The Meaning of Maggie (14 page)

And you know what? It totally worked. After a week, my GPA shot back up with the help of the moldiest bread ever. The downside? Tiffany gave me the silent treatment for over a week after she found it growing under her bed. Not that I cared since she never really said anything of interest to me anyway. Did I care about the dance team? No. Did I care about who she was dating? No. Did I care that she got caught sneaking out of the house twice in one week? Sort of, but mostly no. And trust me, the silent treatment was worth it because my
grades were better than ever and nothing could bring them down again. Except for one thing.

While it's hard to admit, there was one subject at school I didn't dominate: gym class. It just wasn't my thing. And usually my gym teachers let me get away with not doing too much. And lately it had been especially easy because my teacher was going to have a baby and as she got bigger and bigger we did less and less. One day she even let us read and said we were exercising our eyeballs, which I loved. I probably burned four thousand eyeballs calories that day. She wasn't even due until June which meant it was smooth sailing to the end of the year. That was until she went into labor early and life as I knew it was OVER.

After my gym teacher went on maternity leave, my class joined Coach Eastbrook's class. Coach Eastbrook was the track coach and he ran everywhere including to school. I'm serious, he ran to school every day and every day my bus passed him and every day I thought, “That guy is nuts.”

Even more nuts? He made his students run AN ENTIRE MILE. EVERY DAY! I couldn't even walk for two minutes without getting winded. There was no way I was going to deal with this, so I did what any rational human being would do: I lied.

At dinner the night before my first day in his class, I told Mom I wasn't feeling well. She felt my forehead and said I wasn't warm but I swore I was getting sick and
that it was probably really serious. To convince her, I did something I never did. I skipped dessert. When she got out the ice cream I politely declined.

“I don't want any.”

“Really?!”

“Geez. Don't act so surprised. I just don't feel like it.”

“But you never say no to ice cream. Is everything okay?”

“I don't feel good. It's probably the flu. Or mono. Or the plague.”

“Well, let's get you to bed. Hopefully, you'll feel better in the morning.”

She bought it!

I climbed into bed, which was exactly where I wanted to be because I'd hidden a few
⁵¹
Chips Ahoy cookies under my pillow earlier in preparation for skipping dessert.

When I woke up the next morning, Mom had left a note saying I could stay home if I still wasn't feeling well. But I couldn't stay home because I had a feeling there was going to be a pop quiz in science and my pop quiz intuition was never wrong. So I figured I'd go to school, ace the quiz and then check out right before sixth-period gym. It was the perfect plan.

And AHA! There was a pop quiz and I aced it! In between classes I called Mom but she didn't answer
because she was always too busy to answer her phone at work even though I was her daughter and needed her more than anyone else especially at that very moment. So I called Dad, who was deep into Double Jeopardy. I could tell because of how he answered the phone.

“Where is Beirut?”

“Hey Dad, I don't feel good. Can I check out of school?”

“Where is Beijing?”

“Dad! Listen! I need to check out of school!”

“Quick, Maggie, name some other “B” cities!”

“Boise. Belfast. Bangalore.”

He finally paid attention. “Those are good. What's up?”

“I need to come home. I am REALLY sick.”

“Oh Mags, I'm sorry—”

Yes! I was home free!

“—but I don't think Mom can come get you. Sure you can't tough it out? You only have a couple hours left.”

“I have to come home now,” I insisted. “I'm too sick to go to gym class.”

“Well how about I call your teacher and tell him to let you sit it out until you're feeling better.”

Phew. I gave him the school number, thanked him, and gave him Berlin for Final Jeopardy.

I was all smiles as I changed in the bathroom stall with the door locked. My gym clothes were already underneath my school clothes so it didn't take long. And I didn't even put on socks because who needs socks to
read? Not me. I found my favorite spot on the bleachers, opened my book to the bookmark, and dug into
A Midsummer Night
'
s Dream
.

I was in the thick of Act II when Coach Eastbrook jogged over. “Hey, Maggie. Why aren't you in formation with the troops?”

