see about that.”
Alice sprints to catch up with the runners who are doing laps and falls in beside a tall redheaded girl who looks like she knows what she’s doing. The girl turns her head and gives Alice a half smile. Alice in her jeans feels like a mule next to this gazelle, but it’s fun to try to match her stride, to lift her head, the way this girl does, to begin to sweat. She’s feeling the cool early-spring air and the clouds crossing the sun, and her body, she’s feeling her body, and her legs are starting to ache and feel heavy, but it doesn’t matter; she’s running, she’s breathing, and for a second, for a tantalizing series of seconds, she’s feeling free.
That night B.D., the coach, calls her mother and tells her that maybe they should get her a pair of running shoes. And shorts and a T-shirt and a sweatshirt, too. Angie wants to know what this is all about.
Alice just says, “I guess I joined the track team.”
March 31st
Alice makes a deal with Henry so he’ll pick up Ellie and take her home with him on the days she has practice, which is turning into every day. Henry doesn’t seem too happy about this, but Ellie loves it. Ellie and Mrs. Grover have started to play Scrabble. Ellie is memorizing all of the acceptable two letter words. Mrs. Grover is scrambling to keep up. Their scores are going through the roof. They’ve even ordered competitive Scrabble playing dictionaries via interlibrary loan. Mrs. Grover has set up an extra table in the dining room dedicated to Scrabble. Don’t even think about doing your homework at that table. And every day at four thirty she serves tea in real china teacups. With little cakes. And sometimes special sandwiches.
Mrs. Grover is good at doing things that really matter but nobody notices. Like being nice to eight-year-olds, or running the community drive to collect children’s books for the nursery at the YMCA, or supplying the local kindergarten with craft supplies after all the budget cuts eliminated just about everything except construction paper and snub-nosed scissors. All the kindergartners love Mrs. Grover’s feathers, which she collects all year long on her walks through the Mendon Woods, or around Pond View Reservoir, or out by the lake.
Today, right before practice starts, Stephie and a clutch of older girls pass Alice and the other runners on their way to the student parking lot. Alice knows that Stephie, whose new friends call her Steph, as though two syllables are just too much trouble, would not be caught dead running. Stephie is paler than usual and she’s wearing one of those push-up bras and a short skirt. When Jeremy Baskin, a senior, catches up to her and runs his hand over her ass, Stephie looks over her shoulder at Alice. But she’s too far away now, and Alice can’t tell if that’s defiance or fear.
Alice turns back to the track. Ginger, the redhead, tosses her a baton on the fly as she sprints past her. They run, one forward, one backward, tossing the baton back and forth. Ginger’s hair is cut almost as short as a boy’s, she has strong legs and big feet, and she never looks down when she runs, she only looks up. She plays with the baton like Ellie would, and, with her energy and her quickness, she lifts Alice into a world where running is play.
Alice finds herself fantasizing about being the school’s top tenth-grade 400-meter runner, not that there are a lot of other tenth-grade girls giving up cheerleading or softball to be on the track team. The idea that she might have talent at such a simple thing is amazing. Henry just rolls his eyes when she talks about running sprints while B.D. screams at her: “Breathe, breathe, breathe! ”
But nobody needs to scream at Alice to run or to breathe. When she’s running she doesn’t want to stop, she just wants to keep going. She feels something she’s never felt before; she feels powerful and strong, she feels like no one can hurt her. Being outdoors, getting into a
Alice sprints to catch up with the runners who are doing laps and falls in beside a tall redheaded girl who looks like she knows what she’s doing. The girl turns her head and gives Alice a half smile. Alice in her jeans feels like a mule next to this gazelle, but it’s fun to try to match her stride, to lift her head, the way this girl does, to begin to sweat. She’s feeling the cool early-spring air and the clouds crossing the sun, and her body, she’s feeling her body, and her legs are starting to ache and feel heavy, but it doesn’t matter; she’s running, she’s breathing, and for a second, for a tantalizing series of seconds, she’s feeling free.
That night B.D., the coach, calls her mother and tells her that maybe they should get her a pair of running shoes. And shorts and a T-shirt and a sweatshirt, too. Angie wants to know what this is all about.
Alice just says, “I guess I joined the track team.”
March 31st
Alice makes a deal with Henry so he’ll pick up Ellie and take her home with him on the days she has practice, which is turning into every day. Henry doesn’t seem too happy about this, but Ellie loves it. Ellie and Mrs. Grover have started to play Scrabble. Ellie is memorizing all of the acceptable two letter words. Mrs. Grover is scrambling to keep up. Their scores are going through the roof. They’ve even ordered competitive Scrabble playing dictionaries via interlibrary loan. Mrs. Grover has set up an extra table in the dining room dedicated to Scrabble. Don’t even think about doing your homework at that table. And every day at four thirty she serves tea in real china teacups. With little cakes. And sometimes special sandwiches.
Mrs. Grover is good at doing things that really matter but nobody notices. Like being nice to eight-year-olds, or running the community drive to collect children’s books for the nursery at the YMCA, or supplying the local kindergarten with craft supplies after all the budget cuts eliminated just about everything except construction paper and snub-nosed scissors. All the kindergartners love Mrs. Grover’s feathers, which she collects all year long on her walks through the Mendon Woods, or around Pond View Reservoir, or out by the lake.
Today, right before practice starts, Stephie and a clutch of older girls pass Alice and the other runners on their way to the student parking lot. Alice knows that Stephie, whose new friends call her Steph, as though two syllables are just too much trouble, would not be caught dead running. Stephie is paler than usual and she’s wearing one of those push-up bras and a short skirt. When Jeremy Baskin, a senior, catches up to her and runs his hand over her ass, Stephie looks over her shoulder at Alice. But she’s too far away now, and Alice can’t tell if that’s defiance or fear.
Alice turns back to the track. Ginger, the redhead, tosses her a baton on the fly as she sprints past her. They run, one forward, one backward, tossing the baton back and forth. Ginger’s hair is cut almost as short as a boy’s, she has strong legs and big feet, and she never looks down when she runs, she only looks up. She plays with the baton like Ellie would, and, with her energy and her quickness, she lifts Alice into a world where running is play.
Alice finds herself fantasizing about being the school’s top tenth-grade 400-meter runner, not that there are a lot of other tenth-grade girls giving up cheerleading or softball to be on the track team. The idea that she might have talent at such a simple thing is amazing. Henry just rolls his eyes when she talks about running sprints while B.D. screams at her: “Breathe, breathe, breathe! ”
But nobody needs to scream at Alice to run or to breathe. When she’s running she doesn’t want to stop, she just wants to keep going. She feels something she’s never felt before; she feels powerful and strong, she feels like no one can hurt her. Being outdoors, getting into a
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