Chapter
Fifteen
Jimmy Springer, September 2016
During
the fall quarter at Union Valley, the physical education department
administered their school wide physical fitness testing. It was composed of
four components: push-ups, pull-ups, flexibility and a one-mile run. These
exercises made up the basis used by each teacher when providing their classes
with grades. As a freshman and sophomore, Jimmy Springer had been tops in his
class in the fitness testing, reveling in the opportunity to prove himself. But
now he had outgrown that stage of his life, realizing how pointless the process
really was. If he put in a minimum effort, he could still string together a
solid C+ and that was plenty good. Besides, he didn’t want to look like a try-hard
in front of his friends.
“Yo
Jim, just heard your mom’s going out of town this weekend?” The second bell
rang as Jimmy entered the locker room, wandering over to join his two friends
dawdling in the corner.
“Yeah
man, I’ve got an open house,” Jimmy replied as he approached, taking off his
back pack and pulling out a pair of blue mesh shorts with an orange cotton top.
“She thinks I’m gonna be staying at my dad’s.” He unbuttoned his shirt and
replaced it with the uniform he had just removed. “Did your brother go back to
college yet, Smitty?”
“No,
he’s here until Friday,” the boy to Jimmy’s right responded with a mischievous
grin. “I can get him to pick us up something before he goes back.” He stood
wearing a pair of baggy, tan cargo shorts rather than the blue mesh ones that
Jimmy had just pulled up around his waist.
“Alright
sweet,” Together the trio exited the locker room, unenthusiastically joining
their classmates inside the gymnasium. “Just keep things chill alright, I’m not
trying to mess my mom’s place up. She’d flip at me if she found out …” He
trailed off as the conversation around him died away. Entering in through the
front doors was Union Valley’s new gym teacher: Mr. Ned Wall.
Mr.
Wall was short, probably a good six inches shorter than Jimmy, but powerfully
built with a defined, muscular physique. His face was hairless, with a shaved
head to match this clean cut. A whistle hung around his neck and a clipboard
was tucked under his left arm. He was certainly younger than their previous
teacher, but also had a much more intimidating demeanor. With nothing more than
a soft cough, he had the attention of the majority of the room. Leisurely, he
began to take attendance. As he announced each student, he stared at them for a
full second in silence, apparently trying to help himself remember the face
that matched to each name.
“…
Riley Joseph? …”
Riley
was one of Jimmy’s best friends at Union Valley. The pair had met in history
class the previous year and had become incredibly close during the spring. He
was slightly shorter than Jimmy and much thinner with less muscle. He had
played basketball as a freshman, but chose not to try out for the team as a
sophomore. Upon hearing his name, he raised his hand to acknowledge his
presence. Mr. Wall considered him briefly before returning his gaze to his
clipboard.
“Kind
of a serious, dude, huh?” Riley whispered to Jimmy through the corner of his
mouth, “Smitty’s gonna get along great with him.”
“…
Corey Smith? …”
Corey
was another of Jimmy’s closer friends. The pair became friendly through Riley,
who had been friends with Corey since elementary school. Corey was shorter than
both his companions with dark, buzzed hair and slightly hooded eyes. He showed
signs of once being fit and strong, but his body was beginning to transform
into a fatter, doughier mold.
“Forget
your shorts, Mr. Smith?” Mr. Wall asked, examining Corey’s shorts.
“Yeah-Something
like that,” he smirked in reply.
“Remember
them next time, please, or I’ll have to take points from you.” Mr. Wall responded
calmly. He made a small check mark on his clipboard, but otherwise paid Smith’s
violation no further attention.
“
… Jimmy Springer? …”
Jimmy
raised his hand in response while his new teacher studied him. For some reason,
he felt he had received an extra-long inspection.
When
attendance was complete, the class was asked to take a five minute jog around
the perimeter of the gym to warm up for the day’s activities. The trio plodded
through what was a painfully deliberate pace for Jimmy, who forced himself to
slow down in order to talk with his two friends.
“I
heard there’s a huge party planned in a couple weeks,” Corey said. “My cousin
told me it’s a ‘can’t miss’.”
“Yeah,
I remember you mentioning that one. What does this kid have like a mansion or
something?”
