Battle Dress (14 page)

“Uh, ma’am?” asked a tall, skinny guy on my left. “Are we running in here or outside?”

“Right here.” Cadet Spence pointed over her shoulder to the centerpiece of the Field House. “Right on that two-hundred-meter track.”

An indoor track?
I felt sick. I had never run on an indoor track in my life, had never even seen one up close. I glanced at the others. None of them seemed worried. I rubbed my jagged thumbnail, back and forth, across my upper lip.

How many laps make a mile? It’s a two-hundred-meter track, so that makes . . . eight?
An indoor track was half the size of an outdoor one. It took a different kind of strategy, a strategy I didn’t know.
My mile split this morning was only a 5:39. I’ll never be able to knock off nine seconds. Not with all the curves and the short straightaways.

Cadet Spence looked at her watch again. “Anything else?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said a girl behind me. “How many people will make the team? I mean, ma’am, is there a limit?”

“Like I said, if every one of you makes the cutoff times, you all make the team. If none of you do, then no one does. But I will tell you, from past experience, we get very few walk-ons.” She shrugged. “That’s just the way it goes.”

I followed the other distance runners to our spot near the bathrooms and put on my Sauconys from home. I had almost forgotten what a good pair of running shoes felt like.
Probably won’t make enough difference to matter. At least if I wore bad shoes, I’d have an excuse.
But I knew that wasn’t true. I’d never allow myself an excuse if I failed today. I sat down to stretch my tight, tired legs.

I stared again at the recruits.
How good are they?
I squinted, trying to pick out the skinny ones, especially the girls, who looked fast.
Don’t be an idiot. They’re all fast. That’s why they’re there. And I’m sure they’ve all been to State. Probably Nationals, too.
I sighed.
I don’t have a chance.
I grabbed my feet and slowly pulled my body flat against my legs until my face touched my knees. The muscles in my thighs trembled, and I suddenly realized that I was going to throw up.

I got to my feet. As calmly as I could, I jogged over to the bathroom, found a vacant stall, bent over the toilet, and chucked the little bit of shrimp scampi over white rice that I had eaten for lunch into the toilet. Still clutching the sides of the toilet seat, I took deep breaths, trying to relax my churning stomach and my nerves.
It’s only one mile. Just five and a half minutes of pain, and it’s over. One chance to make the team. Give it everything. You’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it if you don’t.
I closed my eyes.
Won’t survive this place if you can’t run.

I heard a girl’s voice, and then the door to the bathroom opened.

“Yeah? That’s incredible. New York’s a really competitive state, too. I should know—I missed Nationals by thirty-two hundredths of a second in the 800. This girl from Newburgh came out of nowhere and snatched it from me.”

I straightened up and wiped my face with toilet paper.

A pair of Nikes walked over to my stall, and their owner, the girl who had been talking, pulled at my door.

“Someone’s in here,” I said.

“Oops. Sorry,” she said, and the Nikes moved away. “But that’s okay,” she continued, stepping into the stall next to mine. “I’ll go someday. Plus I’m hoping to move up to something longer, here. Maybe the 1500.”

“Oh,” came the other girl’s voice for the first time. “Then you’re recruited?”

I hesitated, my fingers grasping the latch of my door.

“Yeah. Aren’t you?” asked the voice above the Nikes.

“Nope.”

“You are kidding! With your times? And qualifying for Nationals? I thought for sure—”

Wonderful. I get to go against girls who went to Nationals.
My great victory at the P.T. test didn’t seem so great, suddenly. I opened the door and stepped around the waiting girl. She was crouched, tightening the laces on her Asics running shoes.

“Hi,” I said, trying to sound casual, and smiled.

She didn’t return my greeting, but I could feel her sizing me up as I walked to the sink, her eyes lingering on my shoes.

I felt a prickly feeling rise from the base of my neck to the top of my head. I knew that look. The and-why-are-
you
-alive look the “beautiful people” reserved for me at school. I took a swig of water from the faucet and walked out of the bathroom, feeling cold—and mean.

So you have Asics, Speedy Gonzales. Big deal. My Sauconys are going to kick your Asics’ butt.

1729

The door pulled me into my room before I had a chance to turn the knob.

“Andi!” Gabrielle screamed, standing in the doorway, on her way to the bathroom in her bathrobe and flip-flops. “You scared me to death!”