What was this? Boot camp? “Didn't you talk to my dad? I'm too sick to run today.”

“Yes I did and we agreed a good run is exactly what you need. Do you know endorphins have healing powers?”

I counted on dodging this draft just like Dad. “I can't run. I'll die.”

“In twenty years of teaching, no one has ever died on me. Come on,” he said with a wave. How was this happening? He led me to the gym door and out onto the track where the rest of my class was stretching.

I put the air brakes on my heels. “I can't, Coach! I conscientiously object!”

He reached for my hand, which I was pretty sure was illegal. “A mile is just four little laps, Maggie.”

Four laps! I couldn't run four laps! And then he let out an ungodly whistle and then everyone took off running, including me, because when you see a group of people running, you run too.
⁵²

Every step was instantly excruciating and not just because my lungs were about to explode, but also because I wasn't wearing any socks. In a few minutes I was sure paramedics would be carrying me off the field and they'd be horrified to find my heels completely rubbed raw. I'd live the rest of my life without heels, which meant I would have to tiptoe everywhere, which meant people would think I was reaching for something even when I wasn't. Until the day I died, I'd live as if every single thing was just out of my reach.

I could feel the speed of other kids lapping me once, twice, three times. A whole gaggle of boys finished all four laps before I was halfway through one. I stared at my feet, willing them to go faster, but all they could muster was a chug. A very slow chug. I was just about to give up completely when Mary Winter came jogging across the center of the track toward me.

Great, just what I needed during my darkest half hour. I couldn't believe how perfect she looked. She had just run a mile and looked like she was going to prom. Perfect hair. Perfect ponytail. Perfect smile smiling perfectly. She ran up next to me and then the weirdest thing ever happened. She tried to help me.

“Hey Maggie,” she said perfectly. “You don't look so good.”

I was so out of breath my brain couldn't pull together a comeback or an insult or even a fact about how I was
probably going to die. She jogged in place next to me, which was strange because I thought I was actually making progress but she was moving faster than me and she wasn't going anywhere. She reached back and adjusted her ponytail.

“I talked to Coach and he said I could give you a few pointers.”

I tried to run away, but well, I couldn't. I tried ignoring her but she just kept jibberjabbering.

“You're running all hunched over. It's wasting a lot of energy. You need to push your shoulders back. Pretend like there's a triangle on your lower back pulling you up.” She pulled my shoulders back and I almost jumped out of my skin. My fight-or-flight reflexes kicked into flight but my legs wouldn't let me so I fought with words instead.

“I know how to run. Every species does.”

“Oh. Well, it will be a lot easier if you suck in your diaphragm and breathe through your nose. That's what my dad says anyway. He runs all the time.”

I was trapped. So I did what any animal would have done if it was backed up against a wall. I sucked in my diaphragm and breathed through my nose.

Her pointers helped for about five whole seconds and then I couldn't run anymore so I yelled, “I can't run anymore!”

“Don't stop! If you stop, you'll never start again.”

I slowed to a snail's pace. “I can't do it ANYMORE.”

She ran in front of me, turned around and locked eyes with me, still running. “You can do it, Maggie. I know you can. You just need to stop focusing on the pain.”

My thoughts raced ten thousand times faster than my feet. What was this girl talking about? How did she know I could keep going? Why was her ponytail so perfect? (Seriously, not a hair out of place.)

“Come on, match your pace with mine and we'll be done in no time!”

Was this girl JOKING? I wanted to stop, not run faster. I tried to imagine there was a piping-hot glazed donut waiting for me at the finish line, but then I immediately got a cramp in my side. Mary was still jogging backward ahead of me.

“It hurts! I'm stopping.”

“Don't stop! Quick!

What's your favorite song?” WHAT! Who would ask a question like that at a time like this?! Was this a slumber party? What was next? Braiding each other's hair? Freezing our underpants? My brain was a blur of confusion and pain.

“The song. About. The states,” I gasped.