“Yeah
bro, it’s gonna be dope … Speaking of which, Spring, are you in for today after
school?”
“Nah,
I got practice so-”
“Practice?
Man, you should just quit that team. I’m telling you, once you try this for the
first time, you’ll be wishing you had listened to me sooner.”
Eventually,
Mr. Wall’s whistle signaled the end of the jog. Both Riley and Corey were
slightly out of breath as the class joined up at center court. Here, they were
motioned to take a seat on the floor, facing one of the gym’s pull up bars.
“Now
during our first couple classes, I’d like to have all of you try each piece of
the fitness testing,” Mr. Wall explained to the group once they were settled,
“this way everyone has a baseline score they can try and improve upon.” The
class sat apathetically as he pressed on. “So let’s get started! Allenby,
you’re up first …”
A
short, round boy with glasses stepped up to the bar first. After completing two
pull-ups, the next student alphabetically was called up and the cycle
continued. Amidst the continuous rotation, a few patches of conversation broke
out along the floor.
“So
who exactly are we inviting this weekend?” Corey asked as the pull-ups cycled
into the “D” section of the alphabet.
“I’ll
talk to Cunningham, he will almost definitely wanna come.” Riley replied
confidently. “And since he’s hooking up with that Taylor chick, he could
probably get some girls to come by, too.”
“Yo,
see if he can get that girl Sara from our Chem class.”
“What
are you smoking, bro, isn’t she the one with the horse face?”
“Nah
dude, you’re thinking of Sarah with the ‘h’, I’m talking about Sara without the
‘h’ … Spring, back me up on this …”
“What
was that?” Jimmy hadn’t been paying much attention to the other two. He had,
instead, been keeping track of the current pull-up leaders in the class. Rodney
Davies and Craig Bush were tied at seven. That had captivated his attention
better than the chauvinistic talk of his compatriots. “Um, yeah there are two
Sarahs in Chem, but I haven’t really been taking notice of the spelling …”
“Well,
I’ll tell you what I have been taking
notice of …”
“Joseph!
You’re up!”
Riley
walked with a slight strut up to the pull-up bar, fixing his shirt slightly and
adjusting his pants. He completed the first two pull-ups with relative ease,
but on the third he struggled. His face screwed up slightly with effort, but in
a flash it vanished and his feet were on the ground. He turned coolly to face
the crowd and, with a smug smile, made his way back to his seat.
“It’s
such a stupid test, you know?” he remarked as he rejoined his friends, “Like
obviously I could do ten of these if I wanted to, but why would I want to get
all sweaty for the rest of the day?”
A
few moments later, Corey duplicated Riley’s feat with two pull-ups of his own.
Then, immediately afterwards, it was Jimmy’s turn to try. He approached,
slightly nervous, lacking the cool and collected swagger of his two
comrades. Gripping the bar tightly, he
pulled himself off the ground. With a strong, powerful effort, Springer rolled
through an easy five pull-ups. Three more
would be tops in the class. He paused for a second as he began his sixth
repetition and then, after a moment’s thought, relaxed and let himself drop to
the ground. It’s a stupid test anyway.
After
everyone had finished taking their turn at the pull-up bar, the class
disseminated into the locker room to change back into their school clothes.
Jimmy absentmindedly changed out of his uniform, half-listening to his friends
continued discussion, half-lost in his own thoughts. Once they had each
finished, the trio trekked back into the hallways for next period, crossing
back in front of the gymnasium’s front doors.
“Springer,
can you come here for a second?” Mr. Wall had called him aside from the throng
of students filling the corridor. Jimmy gave a questioning look to his friends,
before nodding a good-bye. Then, with a small pit in his stomach, he approached
Union Valley’s newest faculty member.
“What’s
up?” He tried to act nonchalant, but, despite his efforts, his voice shook slightly.
“Why
did you stop, Springer?” Mr. Wall asked, staring intently at his student.
“Well
… you just called me over,” Jimmy said, looking puzzled, “So I thought you
wanted to-”
“No,
I mean, why did you stop earlier? During the pull-ups?”
Looking
guilty, Jimmy’s eyes darted to his feet. “I-I got tired, I guess. Same as
anybody else.”
