Waking Olivia (5 page)

T
hat girl
.

I’m still kind of smiling when she leaves. When I realize this, I wipe it clean from my face. I cannot allow myself to get sucked in by Olivia Finnegan. She’s already got half the men at this school watching her every move like she’s a wet dream come to life. I refuse to join her cheering section.

I had to hide my shock when she took off her shoe. That cut was deep. I know a lot of tough guys, but I’m not sure I know any that would have run on a cut that deep unless their lives were at stake.

She’s tough, but no one’s tough enough to overcome self-destructive tendencies as bad as hers. I know she’s still running before practice, though she won’t admit it. And why was her foot so cut up? I wasn’t entirely kidding when I asked if she walked on broken glass every day.

What kills me is that she could be amazing if she’d stop doing whatever it is she’s doing. She’s capable of blinding, astonishing speed. She shouldn’t just be running for a D1 school, she should be its star. At a different school, with a different coach, someone would be preparing her for the Olympic trials, not getting ready for a quiet local meet against four other D3 schools, which means she’s capable of giving our track team their first winning season in over a decade. But she didn’t perform at UT, and I suspect that counting on Olivia Finnegan for anything is a losing proposition.

I
t’s
the week before our first meet.

Aside from Betsy, the entire freaking team is looking at me like I’m the second coming, and this is the week that every last one of them,
my coach in particular
, will discover I am not. I try not to think about this as I go to sleep. I try to think of happy things, few though they are. I imagine the beach, though I’ve never been. I imagine floating on a raft on a peaceful sea. I imagine, and I pray, that somehow this will keep me in bed tonight.

I find myself deep in the woods the next morning, gasping and drenched in sweat though the air is cool. I run back to my apartment, strip my running clothes off and pass out. An hour later, my alarm goes off. I’m not sure I’ve even stopped sweating from my earlier run when I meet the rest of the team at the track.

It happens again Tuesday morning, and then Wednesday, at which point Will loses his shit. "What the hell is going on, Olivia?" he demands. "Your running has been half-assed all week."

"I'm just tired from class."

That muscle ticks in his jaw. "Is it that, Olivia, or have you been running before we practice, even though I told you not to?"

I can't tell him the truth, now. He’s made sure of that. "No, I'm just tired."

“If I catch you running before practice you’re off this team. Do you understand?”

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you
.

I’m not allowed to say it, but I think it. My frustration clogs my throat, making my brain hazy. I want to scream at him. I want to tell him that I can’t help it, that no one alive wishes it would stop more than me. But I’ve told people before. I know where it gets me, and I won’t do it again.

At the end of Thursday’s practice, Will gathers us in a circle and reminds us to take it easy on Friday, drink lots of water, no alcohol, extra protein, and carbs. The freshmen ask dumb questions because that's what freshmen do. He sends us off but stops me with a hand on my shoulder. "I shouldn't have to say this, but no running tomorrow. Got it?"

"I heard you the first time," I snarl, shaking out of his grip.

“I get the feeling you don’t hear anyone,” he mutters.

O
n Friday night
, I run until it's dark.

Yeah, I’m not listening to him because I know for a fact that exhaustion is the only thing that will keep me in bed tonight.

I slide beneath the sheets.
Please, please, please let this work. I really need this to work.

I’m not sure exactly who I’m whispering this to because as far as I can tell, God hasn’t looked out for or listened to me once my entire life.

I
wake
to find myself in the middle of a field beneath a black sky streaked with hints of daytime. I’m barefoot and my legs are cut to shit, the blood an itchy trickle down my ankle. No phone, no shoes. Jesus, I should just crazy glue them to myself before I go to bed. My shirt is drenched and my heart is hammering as I gasp for breath. The gasping always happens, and I'm never sure if it's because I ran hard or because I was terrified. It's happened so many times I can't begin to recall them, yet it's always a surprise.

I struggle for air and utter a slew of profanities.
Why?
Why the morning of our first meet? I'm doomed now. There's no way I'll perform. None.

The early morning air chills my damp skin, bringing goosebumps, and I know I've got to get moving. But to where? At least if it were night, I'd be able to make out the lights, but right now I see nothing. Sure, I can tell which way is east based on where the sky is lightest. Doesn't do a damn bit of good unless you know what direction you went in the first place.

