Running Lean (10 page)

“H
e’s been so sweet lately,” Stacey said. “Well, you know, he’s always sweet! But the last few days he’s been especially … sweet. He came over every night, even though he was tired. We just sat and talked for hours—”

“Ugh, don’t tell me anymore!” Zoe jiggled her head and shook her hands as if throwing off the clinging germs of something disgusting. Her purse slipped off her shoulder as a result. She yanked it back up and stepped toward the window of a women’s clothing store.

“Hey,
you
asked me how things were going.” Stacey followed her, but faced Zoe rather than the mannequins in the window display. Sunlight bouncing off the windshield of a car in the parking lot blinded her for a moment. She raised a hand to shield her eyes.

“Yeah, I did. Just don’t give me a play-by-play. What is it with this place? All the dresses look like they should be worn by geriatric church ladies.”

Stacey pivoted to study the clothing on display. Longer hemlines and boring print fabrics. Her mother might like this store, but anyone under the age of forty would cringe and look for an escape route. “That’s Stiles County for you.”

Zoe moved away. Smart girl. “Tell me about it. I can’t wait to
graduate and get outta here. Have you thought about that outfit you’re going to make?”

“You changed the subject.”

“Yep.”

Stacey rolled her eyes and wandered farther along the strip mall sidewalk with her friend. Though Zoe had showed obvious disdain for talking about Calvin, Stacey’s thoughts could not stray far from him. Nothing in this little shopping center held her interest. A dry cleaners and an insurance office? Seriously? She and Zoe were walking just to be walking. Burning calories. Killing time.

It was tough, having a best friend who didn’t like her boyfriend, because Stacey needed to talk about Calvin. She could say that they’d reached an agreement, that he’d settled into an attitude of acceptance and understanding. That Calvin’s words and smiles and kisses made her heart leap with joy. But somehow none of those statements felt true. And she couldn’t figure out why. She wanted to blurt out her scattered thoughts to Zoe so together they could assemble them into something that made sense.

The evenings she’d spent with Calvin this week, driving in her car or hanging out at his place or at hers, wandering along a path by the Tar River or sitting on a swing at the park in Clarksville, were so uncomplicated and nice. They didn’t talk about anything negative.

It all just felt dishonest. A pretense.

Zoe swung around a metal signpost and pointed up. “Sign says stop.”

“Uh, yes, it does.”

“So, I gotta ask you something.”

Stacey scrunched up her face. “O-kay …”

“Have you changed your mind about the sex thing?”

“Say what?”

“The sex thing. You said you and the farm boy weren’t doing it.” Stacey blinked. Like she really wanted to talk about this stuff
with Zoe. There was only so much of the girl’s critical judgment Stacey could take. “Nooo … we’re not.”

“Just checking.” Zoe look both ways then stepped into an alley between the two rows of stores.

Stacey caught up to her midway. “Okay, that was pretty random. Why did you ask?”

“Because teenage guys don’t say they love you unless they’re trying to get sex. If you and Calvin are all lovey-dovey and stuff, then he’s trying to get into your jeans.”

“That is
so
not true!”

“Whatever. Just giving you fair warning. Oh, look!” Zoe quickened her step toward the door of the first store. The place looked empty, but the door stood propped open.

Stacey huffed. “Girl, you’re giving me whiplash.”

“No one inside. Come on.” Zoe reached back and grabbed Stacey’s arm. “Let’s go in.”

“What? You can’t just—Zoe!”

The air inside smelled like paint, cut wood, and glue. Beyond a small lobby area a hallway led to what looked like offices. Zoe walked straight to the first door.

Her heart thumping in her chest, Stacey hung back in the lobby. “We shouldn’t be in here. What are you doing?”

“I knew it! They’re putting in a dance studio.”

“Great! Let’s go.”

“Don’t be such a scaredy-cat. Come on. The floor isn’t finished, but they’ve got the bar up.” Zoe disappeared into the room.

Stacey looked toward the parking lot. There were no cars parked in front of the store, but someone must have been in here and left the door open. Which told her they’d be right back.

“Zoe, we should get out of here.”

