A Crooked Mark, page 19
“Where’d you get those?” she asks, gesturing to the crutches as she climbs in.
“They were outside this morning,” I tell her. “Maybe Moose or Juan?”
She turns in her seat to examine them, and then points to their padded tops. “Nope. Mr. Garrett.” For the first time, I notice the faint black marker tracing the letters AG in the worn material. “That’s kind of sweet.”
I agree. “He’s still totally grumpy, but it’s like old-grandpa grumpy. Not mean grumpy.”
“Old-grandpa grumpy. I like that.” Rae’s smile fades. “Guess you won’t be going to practice today.”
I cringe at the thought of disappointing Coach. “Next Friday’s the last meet, right?”
She nods. “Back at Jansford. One more shot at the Monster.”
My legs twitch. “Gee, I’m so sorry I can’t run.”
Rae pokes me. “You know you love it.”
“Maybe a little,” I admit. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my latest carving: a cheetah I finished last night when sleep refused to come. My face warms as I hold it out. “Here. For luck.”
“You made this?” Rae takes it, turning the sleek cat in her hands. “Wow. It’s really good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Yesterday, I almost decided not to give it to her. Now I’m glad I did.
“You should come to the meet.” She sets the cheetah on the dashboard, its small ears pointing toward us. “You’re still part of the team, you know.”
Am I? Was I ever really?
“I’ll ask Coach,” I promise.
* * *
When Coach sees my crutches, his face sags like he went tumbling down the ladder right alongside me. He spends the next minutes alternating between scolding and worrying, finally sending me to my seat with instructions to see the school athletic trainer and assurances that of course I’m welcome at the meet. I make it through classes, Ms. Timmult excusing my lateness when I hobble in seconds after the bell, and wave to my teammates as they head to practice.
Juan pauses beside me. “What’d the trainer say?”
“Crutches for another week.” The woman had expertly probed my ankle, declared nothing broken, and ordered me to ice and elevate it for the next few days. “But I’m out for the rest of the season.”
“I think I’m jealous.” He gives my crutches a mournful gaze.
“Go on.” I pat his back. “Do it for Stanford.”
He groans. “Why isn’t it enough to just be smart?”
“Because you’re not that smart,” Moose calls as he jogs by.
“Hey!” Juan sprints after him, and I’m alone, with the afternoon to myself.
I head to the Wallflower to pass the hours with coffee and homework, and Sahana grins at me from behind the counter.
“I guess falling off a ladder is one way to get out of running. Want the iced special?”
“Sure.” A sign by the register describes her newest concoction, which includes coffee ice cubes guaranteed to never dilute a drink. I tap the paper. “Clever.”
“Thank you. I even used daisy molds, so they look like our flower. Hey, did you see?” She pauses pouring long enough to gesture to a framed drawing behind the counter: Cady’s symbol for her father, drawn not in blue paint but with gold and silver ink. “Rae and I talked to Mrs. Batra, the owner, and she said this would be fine. Cady still has to pay to have the wall outside repainted, but Mrs. Batra knew Mr. Winter. She thought it would be a nice way to honor him.”
“That’s really sweet. Cady must have been happy.” Her drawing shows a sophisticated hand, with lines that thicken around the curves and thin at delicate intersections. “She did a good job.”
Sahana hands me my drink. “She’s actually a really great artist. This guy in a cowboy hat even asked if he could take a picture of it.”
“What?” Panic roots in my gut, and my hand begins to shake, sending coffee splashing across the counter. I grab a napkin and swipe at my mess. “Did you let him?”
“Sure.” She shrugs. “Why not?”
Because he’ll use it as evidence of Rae’s Mark, just like Dad. If Kendrick collects enough of these meaningless signs, nothing I write in the red notebook will save her.
