Chapter 27
twenty-seven
To make amends, I promise Aggie five new bags of cookies. She argues for ten, plus I have to join her and Lou on the next three outings—no excuses.
Though it makes me nervous, I give in. I owe these two, and the more I know them, the more I find myself enjoying their company. Maybe it could be my new goal, to lower my walls and invite them in. After tonight, I have hope.
After Aggie leaves, I pick up the cardboard box and carry it to my room.
I place it on my bed, biting on a fingernail as I stare at it.
I should leave this alone, considering how early I need to wake for the race, but I’ve been questioning the contents ever since I saw them.
I feigned disinterest for Aggie’s sake, because this is something I need to do by myself.
Still unsure of my course, I turn away to get ready for bed. I change into my pajamas but can’t help but stare at the box. I brush my teeth while staring at the box. I do three sets of jumping jacks and stare at the stupid box.
Finally, I release a frustrated groan and climb into the center of the bed. The mattress dips beneath my knees as I settle. With legs crossed, I tug the box close, flip open the top, and peek inside. Looking at the items, I find them no less perplexing.
I remove each mystery item one by one and spread them out before me. It’s easier this way—to inspect them without anyone watching and asking questions.
“You don’t recognize that?” My parents would be appalled when I didn’t give them a reason for an item’s importance. “Your grandmother left you those earrings. You won that trophy for long-distance running in the county finals. That was your favorite stuffed animal in the third grade.”
Each time I couldn’t remember, it frustrated me more. And let’s not forget the isolation and self-loathing that claimed me for failing to connect to keepsakes that mattered to them. In their eyes, another epic fail on my part.
But these items are different from the ones my parents deemed important. These are items they would have thrown out.
I pick up a pair of tickets, the paper so worn that the name of the event and date can’t be read.
It’s like someone left them in a pocket on laundry day.
I set them aside and pick up an empty jewelry box.
The outside is dark blue velvet with silver embossed geometric details.
I snap it open and closed several times before moving to the next item—the stinky sock with no companion.
It’s dry rotted. I toss it aside without looking too close.
I reach for a journal book and flip through, finding empty pages.
The final item is a red spatula. This is the strangest one of all.
I tap the plastic to my chin, considering each item again, but can’t remember anything significant. They spark no memories.
The spatula clanks as I toss it back in the box. The rest of the items follow. Irritated, I mentally chastise myself for wasting my time and mental energy. I should have hidden the package in my closet and ignored it like I originally planned.
I kick it aside and flop onto my bed. With a pillow cradled around my head, I reach for a tendril of hair and wind it around my index finger as I stare at the ceiling.
My past is like a word on the tip of my tongue I can’t recall.
I rummage through my mind to find it, allowing letters and sounds to roll along the roof of my mouth and tap my teeth.
I’m eager to scream my word to the world, but find none are a perfect fit.
When the realization of another failure hits, the letters fade and my anticipation of discovery dissolves.
Memories in general are one thing. But remembering that day—the slash that divided my life—is something else. I teeter, seesawing back and forth between wanting to know nothing and wanting to know everything.
I conclude it’s for the best. No matter how awful, I need to remember this terrible thing someone else did to me so I can heal, forget, and move on. I roll onto my side and draw my knees to my stomach.
Remember. Remember. Remember. I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m back in the park, lazy with happiness and lounging in the sunshine.
I roll over to my stomach and reach for my schoolbook.
I crack it open but slam it shut again. Who can focus on homework on a day like today?
My phone chirps. I lift my backpack and find it underneath.
There’s a message. I swipe through and read the screen.
Sorry I’m late. Be there soon. <3
I smile as my thumbs fly over the buttons. I’ll always wait for you, I type. Before I press Send, my world dives from the highest high to a lowest low with one sound that sets off the beginning of my end.
Someone screams. And that someone is me.
I launch from sleep in tears, my lips quivering. I hug my blankets to my chest as reality fades in, revealing my room. My gaze leaps from my closet to a photo of Aggie and me to my own hands trembling in my lap. I’m safe.
I deepen my breathing, forcing the air in and out. I’m okay. I’m okay.
My phone reads 4:58 a.m. I reach to turn off my alarm. Staring into darkness, I sense the images from my dream brush my mind.
Of the nightmares I’ve had, this one is the most revealing.
I can’t even place who I might have texted.
Not that this is surprising. I know no one from the years right before.
It was as if I lived the life of a recluse when I attended Northwalton.
In the after, I only had my parents and extended family.
Shoving the sheets away along with the dream, I stretch.
If I don’t allow the dream to fester, I’ll have a better day.
If I dwell, that’s when the depression kidnaps me.
Some days it’s a crippling arthritis, a radiating burn consuming my mind and affecting everything I do.
I can’t allow that today. I’ve been training too long for this marathon.
At seven a.m., I’m leaning over a table in Millennium Park, registering with a race volunteer.
A woman wearing a neon visor hands me a paper number, and I safety-pin it to my sweatshirt.
She presents a course map. With her pencil, she traces the streets, beginning with the starting line on Lake Shore Drive, traveling north along Lake Michigan, and weaving back and forth through several neighborhoods before returning downtown.
“We had to change the course in Streeterville because of emergency construction, so in this area, we’ll divert the runners through the Northwalton University campus,” she adds.
I nod, but I’m zoning out, barely deciphering her words. I’ve been avoiding the campus since I moved here for a reason. I’m not ready to return to the scene of the crime.
