Chapter 12
The sun shines at the Saturday track meet. It feels wrong.
The field events and the longer runs have already started.
Six schools have come to compete; most of them have tents set up outside the track, near the spectator stands.
A scattered audience fills the home bleachers and stands alongside the track, school colors mixed.
I spot my mom right away, in her usual spot on the far left side of the stands, near the bottom.
She insisted I come today. After she spotted the black armband I brought home from practice yesterday, she watched me like a hawk. This morning she had everything ready—my bag, my pre-workout drink mix, even had my clothes laid out. Arguing with her wasn’t worth it.
The black armbands almost didn’t get past Coach Deemer. When I walk up to our tent, he’s arguing with Haley and some of the other girls.
“You should have run this by me first.”
“We’ll all have them,” Haley says, proffering her arm. The girls around her do the same—they’re already wearing them. “No reason for a DQ on the relays. We’ll still all look the same.”
“What if one falls off? Or slips? You could get still get disqualified. Or distracted.”
“They’re really tight,” Haley flaps her arm like a chicken wing to demonstrate. Then she sees me and motions me over. “Evie! Tell Coach the armbands are a good idea. So everyone can see we’re still a team.”
Defeat washes over Coach Deemer’s face before I say anything. I have that kind of power. No one wants to upset me. “I think they’ll be okay,” I say.
Coach Deemer throws his hands up. “Fine. But all of you have to wear them, and you have to keep them on. If I hear about anyone losing one, you’re all taking them off.”
“Got it, no problem!” Haley says.
Coach walks off to get ready for the next events. Haley beams at me, but the full wattage only lasts a few seconds. “We’re really glad you’re here,” she says. “You want something to eat? Liv’s mom brought a cooler.”
“I’m good. Probably just going to take a nap.
” Plenty of us do it, especially when our races aren’t until later.
I never did, because I always had Alissa.
We’d share headphones and listen to music or watch videos.
If not that, we formed a circle that our teammates would join and leave as their events came up, and having Alissa there made me someone fun, someone people wanted to hang out with.
Without her, I find a spot outside the tent and lie down on the grass.
I don’t want to think that Alissa was my social grease in every situation.
I want to believe that I have that power myself, that I can talk to people on my own and connect with them.
But everyone feels so distant. My connector is gone.
Was that a burden on her too?
I try to sleep, but sleep doesn’t want me.
So I bring up the Fenhallow Armory on my phone and start looking through gear for Raven.
Combing stats makes it easy to block out the crowd around me.
My phone becomes a portal to a much more interesting world, one where I don’t exist in a body or a physical space at all, and I don’t have to worry about whether people want to talk to me.
It’s a balm. With it, I can get through this meet. I’ll make it home. Hopefully in one piece.
Finally I force myself to my feet to warm up.
Stretches, a few short sprints. Then, holding my water bottle to my mouth but not drinking, I wander over trackside to watch the girls’ 400-meter dash.
Haley has taken Alissa’s spot. She has dark hair, like Alissa, but it’s shorter, and it gleams gold in the sunlight instead of red.
I look around, trying to find someone else who is as uncomfortable as I am.
We all know that Alissa should be the one there.
Now we’re in this alternate reality where it’s Haley instead.
But no one else seems bothered. When Alissa died, did I step into an alternate reality, and now I’m the only one who sees how things could have been?
A sharp whistle comes from the stands. Many of us look up, searching for the source; I follow the gazes of the spectators who also turned toward the noise.
They seem to be looking at my mom, but it wasn’t my mom who whistled.
It was Ash. He stands next to her, fingers still to his mouth. He smiles, waves.
I glance around, then point a finger at myself, mouthing the word, “Me?”
He winks and finger-guns.
Brilliant light crackles through me, pushing away the clouds of my thoughts. I had no idea he was so outgoing. In front of all of these people? Just to get my attention?
I don’t see his parents anywhere. That doesn’t surprise me.