I jog back through the field for lack of a better idea. Eventually, I'll hit a road. Eventually, it will be daytime and someone can tell me where I am. But as the sky lightens, I realize I'm heading for more woods.

I double back and begin to run harder. It's probably between 5-5:30 right now and I'm supposed to be at school by 6:00 to catch the bus to our meet. With every step, I know I’m about to lose another scholarship.

By the time I find a road I’m desperate. I hear the rumble of an old muffler approaching. Hitchhiking is what’s going to get me killed eventually. Today, though, it feels as if I've got no choice.

The guy pulls up alongside me, the roar of his truck drowning the silence. "Need a lift?" he asks, brow furrowed as he takes in my appearance. I'm dressed to run, aside from the missing shoes. I don’t bother to assess his appearance. Even if he’s got a machete on his front seat, I’m getting in the truck.

"Yes, please," I breathe. "I'm trying to get to campus."

"You ran here all the way from campus?" he asks.

I nod.

"Now why’d you do something like that?"

I'd really love to stop this game of 20 questions and push his foot to the accelerator, but I have to play nice. "I was out running, and I got lost, and I think I just got more and more lost," I reply. It's not entirely untrue.

“Well, damn, girl, you belong on a track team. We got to be seven miles from campus at least."

Oh shit.

We start driving. He’s blathering on about something, but all I can think is that I’m completely fucked. I probably ran nine miles this morning all together. There’s not a chance I’ll perform. There’s not a chance I won’t be the slowest girl on the field. How the hell am I going to explain it?

“You got a boyfriend?” he asks.

I glance at him warily. He looks older than me, but not old, and I dislike the eager glint in his eye as he waits for my answer. “Yeah.”

He laughs. “Can’t be much of one if you’re jumping out of his bed to go running this early in the morning.” He tells me he has a son who’s eight, but he only sees him about once a month. He tells me he has a boat. “You like being out on the water?” he asks.

I nod, though I’ve never been.

“I’ll take you out on my boat sometime, then. Write down your cell,” he says, pushing a receipt toward me. I make up a number and hand it back, directing him to a sorority house on the other side of campus. No fucking way is this guy finding out where I live.

I get home with just enough time to change before I have to run back across campus to the track, and I'm still late. Betsy’s smirk is so wide I'm surprised it doesn't crack her face.

Will never even glances at me as I climb on the bus, which feels intentional somehow. The girls talk, anxiety making them extra annoying. Some of them have parents coming to the event, which I suppose is an extra layer of excitement if you actually have parents you'd want attending.

I chug my water bottle, but there's no way I can drink enough to make up for the fact that I ran as much as I did this morning. Today it's that loose-limbed weakness that comes after a long, hard run. It's the kind of weakness that no effort on my part can overcome. I can't think of a time in my life when I ran that far and stayed asleep. I'm going to fuck this meet up as badly as I've ever fucked up anything.

"Are your parents coming, Finn?" asks Nicole.

I shake my head. "They're traveling."

"Where'd they go?"

"Your guess is as good as mine.” And this is entirely true. As far as I know, they've been traveling for the 14 years since they dumped me with my grandmother and took off.

Will listens to our exchange, still stony-faced.

"What crawled up his ass?" whispers Erin as we climb off the bus.

I shrug. I don't know, but it will be a hell of a lot worse after we don't place today. I get in line for the port-a-potties, and the moment I've gone, I feel like I have to go again. My limbs are weak. I often feel a little weak and shaky at the start from nerves. Today, I'm pretty sure it's not nerves.

Will tells us to try to stay ahead of Denton, our biggest rival, to block them out in the last mile. But he doesn’t direct a single word of this to me as if I'm not going to be in the race at all. It's a fair assumption.

We line up and the weakness overwhelms me. I have to pull it together. I have to at least stay with the team. I need to pee again, but it's too late. The gun goes off and from my very first steps I know how this will go. Some days you feel weak and it turns out that it was transient, nerves or just some shallow weakness with a deep reserve beneath it.

This is not one of those days.

For the first mile, I run with Erin, noting her curious glances. I've never stayed back with her before, and she probably thinks this is strategy on my part.

