’t.
I thought I might feel differently about him when he was away. I wrote to him once, but he didn’t reply. I didn’t expect him to, and I took that as a sign. That I was meant to be with Jacob. That whatever I’d felt about Bobby before he was gone would simply fade into nothing in his absence. I didn’t think it would come back like this. Stronger. Harder to ignore.
“We’ll just drive around. I’ll have you back by your next class. Promise.”
I don’t say yes, but I don’t protest, either. And whatever he sees in my eyes makes him take my arm, lead me away. He knows the door we should use to avoid being seen on the way to the parking lot. I stare straight ahead, afraid that whatever spell I’m under will break if I look anywhere else. I’m terrified that I will look up and see Edwina. Or Jacob. Or, maybe even worse, my father.
But suddenly, I’m not terrified of getting in trouble. I’m with Bobby. His fearlessness makes me feel stronger, even if I know he’s no stranger to the consequences of his actions.
His car is clean inside, but a bunch of empty soda cans litter the floor, and I’ve never seen him smoke, but it smells vaguely of cigarettes. Maybe a new habit he picked up in rehab? I don’t ask.
“Where should we go?” He’s pulling out of the space before I’ve buckled my seat belt. He may be brave enough to sneak out, but he’s not stupid. We still need to get the hell out of here before someone sees us.
“I don’t know.”
I stare down at my lap. Would I do this with Jacob? Or would I tell him he’s crazy, that there’s no way we could pull it off, that we should just go to the cafeteria before all the good greens are gone from the salad bar?
“Burritos?”
I say yes immediately. Even though I know it will sit heavy in my stomach for the rest of the afternoon, maybe until dinnertime. Even though I’ve been eating like shit this week—lasagna and burgers and now this. I’m really going to have to step it up at practice. The meet is only a few days away.
Bobby doesn’t say much, and that makes people nervous, to never know what he’s thinking. But I’ve only ever felt comforted by that silence. It feels thoughtful. And so it’s not weird to me at all that we don’t really talk until we’re halfway through our lunch.
“It’s claustrophobic here.” Bobby dumps more salsa over his chicken burrito.
“In this place?” I look around. We missed the big lunch rush. We’re practically the only people in here.
“No, I mean . . . being back. Here. My life.”
He takes an enormous bite and chews for what seems like forever. I wait. And when he’s done, I blurt, “Are you leaving?”
He shrugs. “Thinking about it.”
I exhale. “Where will you go?”
“Dunno. Maybe somewhere up north.”
I stare down at the table. At the crumpled napkins between us, and the spilled salsa pooling on the table next to his arm. I don’t know what to say. And he pauses so long, it feels like a good-bye.
Until he says, “You wanna come?”
Jacob is waiting for me by the girls’ locker room before practice begins.
“Where were you at lunch?” His voice isn’t possessive, just curious. He slides his arm around my shoulders as we walk.
Bobby and I didn’t get caught, but I was too anxious to skip the rest of the afternoon with him. He dropped me off like he’d promised and told me to walk in like I owned the place. I did. Nobody stopped me.
“I had to do some research,” I say. “For history. Sorry I forgot to tell you.”
“It’s cool,” he says, squeezing me to him. I try to relax, but my whole body is tense, like a rubber band ready to snap in half. “Edwina was freaking out about Bobby.”
I turn my head to look at him as we walk. “About what?”
“He’s been skipping classes. Their parents are pissed.”
“Oh.” His skipping classes is going to be the least of their problems soon if what he said is true. That he’s probably leaving.
“Mavis!”
Shit. My father.
Jacob and I stop and turn and wait for him to catch up. The legs of his athletic pants swish together as he strides toward us.
“Hey, Jacob.” He greets my boyfriend with a grin. “I need to talk to Mavis for a minute. See you out there?”
“Yeah, Coach.” Jacob returns his smile and briefly turns it on me before he continues down the hall.
My heart thumps and thumps as I wait for my father to speak. Maybe he does know I skipped out for a while. I take a deep breath. Prepare myself for his lecture.
“Honey,” he begins, and that’s weird. Because he doesn’t exactly call me honey when he’s mad at me.
I blink at him.
“Is everything all right with you?”