“Just follow the other runners,” she says, “and you’ll be fine, sweetie.” The volunteer must have read the paralyzing look on my face.
In a daze, I move away, allowing the next person in line to step forward. I find an open spot to stand, but the crowd around me is blurring and tilting in front of my eyes. I don’t have to do this. In fact, I can leave right now and run my own marathon on any course I choose. Nothing’s stopping me.
Decided, I move in the direction of home, but Aggie emerges from the crowd, waving enthusiastically. My step falters. I’m trapped. I forgot she was coming to cheer me on.
As she nears, I take in her outfit, a Team Cait, Princess of Darkness T-shirt she apparently handmade.
The letters are silver glitter on black.
Red puffy paint drips from the bottom letters like blood.
Despite my gloom, her endless loyalty makes the corners of my mouth curl up.
She’s a good friend. No, she’s the best.
At her side, she tugs a man with dark blond hair and chunky black glasses. He’s dressed in a matching black shirt, jeans, and a black cape. I presume this is the infamous unicorn-owning Paul.
“I like your shirts,” I say when they near.
“Vand vthis fis va fest vart. Vhow fher, Vaul,” Aggie hisses and spits with plastic vampire teeth filling her mouth. My Vampire is a little rusty, but I think she said, “But this is the best part. Show her, Paul.”
Paul smiles brightly, wearing his own vampire teeth, and spins so he’s facing away. He spreads his arms wide, opening his cape. It flows like raven wings in the breeze. On the back in silver sparkles, it says, I dare you to run with the Princess of Darkness.
“You poor guy.” I laugh—a real laugh.
“Fits vfor vu fo vear.” She pauses. “Vamn it.” Aggie spits her teeth into her cupped palm. “I made it for you to wear.”
Paul removes the cape and places it over my shoulders. He secures the ties around my neck. “I’m Paul, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand and return the sentiment. Feeling emotional, I crush them in a group hug. “Thank you.”
Aggie pulls away and inspects me. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t seem excited. You should be excited. You’ve been waiting for this for months. What’s the shit? Tell me! I smell it, but I don’t understand why I’m smelling it.”
When I scowl, she tugs me aside.
“They’re diverting the run through Northwalton,” I say.
“Oh.” She turns glum. “You’re right. That’s a big pile of shit. Shit.”
“I haven’t been back since . . .”
“That’s understandable.”
“I was thinking of leaving.” My lips tighten and I pull in a deep breath.
Her expression falls in understanding but it ricochets back, the lights flashing behind her stubborn blue eyes.
“Or, you know, you could use it as a moment of empowerment. Step right on that gigantic, smoldering pile of shit and track it through the campus. When you’re done, finishing will mean more than finishing for dumb people who run on purpose. ”
I cross a hand to my shoulder and rub. She makes a good point. It’s been haunting me too long. Am I well enough to fight today? I glance down at myself, searching for the answer.
“You did make me this awesome cape.” I swing it around, feeling a little powerful. If I make light of the moment like Aggie would, perhaps it will be easier. Or even possible.
“I di-id,” she sings, drawing out the second word.
“And it might upset my royal subjects if I don’t make an appearance,” I joke.
Paul steps into the conversation and takes a sweeping bow with one arm extended elegantly at his side. “Milady.”
When he rises, my nose burns and my throat tightens. I can’t help the forthcoming tears. Turning to Aggie, I say, “I’m scared.”
“I’ll be with you.” She clasps her hands with mine. “I brought my bike. I’ll crash the race and ride beside you if you need me to. Who’s stopping me? No one, that’s who.”
“Oh no.” I glance over her shoulder.
“What now?” she asks.
I jerk my chin in the direction of the registration tent. Evan stands outside it, pinning his number to his shirt. I forgot about finding the registration form for this event in his apartment the night I stayed there.
“You didn’t talk to him yet?” she asks.
“Sort of, but it turned into an argument and went nowhere.”
“Shit.”
“What?”
She groans. “We may or may not have gotten to know each other the day he was in the office. I like him. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I was pretty mean the other day. It was warranted, but still. I feel a little guilty. I may have gone overboard. I’m not sure.”
“So put on your big Golden Girl panties and talk to him.”
It may be the cape, but I’m feeling strong today. Strong enough to let this Evan drama blow over, so we can be whatever we were before this one-night-stand mess happened. I want to return to the time before Aggie’s big drunk declaration had me making terrible decisions.
I take a deep breath and jog to Evan. “Hey,” I say to get his attention.
“Nice cape.” He eyes me with suspicion.
To break the tension, I spin and show him the back.
He reads it aloud and chuckles. “Pretty fitting.”
“My blond leprechaun made it for me.”
“I’m jealous.”
“That seems to be your thing,” I crack.
His grin turns sheepish. “Yeah, I never got to say I was sorry for that. And I am sorry, Cait. You didn’t deserve that, and I had no right.”
“You didn’t, but thank you.” I shift where I stand, building my own confidence. “But I also want to apologize for being so, whatever, the other night. I just want things to be like they were before. Can we do that?”
“Like before?”
“Just two people who live in the same building and banter on occasion. Nothing complicated. Nothing that causes this.” I wave a floppy hand between us.
“What’s this?” His mimics my gesture, appearing amused.
“Anger, hurt, confusion. Whatever it is, I don’t like it. It’s wrong. It doesn’t feel right. I want things back to normal.”
“Are you finally making me your friend?” He smirks.
“If you can handle it.” I grin.
“Then allow me to be the friend that kicks your ass in this marathon.”