“Look,
I know you want to try and act cool in front of your friends, but that’s no
reason to hold back. You shouldn’t have to feel ashamed or embarrassed about
your gifts.” He spoke warmly, but Jimmy’s response was ice cold.
“What,
do you get a bonus for having the highest scoring kids in your class or
something?”
“No,
of course not-”
“Well
then what the heck does it matter to you what I do?” And he turned, just as the
second bell rang, leaving a slightly stunned gym teacher in his wake.
Chris Cline, September 2016
After
the 7th period bell rang, Chris headed to his locker to grab a
change of clothes for practice. He stuffed some old basketball shorts, a t-shirt
with cut off sleeves and a pair of Nike running sneakers into a larger duffle
bag that was usually packed with football accessories. He hoisted the bag
around his shoulder, its contents tumbling awkwardly around the surplus of
space. With the block of plaster protecting his left hand, he awkwardly pushed
his locker shut.
“Ready for your first day little guy?”
Ernie said, imitating a mother talking to her toddler. He had spotted Chris
from his own locker a few numbers to his left and was approaching with his arms
wide and a large, fake smile on his face.
“Hey
man, come to wish me luck?” Chris asked as the pair turned to walk up the
hallway towards the locker room.
“Not
exactly,” Ernie replied, putting his arm around Chris and changing his tone to
one of mock concern. “I just don’t how many days we have left together. Seeing
as this whole running thing will probably kill you.”
Chris
smiled. “I think it’s your unyielding faith in me that makes you such a good
friend.”
“The
best.” He gave his friend’s shoulder a small squeeze before removing his arm.
“Honestly, I’m just surprised Coach even let you join. That sounds incredibly
out of character.”
“Trust
me, if he had his way, I wouldn’t be going. Apparently the Cross Country coach
lobbied pretty hard for it and managed to convince him. Wonder what he possibly
could have said …”
“Who’s
the Coach?”
“It’s
that Math teacher … I think his name’s Mr. Finley.” Chris came to a stop at a
hallway intersection. “I gotta cut down this way,” he said inclining his head, “I’m
meeting Melissa before practice.”
“Well
aren’t you guys just adorable?” He
clasped his hands together and put a dreamy expression on his face. “Text me the latest gossip later!” After
blowing an overdramatized kiss, they departed in opposite directions: Chris shaking
his head, but smiling despite himself.
When
he turned, he could see Melissa rapidly approaching. She was already dressed in
her clothes for cheerleading practice. As she got closer, Chris noticed she
seemed slightly flustered.
“Thank
god, you’re here. I’m having the worst day.” She handed him her backpack
and together they trekked off down the hallway from which Ernie had just
disappeared. “First, Chelsea tells me
her parents aren’t going away this weekend anymore. Which means there probably
won’t be a party. And, like, I had just picked out, like, the perfect top.” She flicked a strand of
hair across her face. “Then, Mrs.
Thompson makes me put on this disgusting
sweatshirt-that she pulled out of the lost and found-because my shirt isn’t ‘up to school standards’. Like, I’m sorry
I don’t wear whatever used to be fashionable in the sixties-”
“Mrs.
Thompson? Isn’t she like 35?”
“Whatever,”
she said with a dismissive wave. “She certainly doesn’t dress like it. By the way,”
she added, flipping through her phone, “I saw the best thing on Yik Yak today. Did you download that yet?”
“I
don’t have a smart phone,” Chris replied, offering up his small, cell phone as
proof.
“Trust
me you, like, need one in this day
and age. Just have your parents buy you one. That’s what I do. Like I used to
have an iPhone 5S while the 6 was out and I was like, oh my god, shoot me.”
“I
know a couple starving African children with similar concerns.” Chris offered,
but his joke was lost on his girlfriend, who had become completely engaged with
a texting conversation on her phone.
“Yeah,
exactly,” she said distractedly. After a rare moment of silence, the couple
reached the edge of the gymnasium where each athlete would go their separate
way. Melissa looked up from her phone and flashed Chris a disappointed sulk.
“So you’re really gonna go through with this, huh?” She said with a hint of
frustration. “You know this is like … social suicide.”
Chris
gave her a pitying smile. “I’m not worried about it. It’s just for a couple
weeks until I can play again.”
“Just
promise me,” she pleaded, “You won’t ever
wear those shorts. I’m pretty sure one of those kids has the exact same pair I
do.”