“Thanks for the drink,” I say, and leave quickly, any plans to study at the coffee shop scrapped as I hurry outside and speed back to MCHS. The cross-country team will be finishing Coach’s workout soon, and making certain Rae gets home safely is my new priority. I complete my math homework in the car, parked just out of sight near the front of school, and don’t relax until Mrs. Winter drives away with Rae beside her.
No blue truck crosses my path on the way home, and my new lock appears untouched when I reach the shack. Still, given how Kendrick keeps showing up in places he’s not welcome, it would be nice if I had a guard dog or a security camera to tell me for certain.
Come to think of it, I kind of do.
For once, Mr. Garrett isn’t spying from his window when I knock on his door. Feet shuffle on the other side, and the warm smell of apples and cinnamon drifts out as it opens.
“Hey, Mr. Garrett.” I hold up a crutch. “Just wanted to say thanks. They really help.”
He frowns at me. “Sure that ankle’s not broken?”
“Yeah. It’s already a lot better. But can I keep the crutches a little longer?”
He gives a curt nod and begins closing the door, but I put out a hand to stop him.
“Has anyone come to see me? Maybe that guy in the cowboy hat?”
Mr. Garrett shakes his head. “No cowboy hat, and not your dad either. He going to be in town for Thanksgiving?”
“I think so.” We haven’t planned anything, but Dad and I have been together every Thanksgiving since I was born. Despite the tension between us, the day would feel wrong without him. “We’ll be quiet if you’re having people over.”
Mr. Garrett grunts. “Do I look like someone who throws parties? I just want an adult keeping an eye on you. Lots of drunk driving that weekend, and I don’t need trouble.”
The words come just as gruff as always, but the wrinkles around his eyes deepen, as if the idea of me alone on Thanksgiving actually bothers him. “I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “Thanks for asking.”
Mr. Garrett gives me a look like he expects to have to bail me out over the holiday and then disappears, leaving the door open. A minute ticks by before he returns with a jar of golden-brown mush.
“Loretta’s recipe,” he says, and holds it out. I take the jar, and the door closes in my face.
The mush turns out to be applesauce. Specks of cinnamon are swirled among chunks of fruit, and I eat it straight from the jar. The warm food settles in my stomach, pushing away the worry over Kendrick’s lingering presence. Maybe Mr. Garrett can even help separate my father from his mentor, giving him a friend who doesn’t see the Mark everywhere he looks. It’s not an ideal starting point, but right now, it’s all I’ve got.
When Dad calls that night, I mention the crutches and applesauce, making Mr. Garrett sound almost friendly. “What do you think of inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner with us? Might be fun to get to know him.”
Dad pauses. “It’s a nice suggestion, Matthew, but we’ll have to do it another time. Kendrick invited us over.”
I press the phone hard against my ear. “Kendrick?”
“Yes. An in-person report will be good, and he’s not far from you. He’s got some work to do nearby.”
I bet he does. Dinner with Mr. Garrett suddenly looks downright pleasant. Still, a meal with Kendrick will give me the opportunity to plant the seeds of Rae’s innocence, even if the idea of the three of us sitting around a table feels like Pryor’s noose tightening around my own neck.
If I’m not careful, it may be tightening around Rae’s as well.
CHAPTER
30
The next two weeks creep by. My ankle heals enough that I feel only a slight twinge with each step, but I get a cramp in my neck from constantly peering over my shoulder. Even Coach asks if everything is okay.
“You look tired.” He stops me as my teammates scurry past, their chatter rising as they board the bus for Jansford Park. “Are you sleeping enough? Ankle feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, and escape onboard. Rae beckons me toward the empty space next to her, and Moose and Juan sprawl into the seat behind us. Even Toshi gives me a nod from near the back, and the excitement building for our final meet erupts in a raucous rendition of our school song as Coach bounds up the steps. He joins in, directing our singing like an orchestra conductor, and I holler along with everyone else. The energy buzzing off the walls lifts the gloom that has clung to me these past few days, and our poor bus driver does her best to ignore us as we rumble away from MCHS.