My heartbeat instantly slows. “Sure, Dad. Why?”
“You haven’t seemed like yourself this week, and I’m wondering . . . is it the meet?”
If only.
But I can’t say it’s something else, because then he’ll want to have a big discussion about how I can’t let myself get distracted. How I have to keep my eye on the prize. Keep excelling at what we’ve been working for all these years.
We.
I clear my throat. “I guess . . . I guess I’m a little nervous.”
“I thought so,” he says, practically smiling. Jesus. Since when should someone else’s anxiety be a source of relief? “Look, I understand. It’s getting down to crunch time, when you have to prove yourself. I’ve been there.”
I chew on my bottom lip so I’m not tempted to say that we’re not in the same position. I care about jumping hurdles. I love it. I feel my best when I’m sailing over them on the spongy clay-colored track. But I don’t love it as much as he did. Or does now. And maybe I never will.
“But the scouts are coming to see you because they know you’re one of the best,” he says. “You know that too. And I know you don’t want to let them down.”
I nod, even though this is probably the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard.
“Stay focused, okay, honey? You’ve just gotta stay focused until next week. I don’t want to see you getting preoccupied with other things during practice. We need to improve your start off the block. . . .”
I zone out. It’s the only way I can handle this.
I wonder what would happen if I didn’t show up to the meet. If I just disappeared. I wonder what would happen if no one could find me afterward, either.
When I tune back in, he’s staring at me. Saying, “Okay, honey?”
I nod again. Smile so he’ll think I not only heard him but appreciate the feedback. “Okay, Dad. Thanks.”
We walk together down the quiet hallway. Everyone has either gone home or split off into their after-school practices and meetings. Dad pauses by the door that leads to the athletic field, his fingers gripping the handle.
“And Mavis?”
I look up. “Hmm?”
“No more cheeseburgers until after the meet.”
I told Bobby I didn’t know.
I’ve been thinking about it nonstop, his question. All weekend, I could hear his voice no matter what I was doing. Brushing my teeth, reading for English lit, talking to my father about the upcoming meet.
“You wanna come?”
I figured he’d make the decision for me, leave when he wanted to leave and not tell me until it was too late or I had to choose at the last minute. He doesn’t wait for anyone to get on board with what he wants.
So I’m surprised when he’s standing by the fence after track practice on Monday afternoon. I let the girls on my team file past me on their way back to the locker room and take my time making my way up the hill to where he stands. It’s warm out for late February, even in L.A., and he’s wearing a black T-shirt with Eric B. and Rakim lyrics printed on the front. I’m sweating everywhere and stand back a bit in case I stink.
“Thought any more about it?”
He doesn’t have to clarify what it is. Obviously it’s the only thing on his mind, and he must know the same is true for me too.
“Yeah, I . . . I don’t know.”
We’d essentially be running away. And when people run away, they need to have something to run from, right? People don’t just pick up and leave everything they know when they have a good life . . . do they?
Maybe they do for love.
Bobby nods. “All right. Well, I’m leaving tomorrow night.”
The big meet is in two days.
I wipe perspiration from my forehead with the back of my arm. “You haven’t told Edwina?”
“Fuck no. You kidding?” His eyes widen the most I’ve seen them in a long time. “You haven’t said anything?”
“Of course not.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the boys are finishing up their practice. Jacob will be walking by soon. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know.” Bobby’s voice is even quieter than normal. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, Mavis. But I wouldn’t ask just anyone. I think . . . you and I . . .”
I stare at him.
“I don’t know if I could give you everything you have here. Maybe someday. But I promise I’d take care of you the best I could.”
He can’t even take care of himself.
That’s what Edwina would say, and I hate that I’m hearing her voice right now, during one of the biggest moments of my life. Bobby isn’t much for words, but what he just said . . . it’s the equivalent of what I feel for him. I know it.
“What time tomorrow?”
“Late. After our parents go to bed.” And the look on his face is so surprising, so un-Bobby, that it takes me a few seconds to place it: hope.
“I don’t have a lot of money,” I say, though I probably have more than him. His and Edwina’s parents do well, but they cut him off even before he went to rehab. What little he has is saved up from the part-time job he used to have as an excuse to get out of the house.
