Whatever Life Throws at You (11 page)

Chapter 11

Carl London:
I had class today? Oops.

23 hours ago

Jason Brody Royals Pitcher:
“All pitchers are born pitchers.” —Joe DiMaggio

1 hour ago

Lenny London:
About to watch my friends—Annie Lucas and Jackie Stonington—run an entire mile. On purpose. Wtf is wrong with them? Whatever. Go team.

5 minutes ago

Don’t look at the clock. Don’t look at the clock.

Instead, I focus all my attention on Jackie Stonington’s back. Her stride is longer than mine, but after rounding the last straightaway on our third lap during the one-mile race, I can feel her panic. She knows I’m right on top of her. She knows I haven’t made my move yet. She knows I’m about to.

I have no idea who’s behind me. It’s hard to believe we started in a group of twenty runners. I don’t hear or feel anything but Jackie and her steps. We cross the start/finish line for the third time and the bell rings, signaling the last lap. Our teammates are lined up in various places on the inside of the track, cheering us on. Both our names were yelled during the first two laps but as we broke away from the pack and took the lead, they all became the Jackie Stonington fan club. Which I get, I totally do. She’s been with these girls for four years. She’s graduating and competing in her last high school track meet ever.

And the lack of “Go, Annie!” emerging from inside the track only drives me harder to win.

My toes get dangerously close to her heels before I finally step around and take a huge stride forward. My steps match perfectly with Jackie’s, our elbows practically rubbing together. And I hear her breathing change, the gasp that comes with panic and losing the mental game. I can feel a grin begin to spread across my face, but I tuck it away quickly and focus on lengthening my stride, pulling ahead.

We hit the halfway mark on the track and blood pumps to my head and ears so hard I can’t hear or feel Jackie’s presence. The distance between us grows to several strides apart as I round the last straightaway. My heels kick harder and a tunnel forms around me, my eyes zooming in on the finish line.

I cross the line and take ten more strides before stopping abruptly, causing all the blood to shift toward my feet and my vision to temporarily blacken. I bend over and catch my breath. It takes a full ten seconds for Jackie to cross the finish line and by then, the ringing has died down in my ears and I can hear Coach Kessler congratulating both of us.

The announcer’s voice fills the stadium, “
A new state record set in the sixteen hundred meter run by Annie Lucas, junior from St. Teresa’s Academy
.”

By the time I stand up and glance around, accepting the bottle of water a meet volunteer has just handed me, Jackie is inside the track, sitting on the grass near the long-jump pit. I stand in the middle of the track, past the finish line as the eighteen other runners complete their race and watch Jackie, her head buried in her hands, crying so hard she’s shaking while Coach Kessler squats beside her, offering comforting words. A completely new feeling settles itself in the pit of my stomach.

Jackie and I have a few hours to kill between races and of course engaging in small talk while hanging out in the locker room isn’t gonna happen. So both of us busy ourselves following the rest of the world’s every move via our smartphones. I’m ashamed to admit that I spend a good hour stalking the Twitter accounts of several of Brody’s recent celebrity dates. When I pull up the Twitter page for a model/actress named Shannon Belmont, the first thing I see is a picture of her and Brody on a red carpet posted three hours ago.

@shannonBelmont: Hot date + premiere of my first movie Swimsuit Models of Sports Illustrated! #BestDayEver #JasonBrodyIsHot @JasonBrodyPitcher

I choke on the gulp of lemon Gatorade I’ve just swallowed.
Swimsuit Models of Sports Illustrated
is the title of a movie? And a movie worthy of a red carpet premiere in…I flip through @shannonBelmont’s tweets and land on the answer: Chicago.

It’s not like I expected Brody to be at my state meet. I totally didn’t. But since he showed up at sectionals, I can’t help but be disappointed hearing he’s in Chicago watching swimsuit models parade around on the big screen.

When it’s finally time for us to head back onto the track, I do a double take after seeing the guy—arms crossed, hat pulled low over his eyes—standing next to Dad. Both of them are leaning against the fence in front of the bleachers.

How the hell did Brody get from a movie premiere in Chicago three hours ago back to Kansas City?

Dad waves at me, signaling me to come over there.