Still, if Coach noticed my behavior, Kendrick will spot it in an instant. Maybe that explains why I haven’t caught a glimpse of him since that day at the orchard. Either what he saw satisfied him and he’s done spying, or he’s slipped farther into the shadows.
Knowing Kendrick, it’s the latter.
“Are you looking for someone?” Rae peers out the window. “Is your dad coming?”
“No.” Dad told me last night he was busy with his project, and I assured him all was well and not to hurry back. “He’ll be here next week for Thanksgiving. Are you doing anything for the break?”
“We’ll go visit my aunt.” Rae’s voice quiets, just like it did at lunch when she told me her father’s gravestone had finally been installed, and I slide my arm around her. “She doesn’t want Mom to be alone, and it’ll be nice to see our cousins.”
“Good.” I brush a kiss across her temple, and she leans into me. “And I’m just a text away if you need anything.”
A small smile brightens her face. “You going to come to my rescue?”
“You bet. I’ll save you from too much turkey, and we’ll take off for Vegas. I hear it’s fun there.”
This gets a laugh, and Moose pokes his head over the seat. “I want to come.”
“Road trip!” Juan crows.
“We totally should.” Moose grins. “Not Vegas, since my parents would never let me, but somewhere cool.”
“Yosemite,” Rae suggests. “Or the Grand Canyon.” She elbows me. “This summer. What do you say, Matt?”
“Absolutely!” But I can’t, and neither can she. Not for a year, at least.
The bus empties quickly once we park. Rae slows as she looks around the course and gestures at a group of adults, all wearing bright yellow T-shirts with letters that scream RACE OFFICIAL across the back.
“Why are so many people here?” she asks. When Juan, Moose, and I don’t answer, she narrows her eyes at us. “What’s going on?”
Juan sighs. “We didn’t tell you since we knew you’d say no. But we might have mentioned to Coach that dirty runners cheat on the backstretch, and maybe they should monitor it for league finals.”
“We didn’t mention you. Or Haley,” Moose chimes in quickly.
Though Coach probably figured it out, judging from the way he looked over at Rae when we talked with him after practice last week. Still, he just nodded and said he’d take care of it, and it looks like he did.
“We didn’t rat on anyone,” I tell her, “and now it’s a fair race. So just beat her, okay?”
Rae watches the officials head for parts of the trail that usually lie out of sight. “Fine. And . . . thanks, guys.”
She joins the other girls to stretch, and Coach sends the JV boys on a warm-up jog. I catch sight of Haley with her team, but she doesn’t seem to notice us, and it’s probably better that way. Moose and I settle amidst the mountain of MCHS backpacks and sweatshirts, where he pulls an entire loaf of French bread from his bag, rips off a chunk, and holds out the rest.
“Want some?” he offers.
By now, I’m used to Moose’s prerace eating habits. “No, thanks. You need it more than I do.”
“True.” He takes a bite and speaks through his full mouth. “So how does it feel to be here and not run? You’re crying inside right now. Admit it.”
He’s right, though I’ll never tell him. Cross country made me part of something in a way Kendrick’s Sweep never did. My teammates created a Matt-sized space for me, and they cheered me on through every slow, plodding run.
And I learned to do the same for them.
Moose waves a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Matt. If you miss it that much, feel free to hop in. I’m sure Coach will appreciate your dedication.”
I push my thoughts away and return his grin. “You got me. Maybe this running thing isn’t so bad after all.”
“Told you.” He jumps up, bread still in hand. “Let’s go cheer them on.”
We arrive at the crowded start as my team lines up. Most schools in the area have turned out for the event, and everyone is jostling for position, even the spectators. I slap Juan’s shoulder, wishing him luck, and then hold out a fist to Toshi.
“Sorry,” I tell him, and this time I mean it. “You were right. I was a jerk.”
“You were.” He grins as he knocks my fist with his own. “But you’ve improved.”