“We can get jobs.”
“What about school?”
What about the Olympics? What about my future?
I don’t say that last part aloud, but the impatience more than flickers on his face. It lingers. I’m being too technical, asking too many questions about a future he’s purposely trying not to plan.
The chatter from the guys makes its way over to us as they walk up to the school. Jacob looks over. I can’t read the expression on his face, but he doesn’t look as happy to see me as he always does. His eyes shift to Bobby. He doesn’t look at all pleased to see him. Has Edwina been complaining more about her brother?
Or can he finally tell, after a year of being with me?
Jacob looks away first. Jogs to catch up with one of his teammates and claps him on the back to get his attention. But I watch him until he gets to the door. He glances back at me once more before he slips inside.
Bobby sighs. “Look, Mavis . . . I don’t have all the answers. Except that I have to get out of here. And I want you with me.”
He reaches out into the sliver of space between us and slides his hand along my hip. Under the fabric of my tank top and along the light brown skin just above the waistband of my gym shorts. I shiver all over.
He doesn’t touch me anywhere else, and he doesn’t try to kiss me. He doesn’t have to.
I go about the next day like it’s any other day of the week, of my life.
I eat lunch at our usual table and fawn over the new issue of the lit mag, hot off the presses. When Edwina pesters me about submitting, I say that maybe I’ll send her something for the next issue. She beams so hard it makes my heart hurt.
I’m extra sweet to Jacob. He didn’t say anything about seeing me with Bobby, but I make sure to hold his hand between classes, and I change quickly before practice so we can walk outside together.
But every single moment of the day has a new significance. I wonder if it will be the last time I do all of those things, if this is the last chapter to the book of Mavis as I know it.
My mother’s car pulls into the driveway a few minutes after Dad and I get home. I stare out the living room window as she walks up the path. She hasn’t been home before ten o’clock in at least two weeks.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she says with a tired smile. “I’m not officially living at the office.”
“Are you done with the big case?” I ask as she kisses my cheek.
She swipes at my face with her thumb, removing traces of her lipstick. “Almost. I’m going back after dinner, but I couldn’t stomach another night of eating takeout across from Patrick and Lisa.”
Dad can barely stop smiling through dinner. I watch him being cute with Mom at the table, and I wonder if he’d back off a little if she were around more. I know that’s not fair. She’s not always this busy, and she makes time for me when she’s home. But it’s nice to get a break, to have someone else at the table to distract him from going over stats for the millionth time or monitoring how much and what I’m eating.
“I’ll get the dishes tonight, Mavis,” Dad says when I start to clear our empty plates.
“Yes, you should go up and rest,” Mom says after taking a sip of water. “Word on the street is you have a big meet tomorrow.”
I shrug, even though I know my apparent apathy kills Dad. He doesn’t have to tell me the meet is all he’s thought about for the last forty-eight hours.
“I know I haven’t been around much lately, but I’m going to try to make it tomorrow, okay, sweetie?” she continues. “I love watching you fly over those hurdles.”
“Our girl’s looking great,” Dad says. “I can’t wait for them to see her.”
I kiss them and hug them and say good night, even though I know Dad will pop his head in before he goes to bed. I keep it together until I leave the room, but when I get to the stairs, I feel that familiar ball of pressure behind my eyes and nose, like I’m going to cry. Only no tears come. And what kind of monster does that make me? What if that’s the last time I ever see my mother?
I go up to my room and open my notebook and textbooks as if I’m going to start on my homework, same as any other weeknight. But I sit down at my desk only for a minute before I’m in my closet, rummaging through shoes and boxes for my largest duffel.
Bobby said to pack light, and I stare at my room helplessly as I wonder what I should leave behind. The clothing is easy—it’s everything else I can’t figure out. Do I take whole photo albums to remember every important thing that’s ever happened, or just a few pictures with Mom and Dad and Edwina and Jacob in them? And what about my medals? There’s a good chance I won’t be running hurdles again for some time, if ever, but will bringing along reminders of my accomplishments weigh me down?
Mom leaves again for the office, and I slip my duffel back into the closet when Dad sticks his head in to say good night.
“You’re going to do great tomorrow, honey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I say. And then I wonder if I should say something bigger, something more substantial to tide him over until I see him again.