“Can I go say hi?” I ask Coach Kessler, nodding toward Dad. She hesitates so I add, “We’ve still got forty-five minutes.”

Coach K grants me permission to talk to Dad but warns me to be in the warm-up area in no more than twenty minutes.

As soon as I get over to Dad, I drop my gym bag at my feet and accept a giant bear hug. “I’m so proud of you, honey. You were amazing!”

“We’ve been talking to college scouts for two hours straight,” Brody says.

I step out of Dad’s embrace and stare at both of them. “Seriously?”

Dad laughs. “Not for two hours straight, but we had a steady stream of them coming over to our seats to chat for a while after your first race.”

Brody turns his back to me and points at random people placed in the stands, “Missouri State, University of Illinois, Northwestern, Cal Tech, Ohio State, Penn State…basically the entire Big 10 conference.”

“Oh my God,” I whisper under my breath. Of course, I’ve always wanted a scholarship. My old coach in Arizona had pretty much told me I’d get offered one from Arizona State, but hearing this many schools are interested, it’s insane.

“We’ve been negotiating all kinds of perks,” Brody says. “I figured while they’re fighting over you, might as well ask for some extras—single dorm room, a golf cart to haul you from class to class, an honor student to do your homework for you, room service for all your meals. The basics.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. We’ve only dipped a toe or two into an NCAA gray area.”

“You should probably get an agent,” Brody suggests.

I notice today he’s wearing the St. Teresa’s T-shirt I gave him and a Chicago Bulls cap pulled low over his eyes. This returns me to reality because,
hello
, what happened to the suit jacket and skinny tie he was just wearing at that premiere.
In Chicago
.

“Hey…” I say. “How did you get here from—”

“From where?” his eyes dance with amusement.

Damn, I think I’ve just been caught internet stalking Jason Brody.

“Nowhere.” My face flushes. “Just…
you know
, figured you had somewhere else to be. Besides a high school track meet.”

Brody opens his mouth, and I know he’s about to tease me for the stalking, but Dad claps a hand on his shoulder and says, “I asked him to come. Figured you’d be excited to have more people cheering for you instead of Jackie.” He glances around the bleachers. “Frank’s here somewhere, too. Might be negotiating those perks with college coaches…And Savannah and Lily.”

So Dad asked him to come. Makes sense. I release a sigh and attempt to hide my disappointment, but Brody leans in close, invading my personal space. “In case you were wondering, I watched about five minutes of that movie and then left.”

I snort back a laugh. “Seriously?”

Before Brody can explain, Dad interrupts, pointing to my knee. “How’s your leg? You gonna make it through this next race?”

I jump up and down a few times, then lift my knees one at a time, testing out my hamstring. “It honestly feels great. Better than ever.”

Dad’s eyes narrow like he’s not sure whether to believe me. “I’m gonna get you a heating pad from the trainer.” He hobbles away before I can stop him. But whatever. If he wants me to heat, I’ll heat.

Since we’re alone, I bend down and open my gym bag. “I’ve got something for you,” I tell Brody, before standing up and handing him my old iPod. He stares at it, confused. “I made you some lessons for your GED studying. I figured you could listen to them while you’re on the road.”

“Lessons? Like you read the test prep book and recorded it?”

I nod. “The first three study guides for each section plus the first practice quizzes. It’s like sixteen hours of material. You can write your answers down on paper and then grade them yourself.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it again as he lifts his eyes to meet mine. “How long did this take you?”

I laugh trying to brush it off. Maybe my real intentions are too obvious. “About sixteen hours.”

He squeezes the iPod in his hand. “Thanks, Annie. This is…really nice.”

I divert my eyes to the bleachers. “Okay, so tell me again how awesome I am? Which colleges want me and who’s going to beg the most and worship me the most? Because I totally have to be worshipped at all times.”

“They all want you.” He levels me with one of his famous Jason Brody intense athlete looks. “But they might not if you totally choke on this next race.”

I stick my tongue out at him and accept the heating pad Dad hands me after returning. That’s when I glance up, above Brody’s and Dad’s heads, and notice the crowd hanging on the railing of the bleachers, like we’re at Kauffman Stadium and not a high school track meet.

