I hang up, placing my phone down on the desk. For a while, I just stare at the screen of my phone. The screensaver is an older picture of me with Daddy. An eight-year-old me on Daddy’s shoulders. I’m holding a trophy in the air, beaming like a goof, and he’s looking up at me as best as he can, head cocked slightly, smiling proudly.
I’d just won the final race for that season. I got a first-place medal and the whole team got a trophy. The medal hung around my neck with a red ribbon.
Before I know it, the image is a blur. The screen of my phone goes black, and I lower my head to my forearms that are on top of the desk and cry.
ELEVEN
Janine isn’t going to be able to see Kendall and me on the track as much as before. She’s heading off-field with Coach Mills more often to practice with the cross-country squad. There are many trails around Bennett University—so many that it is easy to get lost if you don’t know your way around.
Cross country’s first race is going to be the second week of September, which is two weeks away. Unfortunately for Kendall and me, we won’t be doing any real racing until March.
For the most part, I do my warm ups with Kendall, and weightlifting and conditioning with Coach Veronika.
Coach Veronika is nice. She’s a petite brunette woman with elf-like traits. Her ears are even elfish. She doesn’t like to go by her last name because it’s “too long and not-at-all sexy.” She talks a lot which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I’m not a big talker so it’s nice to have someone who likes to strike up conversation when I don’t know how to during the moments that are a little too quiet.
She helps me stretch before and after practice and has shown me some really good techniques so that my calves don’t always get so tight.
To my luck, Foster works more with the javelin, disc, and high jumpers. She’s not on the track much. That squad is practicing on another part of campus, and I’m thankful for that.
There is Torres though, who criticizes every little thing. I wouldn’t take it so personally if he were doing this to the other girls who sprint, but he doesn’t. It’s mostly me, and it’s never in a way that’s positively critical. It’s always:
“Faster, Lakes!”
“You’re leaning too far in, Lakes! Straighten your back!”
“Lakes! You aren’t pumping your arms!”
“What have I told you, Lakes! Put power in your thighs!”
He says the thighs thing often, but I’m used to my father’s technique and I’ve tried the thighs thing. It doesn’t work for me. I take off much smoother when I’m equally balanced, in my opinion, and it’s not like I’m losing any of the practice races anyway.
I ace them. I’m quick, but Torres is never pleased with how I perform. When I finish, he just shakes his head, a red whistle hanging between his lips. “Run it again,” he’ll grumble, then he’ll blow that damn whistle while making a quick loop in the air with his forefinger, and I pant heavily, going back to my starting line to get into formation.
“Those fingertips should be flat on the track. I shouldn’t see your nails digging into the rubber.” This is a remark he makes to all of us as we prepare for take-off. There are eight girls total for the meter sprints. Of course, it also includes Melanie Howard. She’s the one who presses her manicured fingernails into the track.
Janine wasn’t kidding when she said Torres is tough. He is grilling us, and I can see some of the defeat on the girls’ faces every time we have to get back into formation, but a perk is that when we take short breaks, we get to see shirtless football players on the field.
I’ve caught myself staring at Stephen Hunt way too many times to count and I always have to remind myself that he’s no-good. He’s noticed me too, and he winks and passes a lazy, flirty smile, showing off the top row of his perfect white teeth.
Boys are just boys, I guess. Right now, I can’t focus on Stephen or his flirty manners.
It’s a relief when practice is over each day. I go home exhausted, my bones weary and my muscles achy, which is not exactly a foreign feeling to me, but I feel even more worn down now than I have before. It doesn’t help that Torres is always telling us how slow we are, and that we are going to start meeting him at Marble Hall in the mornings to start running around campus, and then do some weightlifting and conditioning.
I don’t think it’s just the running that is making me exhausted, though. It’s life on campus in general. I miss Mama and being home in my double bed. The bed I have here is a twin.