Like “I couldn’t have done it without you” or “Sometimes it really sucks, but I know you’re only so tough on me because you want the best for me.” Or even just “I love you, Dad.”
But the words get stuck in my throat. So I smile at him and he closes the door and I listen to him walk down the hall. Hear the water turn on in the shower, and then rustling around for the next twenty minutes until he flips on his sound machine and gets into bed.
Bobby texts a few minutes later and says he’ll be by to get me in an hour. He’ll park down the street and I’m to go out and meet him and tonight we will start our new life.
I didn’t know I was going to say yes. Looking into his eyes yesterday afternoon, feeling his hand on my hip like I was already his, it was hard to say no. I didn’t think about what happens if he starts drinking again, that no matter how much I try to help him, he’s going to do what he wants. Will he go to AA meetings on the road? Find a new sponsor? We didn’t talk about it.
And I’m old enough to get a job, but neither of us has any real skills. Will I have to serve up burgers I’m not supposed to eat or sell crappy clothes in a mall, because those are the only things I’m qualified for? College was never a choice—it was an expectation, but not just from my parents. I’ve always known I’ll be on the track team wherever I go, but I like the idea of having a degree that says I put in the time, that I’m especially knowledgeable about a particular subject. I could get my GED, but it seems wrong when you grow up the way I did, full of support and love and encouragement.
Those tears finally spring to my eyes when I think again about my parents. My dad isn’t always the easiest person to be around, and my mother is hardly around at all for many weeks at a time, but they’re genuinely good people. And no matter what, if I leave like this, they’re going to think it’s their fault. They’re going to worry. Even if I tell them I’m safe and with Bobby, they won’t ever feel at ease. My father might never forgive me for wasting everything I’ve worked toward. I can’t even think about how Edwina will take the news. Or what Jacob’s face will look like when he realizes he didn’t know me at all.
I could let Bobby go, alone, but the churning in my stomach lets me know that I’d worry even more if he ran away without me.
I want—I need to tell him all of this, but I just keep turning my phone over in my hands every time I start to call or text. I don’t want to disappoint him. He’ll tell me everything will be okay, that we’ll figure out a way to make things work because we’re us. We’ll be together and that means everything will be all right.
I sit on my bed, my packed bag at my feet, and stare at the clock above my desk until it says he will be here in ten minutes.
My palms sweat as I pick up the phone. He answers on the second ring. “Hey there. What’s going on?”
Jacob’s voice is drowsy.
“Were you asleep?”
“Mmm, not totally. Always awake for you. Something wrong?”
I pause for too long, hoping he’ll figure it out and force me to confess. But he was asleep. I can tell by the way he can’t stop yawning and how his voice never picks up to its normal speed. He might not even remember I called in the morning.
“No,” I finally say in a small voice. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to say good night. And I love you.”
We’ve said it before. The first time was months ago, and I’ve always felt like a bit of a fraud, because while there is so much I love about Jacob, it’s not the love I know I’m capable of.
It will never be the same as the love I have for Bobby. And there’s no rule that says you have to love everyone equally, but I know the two should be reversed in my heart.
“Love you too, Mavis. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
He hangs up with the softest click, will probably be asleep again within minutes.
I pace my room, drinking in every last detail with my eyes because taking a picture seems like it would be cheating. If I’m going to run away, it has to be all or nothing. Which is why I didn’t pack any of the photo albums. Or photos. Except for the one of my parents on their wedding day that is my favorite, the one I took from their album and have had propped up on my desk for years. I’ve always liked it best because they look so in love, but it seems like a good one to have so I can remember they were happy before I came around. They can be happy without me.
I nearly jump across the room when Bobby’s text comes through.
Outside.
I take a deep breath and I pick up my duffel and walk toward my door. Take one last look before I put my hand on the knob.
And then I stand still. I don’t know for how long, but I don’t move again until his next text comes through.
Hey, you ready? Need help with your bag?
The tears fall this time, drip all the way down my chin and into my collarbone. Which is more important? The love I have for someone who doesn’t have enough, or the love that fills every other part of my life?
I thought I would know by now.
I thought I already knew.
You coming?