“Uh-oh,” I mumble, low enough for only Dad and Brody to hear. “Your disguise failed.”

For a split second, I’m sure I catch something that resembles annoyance or exhaustion cross Brody’s face. But then it’s gone and he’s wearing a huge grin, looking up over his shoulder at the gathering crowd of fans.

Savannah appears behind me. “So, we’re going to have you do some autographs now,” she says to Brody. “Nothing formal, just accept one request and the rest will start flowing.”

Brody lifts an eyebrow at Savannah. “What happened to your no high school girls policy?”

Savannah grins like she’s five steps ahead of him. She probably is. “There are three sororities volunteering here today. I’ve already invited them over to meet you. That should keep you busy for a while.”

“College girls,” Brody says with a nod. “All right then.”

And
I think
that’s my cue to leave.
“Coach Kessler is going to have a breakdown if I don’t get over to the warm-up area soon.”

Dad leans forward and plants a kiss on top of my head. “Good luck, Ann.”

I wave to Lenny on my way back out on the track. She’s sitting in the fourth row from the bottom with several other girls I recognize from the junior class at St. Teresa’s.

Jackie’s already stretching, staring straight ahead, her face completely tense and focused. Coach Kessler is pacing in front of her. I toss the heating pad on the ground and then roll it under my right leg after sitting down.

Coach K bends down to talk to Jackie. “I don’t want you thinking about the scouts or scholarships or the future. I only want you to think about the lap you’re on and the next lap. Nothing else, understood?”

“Yeah,” Jackie says. “I know.”

“Lucas,” Coach K says to me. “You’ve got to hold back a little longer on this one. I don’t want you kicking at all until lap seven or you’ll run out of gas or aggravate that hamstring again.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know. Thanks.”

We each down a cup of Gatorade and go through a series of warm-up jumps and drills in unison, neither of us speaking. The closer we get to race time, the more tense I get. About ten minutes before we start, I glance over at Dad and Brody, still in the same spot. Brody’s now signing autographs for sorority girls with tan skin and all kinds of cleavage.

I do
not
need this distraction right now. I shift my eyes down to the track at my feet and take in ten slow, deep breaths, rolling out my shoulders and swinging my arms back and forth. When I look up again, he’s got three other girls around him and one of them is handing over a Sharpie and lifting her shirt, pointing to her super flat stomach. I scowl to myself as he raises the marker and signs the girl’s fucking stomach. Is she not planning on showering anytime soon? Seriously, what’s the deal with getting body parts autographed? I don’t get it. Not like you can sell it on eBay. Why don’t they just ask,
Can you please touch me somewhere inappropriate in public?

Dad watches Brody for a minute then shakes his head, moves over to keep from getting clobbered by girls, and returns his attention to the track. The race in front of ours finishes, and Jackie and I move to our starting lanes. She turns to face me before taking her stance. “Good luck, Annie.”

“Thanks. You too,” I murmur, watching as she glances up into the stands, swallows hard, and then faces forward again.

“Let’s go one-two again, okay?” she adds. “For Coach Kessler.”

“Sure.” Somehow, this verbal commitment sends the butterflies loose in my stomach. My legs are shaking and my hands tingling. I take one more glance over my shoulder at Dad and Brody, who now has a five-girl entourage surrounding him. Now I kind of wish he had stayed in Chicago watching that stupid-ass movie.

Focus, Annie!

The gun goes off and I and nineteen other girls take off running. For the entire first mile, I stick close to Jackie, toward the front of the pack, but neither of us moves into the lead. After lap six, Jackie and I both pull ahead, running side by side. Her stride is so perfect, so precise, it’s like she’s decided to leave everything here on the track for this race. I guess she doesn’t really have any other options. And instead of intimidating me, her confidence gives me confidence, especially knowing I beat her once already today.

We’re so together it’s like we’ve rehearsed this choreography. The bell rings for the final lap and both of us simultaneously kick harder, our heels raising. Our arms are swinging to an identical rhythm. We’re going to fight all the way to the finish line. But then as we come around the final straightaway, I do something that I’ve only ever done once in my life and that was during this race at sectionals.