She moved farther inside to peer into the room where Zoe had gone. The girl stood next to a bar that stretched the length of one
wall. A full mirror reflected Zoe’s form as she raised one arm and leaned backward. Her feet pointed outward, and she hung onto the bar for balance.

“I didn’t know you could dance ballet,” Stacey said.

“I never said I could. Come on. Try it.”

“I don’t … I can’t. My body won’t bend that way.”

Zoe straightened then swung her leg up until the side of her foot slapped the bar. She grunted as she tried again and managed to hook her heel over the bar. The awkwardness of the movement proved the girl wasn’t a ballerina at all.

Stacey laughed and came over to the mirrored wall. “I’m not going to feel sorry for you when you get stuck that way.”

“I’m not gonna get stuck.” She leaned forward and tried to touch her foot with her free hand. “Oh, snap, that hurts!”

“You’re insane.”

“Try it. Good exercise.”

Stacey rolled her eyes into the back of her head. “Mommy says I’m not supposed to exert myself too much.” Still, she gently clasped the bar with her left hand.

“Your mother”—grunt—”thinks you’re made of glass.”

Good observation. The problems Stacey had as a child were history, but Mom still fussed at her about not putting too much strain on her heart. It was stupid.

With her heels pressed together, Stacey turned her feet out as far as they would go. Not very far. Even so, she squeezed the bar hard to keep her balance. She bent backward the way Zoe had. Again, not too far. But when she bent forward, she was able not only to touch her toes, but sweep her free hand along the unfinished plywood floor.

“Oh, wow!” she said, though the pressure on her lungs made it hard to speak. “Zoe, look at this.”

“What? You’re bending over?”

“I can almost kiss my own knee. I could never do this before.”

“See there? You’re getting there, girl. I keep telling you. Maybe now you’ll believe me.”

Blood rushed to Stacey’s head, causing an instant headache. She straightened slowly, but right away the room began to spin. She grabbed the bar with her other hand to keep herself from falling. “Whoa.”

“You okay?”

Pinpoints of light stabbed Stacey’s eyes as the rest of the world darkened. She clung to consciousness like she clung to the bar. “Yeah. I’m … I’m okay.”

As the world came back into focus, Stacey peered at the pinched face of her friend.
Oh no. Oh no. Don’t you start freaking out over me too
. She forced a smile. “I hate it when that happens, don’t you? You stand up too fast and the blood rushes from your head?”

“Is that what happened last week at school?”

“S-something like that.”

“May I help you?” The male voice boomed in the open space.

Zoe grabbed Stacey’s wrist and turned toward the speaker, a man who was shorter than his voice suggested, wearing a paint-spattered, mismatched sweat suit. He stood in the doorway with a big white bucket in his hand, weighing his arm and shoulder down. A slender woman pressed into the doorway behind him.

Defiance rather than fear flashed in Zoe’s glance at Stacey, then the girl launched into an act. She stepped toward the man, offering a limp-wristed hand. “We heard you were opening a studio here in town. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you! My name is Shay Depardieu.”

The man set the paint bucket down and shook Zoe’s hand, though his head was tilted slightly like he wasn’t quite sure about this girl.

“Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” Zoe said. “I danced with the New York Ballet and toured Europe with Baryshnikov in his Nutcracker
show. I had to move home to take care of my ailing mother, but I would love the opportunity to dance with your company while I’m here.”

Stacey’s mouth dropped open at Zoe’s audacity, but she snapped it shut and pulled her chin up with a little shake of her head.

“
You
… danced with Baryshnikov,” the man said, a smirk playing with his lips.

“Oh, yes. He’s absolutely brilliant.”

“I see. Well, I’m afraid we can’t offer anything to someone with such an impressive résumé. We’re opening a school for young dancers. But if you’d like to audition for placement in our teen classes …”

“Is that so? Oh, what a pity. Well, I see that we’ve come at a bad time. We’ll leave you to your preparations.”

Unbelievable. Holding her head high and her shoulders down, her eyes half lidded, Stacey followed Zoe toward the exit.

“Yes, that would be … good of you,” the man said as they passed.

Heart fluttering in her chest, Stacey fought the urge to run. Instead, as she faced the woman in the hallway, she raised her hand as if offering it to be kissed.
“Enchanté, mademoiselle.”