They used to come to all our meets, used to be the parents who brought the cooler of snacks.
Mr. Whitaker used to congratulate me on all my races and even used to give me pointers, because he ran the 800 in college.
They were always so excited for us, even if we didn’t do well.
I don’t blame them for not coming. This place is torture.
Ash sits with my mom. I wish I could hear what they were talking about. If I ask Mom later, she may not tell me what they said, but Ash will. That too sends another spark of happiness through me. I trust Ash to tell me things. I have not come to this alternate reality alone.
The 300-meter hurdles finish, and then I’m up.
All of our girls wear the black armbands; they stand out against our light blue shirts.
I dig mine out of the bottom of my bag and strap it around my arm, tight, trying not to think about what it represents.
Except it’s itchy. And pressure that isn’t usually there.
At least I won’t have to wear it for long.
I take my starting position in lane three.
A few of the runners from other teams cast looks at me, and I already know why: I am not a skinny greyhound girl like they are.
I’m built more like a pit bull. I’m chubby.
I’ve got thick legs and broad shoulders.
I should be doing field events, not track.
But when that starting gun goes off, my brain starts ticking, and I just do what it tells me.
They sprint. I run. I lag behind, blocking out all sounds except the jarring one two three four of my own feet.
Halfway through, they’re gassed. Falling back.
Ponytails drooping, arms going soft. My internal clock speeds up in increments, the drumbeats of my feet getting faster.
My legs scream, my heart and lungs burn, but I live in my head now, listening to the beat.
We all converge together, and I edge out the girl in the lead.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch the incredulous look she gives me.
We finish the first lap and start the second.
The track opens before me. I fly. The uncomfortable armband, the scratch of clothing, the sunshine, the people around me, the weight of everything missing—it all disappears. For a while, I’m free.
I cross the finish line. The world snaps back into place; people are cheering. It’s the first time I’ve ever won the 800, though I’ve done well before. Teammates meet me by the side of the track, along with two of our three coaches, who look shocked.
“Evie, you just broke a school record,” Coach Deemer says. “Have you . . . did you take something today?”
“Oh. No,” I reply, breathless and delighted to find that I feel pleased with myself.
I’m surprised I can still feel proud of anything I do outside of CoH.
“I just ran.” I knew the girls’ record in the 800 wasn’t great, so it isn’t that big of a feat, but I was never close to it before, as far as I know.
I look around at my teammates, who are happy for me, but the one face I’m searching for isn’t there.
Alissa wasn’t here to see it. A knife twists in my gut.
Worse than the grief of not seeing her is the anger that this simple joy is now spoiled.
Will this be the rest of my life? Whenever something good happens, thinking about Alissa will ruin it?
And I’ll always think about her when good things happen, because shouldn’t she have been there?
When I graduate college? Get married? When I have kids? Get promoted? Every year on my birthday, will I think about the party we’re not having? Every year on hers, will I think about how she’ll never get any older?
Extinguished, I tromp back to the tent to catch my breath.
We still have the 200 and the 3200. Teammates come up to congratulate me on my time.
I thank them, but I don’t have the energy to continue the conversation.
I return to my phone. Ravenweal. My quest log, and what dungeons I want to run today.
I can be free again. I just have to get home.
The 4×400 is the last event of the day. The team tents have been packed up, and everyone is gathered at the track to watch. The last race, and then I can go home.
Before the relay starts, I think, Alissa will not be there. Haley is taking her place. Do not be surprised.
I’m the third leg of the race. Alissa used to be the fourth.
She was the best of us, always committed to her events, fast, powerful, and sure.
Maybe, like Anna said, that was because she didn’t feel like she could be anything else.
Our team relied on her, so she became what we needed. She became what everyone needed.
Since it’s the 4×400, I have to wait for the first two runners to each do a lap around the track.
Those of us in the third spot take our places along the line and watch the column of girls stream toward us.
I position myself so Bethany, our second, can reach me without getting crammed by the other runners.