Juan shakes his head sadly at my injured ankle. “Next season, Matt. We’ll crush it together then.”
I force a smile, but there is no next season in Mills Creek. Not for me. “Run fast” is all I can say.
By the time they finish their race, my throat aches from yelling, and I almost tripped twice as I hurried around the course to cheer. Juan ran his best time of the season, even beating out a runner in his final steps, and Moose is practically doing cartwheels beside me.
“Not bad,” I say as Juan limps over, still panting.
“Best part? I am done.” He beams at Moose. “And you are not.”
Even Moose can’t hide a grin. “Nice finish,” he says, and they exchange high fives. “Almost looked like you had fun out there.”
“Did not,” Juan retorts, but he glances at the course, and a satisfied smile crosses his face.
The Varsity girls race next, and Mrs. Winter and Cady arrive just in time. We gather near the start in a solid wall of MCHS blue and white, yelling as the gun fires and runners thunder down the hill. Rae emerges in third around the turn and tears up the path, and our team jumps and screams as she sprints past.
Haley stays right at her heels.
“Where do you want to go cheer?” Moose asks me. “Can you make it to the Monster?”
I shake my head, since my ankle already throbs. “I’ll wait at the finish line. Go yell at Rae to run faster. She could win this whole thing.”
“I know!” He takes off after Juan and Toshi.
I join the rest of the team in our usual spot to cheer for Rae, craning my neck for a glimpse of that blue-and-white uniform. When she bolts around the final curve—the very first runner to appear—the explosion of cheers makes my eardrums hurt. She flies toward the finish line, only a few feet ahead of Haley and another girl, whose black braid bounces with each furious step. With a hundred yards left, Haley begins to close.
“Go, Rae!” Juan shouts.
“Pick it up!” Moose screams in my ear. “Rae, you gotta go!”
I join in. “Come on! You can do it!”
Everyone hollers and yells as we hold on to each other, trying to make her run faster by sheer force of will. Rae doesn’t look back, but she shifts her weight forward and pumps her arms harder.
So does Haley.
But a sharp gasp rises from the crowd, and I see it too—the lace on Haley’s right shoe snaps, sending one long string flapping with each stride. She keeps running, two more steps, and then her left foot lands on the broken shoelace. Her leg crumples and she crashes down, hitting the dirt ten yards before the finish line as Rae sprints across.
First place.
Spectators murmur and yell, and the girl with the black braid flies by to claim second. By the time Haley stands and hobbles across the finish line on bloody knees, seven more girls have passed.
“That looked painful,” Juan mutters. “Even I feel kind of bad for her. Rotten time to break a shoelace.”
Not for the runner Haley was chasing. A chill drips down my back.
Rae makes her way through the finish chute, frowning as she sees the cluster of coaches rushing to help Haley.
“What happened?” she asks, and Juan sweeps her into a bear hug.
“What happened?” Moose echoes. “You just won league finals! That”—he pounds her shoulder—“was awesome.”
A grin spreads over her face. “Thanks.” Rae glances at Haley again. “But what about her? She was right behind me.”
Juan tells her about the broken shoelace and harrowing fall, and I can’t help studying her as she listens, searching for any hint of smug responsibility. Only pity pinches her face. Haley limps past on scraped legs, tears streaking her dust-covered face, and Rae casts her a look of sympathy.
“That sucks.” She shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong—she’s still terrible—but that’s a crappy way to finish a season.”
“You would have beaten her anyway,” Moose says, and I agree, shoving aside any doubt. Evidence of the Mark is exactly what Dad would have seen, and I’m not like him.
Not anymore.
“No way was she going to catch you.” I lean over to plant a kiss on her forehead. “You were incredible.”
Mrs. Winter joins us, her smile brilliant as she wipes her eyes. She holds her arms out, and Rae steps into them.
“Dad would be so proud.” Mrs. Winter’s voice cracks, and she hugs Rae close. “He’s watching, you know. He’ll always watch over you.”