“And you almost pulled my arm out of its socket.” I walked past her, pulled off my sweat-soaked shirt, and tossed it on my chair. Then I sat down and started unlacing my shoes.

Gabrielle shut the door. “Well?”

I peeled off my socks and wiggled my toes. “Isn’t it amazing how much cooler you feel when you take off your shoes?”

“Yeah. Mind-boggling. Come on, Andi! You made the team. Right?”

“How’d you get back so soon?”

“It’s not
so
soon. The tennis courts
are
closer to the barracks than the Field House, you know. Plus today was tryouts, remember?
Tryouts?
Since I was recruited, I got to sit in the shade and watch”—she smiled—“sipping Pepsi.”

“You dog!”

“And I even snuck one back for my poor, deprived roommate.” She walked over to her wardrobe closet and took out a can of tennis balls. “I sacrificed my own property”—she pulled off the lid—“not to mention my very skin if I had gotten caught.” A Pepsi can slid out of the canister and into her other hand. “Gorgeous Gray Eyes is on CQ tonight, you know. He was eyeing my tennis balls
very
suspiciously when I passed him in the hall. And all for naught.” She tossed the empty canister into the trash can. “But that’s okay. One can never drink too much Pepsi. Especially during Beast.” She flashed me a saccharine smile, then kissed the Pepsi can. “Of course, if you talk . . .”

I laughed, then picked up one of my sweaty socks and lobbed it at her. “You little sadist.” I checked my watch. “Are you aware that I have to be standing on Daily’s wall in eighteen minutes? And that you have to be at your clock in thirteen? And we have a shower to take?”

“Don’t bore me with piddly details.”

I sighed. “Okay, Gab. We had to run a mile on the indoor track. I’ve never run on an indoor track. I had to run under 5:30. I’ve rarely run under 5:30.” I dropped my shorts next to my T-shirt and slipped on my flip-flops.

“And? And?”

“And”—I shrugged—“today I did both.” I crossed the room, hiding my smile from her, and grabbed my bathrobe out of the closet near the door.

“Yeah!”

I hopped up on the counter of our sink and sat down. And not being able to contain my excitement any longer, I blurted out the details—probably too many details—surprising even myself. “Gab, it really was a miracle! First of all they just sort of put a bunch of us on the track at the same time—many more than you’d ever have in one heat during a track meet. And they ran guys and girls together, which was weird because the guys kept lapping the girls—the guys had to run under 4:40, so they were faster—and it was almost impossible to keep track of which lap each person was on. . . .” I looked at Gabrielle; I hoped I wasn’t boring her. “You know, total chaos! So anyway, when I crossed the finish, Coach Banks—that’s the Head Coach—was calling off the times. And when I heard ‘5:28,’ I couldn’t believe it! You know what I did? I ran right off the track and up to him—the coach—and hugged him!”

“You? No way!”

I nodded. “And I said, ‘I did it! I did it!’ And he said, ‘That’s what the clock says.’ He was smiling, though. And then I said, ‘You won’t regret this. I’ll work really hard!’And you know what he said? He said, ‘You know, Davis, I think I believe that.’ I kind of made a fool out of myself, but I was so nervous before, and I didn’t think I’d be able to do it, and . . .” I smiled at Gabrielle and held out my hand. “Can I have my Pepsi now?”

CHAPTER 9

FRIDAY, 23 JULY 0633

Feed ’em up and give ’em hell.
Teach ’em where they are.
Make ’em so mad they’ll eat steel . . .
Make ’em hard, but don’t break ’em.

—LAURENCE STALLINGS, WHAT PRICE GLORY?

“
D
AVIS HAS BEEN BEATING you up all week, gentlemen,” Cadet Black said after he formed H Company’s Black Group into two squads for our run. “This morning I expect to hear the
rest
of you returning my cadences, too. I’m not fond of duets.”

I smiled to myself. P.T. was easily my favorite part of the day. I looked forward to it even more than I did the meals. Since the middle of last week, when Cadet Barrington had divided H Company into three ability groups for the runs, I had had a great time letting everyone in the Black Group know how effortless I found the runs—the runs that most of them struggled to finish—by calling cadences louder than anyone else. And because I was the only girl out of about twenty guys, Cadet Black had had a great time, too, rubbing it in.