It's not.

I'm running with her because it's all I'm capable of.

At the second mile, it gets tough. I'm breathing heavy, and sweat rests thick on my back, bristling against my skin like something alive. My stomach is churning and I think that water I drank coming here might be about to make a return trip.

On the third mile, I'm still with Erin, but barely. She’s all that is keeping me going. My vision has begun to dim on the sides as if I've got a flashlight pointed on her in a dark room.

The circle of the flashlight narrows…

Narrows…

Narrows…

W
hen I come to
, I'm in the back of an ambulance. We're not moving, so I assume we're still on the field.

Will is there, hovering behind paramedics. He looks vaguely concerned but mostly he looks pissed off as if I fainted on purpose. Even now, looking angry, something about his face draws me in, makes me long to run my index finger over the rise of his lip, his cheekbone…

Stop
, I command myself. It's inappropriate in so many ways. Mainly because Will is an asshole.

They've already started the IV. "I don't need this," I mutter.

"I must have missed the part where you got a medical degree," snaps Will, his tone drawing surprised stares from the paramedics and from me.

Will is an asshole, but I expected a little sympathy in the back of a freaking ambulance. I scowl openly at him. "I'm not dehydrated, and even if I am, I'm fine now. I can drink it myself. I don’t want to hold everyone up."

"Oh, so
now
you're worried about the rest of the team?" he scoffs. "I think your worry is coming a little late, don't you?"

"Dude ..." says the aghast paramedic to my right. "Seriously? She just passed out."

"I'm sorry if we didn't place," I tell Will between clenched teeth, hating him in an altogether new way at this very moment. "I don't know what happened. I think I'm just coming down with something."

"That’s interesting,” he says, looking me dead in the eye. "Because you looked pretty healthy running across campus this morning."

T
he ride
back to school is the longest of my life. No one seems to blame me for the loss—Will hasn't told them precisely how much of it is my fault—but no one's happy either. And Will ...

He doesn't say a word to anyone.

“My office,” he hisses as we exit the bus. “Now.”

I
wait
in the hallway as he walks past. His face is so cold, so still, it could be chiseled in stone. I follow him into his office and he slams the door behind me. "Explain," he demands.

I'm not telling him what happened. I doubt he'd believe me anyway. "About this morning? You've heard of the walk of shame, right?" I smirk.

He narrows his eyes. "Dressed in running clothes?" he demands. "No shoes? Drenched in sweat?"

"You're probably not aware of this, but when sex lasts more than 30 seconds, the girl can get sweaty too."

"Cut the shit, Olivia. I want the truth, and you'd better not lie when I ask it. Did you go running this morning before the meet?"

I have nothing to lose at this point. He's probably going to kick me off the team no matter what. "Yes."

"How far did you go?"

"About nine miles."

"You must be out of your mind," he growls. "On the morning of a race you ran nine miles? Why?"

I say nothing. I mean, he's right, isn't he? I'm definitely out of my mind. I don't think that idea is even in dispute at this point.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question," he snaps. "I expect an answer. I specifically told you to stop running before practice but you did it anyway. Unless you can offer a compelling reason for it, you're off the team. You're nothing but a liability."

"You don't know that," I retort. "It was only the first meet."

"I know how fast you are, Olivia. We should have placed today. So yeah, I do know you’re a liability. You're incapable of taking direction and we all paid the price for it today."

"I can't control it!"

"Is someone forcing you at gunpoint? I must have missed that this morning."

"I do it in my sleep, okay?" I snarl. "Like sleepwalking, except I run.”

I'm not sure what's more horrifying, that he wants to kick me out of the program already or that I just told him the truth. I don’t know why I told him. I’ve only admitted it once in my adult life, and it really didn’t work out for me.

He rolls his eyes. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and I've heard a lot of stupid things."

“Fine." I should have expected his reaction, but it still hurts. "Don't believe me. Kick me off the team.” I jump to my feet. “You know what? Don't bother. I fucking quit."

I slam his door and run across campus, back to the shitty apartment I’m only in so I can attend a school I never wanted to be at in the first place. I really wish I could cry. I'd like to right now.

I just ruined everything.