“I don't think I know that song.”

“Yes. You do. The song. In fourth grade. Memorial Day. Spectacular.”

“Oh, ha. That one, really? I think I remember it.”

I couldn't breathe let alone sing, but Mary sang. And she sang totally off-key, which kind of made me happy. “ ‘Fifty nifty United States from thirteen original colonies'—come on, sing with me!”

Helpless, I joined in, “ ‘Shout 'em, scout 'em, tell all about 'em, one by one till we've given a day to every state, in the USA.' ”

We were on our ten thousandth verse when we finally finished lap four. All of the other kids had already gone back to the locker room and were probably dressed and home and watching television with their fathers who hadn't betrayed them.

Coach Eastbrook clicked his stopwatch and yelled, “Twenty-nine minutes and thirty-two seconds! See Maggie, you didn't die.”

I collapsed in the grass. “Not yet.”

Mary sat down next to me. She reached her hands all the way down to her toes because obviously she didn't have bones.

I rolled my head over in the grass. “You didn't have to do that.”

She reperfected her ponytail. “I know. I wanted to.” Then she popped up and started jogging in place again. “And don't thank me yet. We have a lot more miles before the end of the semester!” And then she was gone, like a perfect phantom who wore pear-scented body lotion.

I couldn't believe it. I ran a mile without dying. Even more amazing, why did Mary Winter care if I lived or died?

At dinner, I iced my knee because that's what real athletes do. Water dripped on the carpet and Mom yelled, “Maggie, what are you doing?”

I pressed another cube of ice to my other knee. “I'm icing my knees. I ran a mile today.”

“You're supposed to put the ice in a bag. Duh.” Tiffany sighed. “You're such a dork.”

I was just about to throw the half-melted ice cube at her when Mom interrupted.

“You ran a whole mile today? I thought you didn't feel good.”

“Well, my throat is still sore.” I coughed a little. “But I pushed through it.”

“Like father, like daughter,” Dad said. “What was your time?”

“Twenty minutes. Give or take nine minutes.”

Tiffany laughed. “Slugs run faster than that!”

I'd had enough of her so I ran
⁵³
to my room and slammed the door much harder than a slug ever could.

For some reason she followed me.

“Get out of my room!” I yelled.

“This is my room too!” she yelled back.

“Why are you such a jerk?”

“Why are you such a dork? Calm down.”

I threw my pillow and just missed her head. It wasn't an accident. It was a warning shot.

“Hey! It's not my fault you're a disgrace to our entire family!”

I threw another pillow and didn't miss. “Oh, like you are every Friday night?”

She lunged at me. I lunged at her.

Mom rushed in and pulled us apart. “What is going on in here?”

We both pointed at each other. “She started it!” we yelled at the same time.

Dad rolled into the room. Or he rolled in as far as he could without rolling into the sea of dirty clothes. “I don't care who did what or who told on who. All I am going to say is, Maggie, I cannot believe you ran a mile.”

Mom hit him on the arm to remind him we were in trouble.

Dad laughed. “I'm serious. I've never even seen her walk fast.”

“You're one to talk,” I said under my breath.

Mom gave me a look. “Hey, what's the house rule?”

“You're the only one allowed to make fun of Dad,” I recited.

Mom crossed her arms. “And don't you forget it.”

“Can I go now?” Tiffany huffed.

“No.” Mom wheeled Dad away and turned around. “No one is leaving until someone says she's sorry.” And then she shut the door.

I crawled into bed and mummified myself in my blanket. Tiffany came over and shoved me. I didn't move a muscle. She shoved me again.

“Just apologize so we can leave.”

I ripped the blanket off. “Apologize to you? You're the one ruining my life!”

“Whatever. I don't even believe you ran that far anyway.”

“Well, you can ask Mary Winter because she ran with me!”

“Mary Winter? Bo's sister? Isn't she, like, popular?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So why would she talk to
you
?”

“I don't know, why does her brother swap spit with
you
?”

“Hey! That's none of your business.”