The woman’s head flopped to the side sarcastically, spilling a loose lock of thin hair over the bridge of her nose. She raised a hand of her own, offering only the way to the front door.
Go, now
.

Zoe kept up the act, walking with her head elevated and her feet pointed slightly outward until they reached the sidewalk in front of the next store. Then she looped her arm through Stacey’s and, giggling, hurried farther along the way.

“You
are
insane,” Stacey said, pressing a hand over her racing heart.

“That was
brilliant, darling!
I got us out of there, didn’t I? Did you see that woman? She was so thin! Maybe we
should
take up dancing.”

The brief moment of humor fled. An image flashed through Stacey’s memory, herself at age five, wearing a ridiculous pink tutu. Her
fat knees and lumpy thighs rubbing together to shred the nylon tights they were squeezed into. She’d taken lessons for less than a year until her mother pulled her out because she couldn’t keep up with the other tiny ballerinas. Nothing since then. No girl scouts or cheerleading. Her health was too fragile, Mom said. And there was too much competition, too much opportunity for ridicule from mean girls.

Too bad she didn’t have to attend a dance class or go hiking to encounter ridicule. She found it in her classroom at school, and in her own home.

As the adrenaline of their escape wore off, Stacey’s headache intensified. Feeling nauseous, she handed her car keys to Zoe. “Let’s go back to my house. My parents are both at work, so they won’t bother us.”

Zoe took the keys, but peered squint-eyed at Stacey. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Headache. Drive me home, okay?” She covered her eyes with her hand.

Hanging on to Stacey’s arm as if she’d suddenly gone blind, Zoe guided her to the car in the parking lot. She even opened the door for her. Stacey slid into the passenger seat and pressed both hands over her face.
Don’t cry. Be strong. Stay in control
.

The driver’s side door creaked as Zoe closed it. Stacey winced as the sound seemed to bounce around the inner walls of her skull.

Zoe didn’t start the car. “Stace, are you sure you’re okay? This is twice in about a week.”

More than that, but no way she’d confess it. “Don’t say anything. Calvin’s been asking. Just … I’m fine. I stood up too fast.”

“Are you taking those herbals? Maybe you’ve got some deficiency going on.”

“Can we just go home, please?”

Zoe let out a loud sigh and put the key in the ignition.

Keeping her eyes closed intensified the pain and made her feel
carsick. Stacey laid her head back against the headrest and opened the window beside her. The wind on her face helped the nausea, though the sound of it rushing through the window pounded against her eardrums.

Maybe she should take all the vitamins and supplements Zoe had suggested for her. Some of them looked like horse pills though. And they made her stomach churn. And didn’t they have calories? Maybe not, since Zoe was so much in favor of them. Ugh, she didn’t want to think about it. She needed only some water and to lie on the couch for a while, and she’d be fine.

Strength. Being in control of her own life. That’s what it was all about. No one was going to push her around. Not even Zoe, with her websites full of information and her list of so-called beneficial herbs and vitamins.

A line of vitamins, arranged from small to large so she could get most of them down before gagging, lay on the kitchen counter in front of Stacey. She didn’t need them. Most other people didn’t swallow all these nasty-tasting things. She got enough nutrients from the food she ate, even eating less than everyone else. Stacey swept the pills into her hand and dumped them into the little trash bin under the sink. She was tempted to throw all the bottles away too, but they’d take up a lot of room and Mom would notice them. So she put them back into the cabinet, then scrubbed her hands at the sink, and placed the paper towel she’d used to dry them over the pills in the trash bin in case Mom decided to look close.

Be in control
.

She chugged a glass of cold water to fill her rumbling stomach, then walked to the laundry room. Her mother stood at the ironing
board, humming along to the music on the radio she kept in the room where she spent so much time. Steam erupted from the iron, filling the air with the smell of hot cotton.

“I’m going to fix supper tonight,” Stacey said.

Assertive. Good. Don’t ask if it’s okay, just take control
. The only way to cut the calories from suppertime was for Stacey to fix the meal herself. She could oversee everything that went into it, cut whatever loaded on the calories, and keep what was safe to eat.

Mom set the steam iron carefully in the wire rack at the end of the board before she spoke. “That would be fine. What are you going to fix?”