“Now, I
know
the pace isn’t too fast. Nobody’s here by accident. Each and every one of you ran under thirteen minutes on last week’s P.T. test. Correct?”

“YES, SIR!”

“Okay, then. A 6:30 pace isn’t too fast.” He crossed his arms. “So I can’t think of a good reason why you’re not sounding off. Can you?”

“NO, SIR!”

“You’re not like the common riffraff in the Gray Group or the lead butts in the Gold Group. You’re the
Black
Group—no pun intended—because you’re H Company’s top runners. You need a challenge, and it’s my job to give it to you.

“Okay. Time to step down from my bully pulpit. Today we’re gonna do my famous Chapel Run.”

I heard a soft groan sweep through the squads. I remembered our long, hot climb up to the Chapel last week, and I almost groaned myself. It was a tough hill. I’d have to work extra hard to keep up my reputation.

“It’ll take us up to the Chapel, past Lusk Reservoir and Michie Stadium. Then down the nice, long hill to Thayer Gate. From there I’ll release you to run the last mile back to the barracks on your own.” He glanced at me. “As fast as you want. The finish is at Eisenhower Statue. And don’t worry about getting lost.” He smirked. “Just look for me at your front, Fourth Class, ’cause I’ll be there.” He stood directly in front of me and said, “No one’s gonna beat me to Eisenhower Statue.”

I stared at the ground between my feet. It was a challenge.
We’ll see about that, sir.

“Hey, Andi,” Boguslavsky whispered behind me. “Take it easy on us mortals, okay?”

I stretched my arms over my head and smiled. I was glad that McGill and Boguslavsky were in the Black Group with me. The looks that I got from some of the other Black Group guys weren’t the friendliest at times, especially when we were running up a hill and I was the only one with enough wind for sounding off. But Jason and Kit’s presence was comforting. We were the only Third Squad new cadets who were fast enough for H Company’s Black Group, and even though I was a girl, I knew that they were glad to have me here. At least they acted like it.

McGill glanced over at Cadet Black, now sitting on the ground and stretching his calves. “You gonna take Cadet Black up on his challenge?”

I pretended innocence. “Challenge?”

He looked back at Cadet Black again. “You know. When he releases us to run back on our own. You gonna smoke him?”

I raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”

0710

Cadet Black had pushed me,
hard
, that last stretch of Thayer Road along the Hudson. But the real race began as soon as the barracks were in sight. As we tore down the corridor of towering granite buildings toward the Plain, I felt myself easing away from him. He fell back one stride. Then two. When Eisenhower Statue was about a hundred yards straight ahead, I knew I had him beat. My body geared up for the final surge.

And then . . . I looked back. Cadet Black was there—a good fifteen feet behind me. Head back, a grimace wringing his face. Legs and arms pumping. Seeing him straining so hard, my desire to beat him dissolved. Instantly. I realized that it was one thing for me to beat my peers. That Cadet Black found amusing; it was a joke we shared. But I wasn’t sure he’d be so amused if I beat him, too. I knew a delicate balance exists between impressing someone and threatening someone. And I’d learned a long time ago that threatened people could turn ugly, just like that.

So at the last second I made the decision—I’d save his ego a thrashing. I held myself back, and we finished together.

When we had trotted to a stop, Cadet Black threw back his head and laughed. He raised his right hand and shouted, “Put it here, Davis!” I hid my smile as I returned his high-five. “Man, Davis,” he said, walking in circles with his hands behind his head. “You can run! You ever
lose
a race?”

“I just did, sir.”

He looked at me knowingly. “Yeah,
right
.” Then he shook his head. “You sure are something else, Davis. The Army Team’s gonna love you.”

I grinned up at him. I couldn’t help myself—I felt too good.

He frowned. “Smirk off, Davis! You know better than that!” But as he turned to watch the rest of the Black Group come in, I saw his lips twitch.

It’s gonna be a great day!

1405

“WHAT’S THE SPIRIT OF THE BAYONET?”

“TO KILL, SIR!”

From where he stood in the center of the P.T. stand, an upperclassman with more muscles than Superman glowered down at H Company. Stretched across his biceps and pecs was a yellow T-shirt with a dagger and the word BAYONET emblazoned on its front.