“I’m
telling you, they were basically identical. Like same color, same brand, everything.”
“Well,
that’s what you get for buying girl’s shorts.”
“Half
as expensive and twice as colorful. I’m no mathematician, but I think that’s a
great deal.”
“That’s
why you’re not a mathematician.”
From
the opposite side of the track, Chris approached a group of about twenty boys,
two of which were standing near the front of the crowd having an apparently
amusing debate. Most were wearing short sleeve shirts with the names of what
Chris assumed must have been some type of competitions. A few prominently
featured the letters “X” and “C”.
“I’m
just saying, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little less cynical about everything,
Andy. Pretty sure your negative attitude
is why the girl’s team refuses to hang out with us.” He dropped his voice
and gestured his head in the direction of a small pack of girls standing about
twenty meters away.
“Yeah
… that’s the reason …”
“Well
either that or Mike’s toe fungus.”
A
few members of the group burst out laughing. The boy who had been called Andy
opened his mouth to pile on, but then stopped mid-thought. He had spotted
Chris, now just a few feet away, and fell silent. As more runners realized the
quarterback’s arrival, the grins gradually faded. Even the girl’s team had
fallen relatively quiet beyond a few hushed whispers.
Great, Chris thought to himself,
standing awkwardly on the outskirts of the group. We’re best friends already. There was a clear tension in the air,
with an undercurrent of deep dislike. After a moment’s silence, the boys
decided to recommence their talking, but this time in a slightly quieter, more
reserved tone. No one even acknowledged Chris’s presence until the team’s coach
arrived, accompanied by a boy Chris recognized from his English class.
“Sorry
I’m late everyone,” he said, straightening the glasses on his face. Coach
Finley stood a few inches above six feet, but looked as though he would
struggle to crack 160 pounds soaking wet. He carried a pair of stop watches
around his neck and wore a blue and gray baseball cap on top of his short, dark-blonde
hair. “If we can all gather around and take a seat, I’d like to discuss last
Saturday’s meet.” His voice was light and friendly, sharply contrasting the
harsh tones of Chris’s previous instructor. Following directions, the team
assembled on the ground in front of Finley.
“But
before we begin, I should note that we have a new addition to our men’s team.
Senior Chris Cline has decided to join our ranks.” He smiled at Chris, who
nervously returned the gesture. “If you have any questions, I’m sure our
captains-Will and Ricky-” he turned his gaze towards a pair of seniors, one of
whom was the boy Coach Finley had entered practice with. “-will be happy to
show you the ropes.” Chris gave the two runners a small nod of acknowledgement,
which was only returned by half of the pair. The other simply stared coldly
back. A few feet away, the boy named Andy whispered something to his friend,
who laughed under his breath. Chris seriously doubted either captain was very
interested in “showing him the ropes.”
After
the introduction, Coach Finley switched topics, diving into a deep discussion
of the teams’ weekend performances. Most of the terminology was completely
foreign to Chris, who sat struggling to follow the conversation. There was talk
of ‘splits’ and ‘packs’, which he assumed must be certain running formations.
Something appeared to be significant about being a ‘5th man’ and,
for some reason, the team seemed disappointed they had scored 58 points when
they were expecting to be closer to 45. At the end of the meeting, Chris was
fairly certain Coach Finley congratulated a runner named Sam for kicking
someone at the end of the race. I thought
this was a non-contact sport ….
Once
the recap was complete, the runners rose to their feet, brushing off a few stray
pieces of track from their legs. Feeling suddenly nervous, Chris followed their
lead. He tried to tighten his shorts waist band, but struggled to get a strong
grip on the strings while wearing his cast.
“Now
let’s just take things easy today. We raced hard last weekend and have a
quality effort coming on Wednesday. Will, Jack and Ricky, you guys do 8, freshmen
and newcomers do 5 and everybody else-just fill in where it seems appropriate.
As for the women …”
The
boys team disseminated as Coach Finley turned his attention to their female
counterparts. Almost everyone removed their shirt with the exception of a few
timid looking freshmen. Chris hesitated for a moment in indecision before
opting to remain clothed.
“County
Fields run today, Will?” One boy asked from the front of the pack as they
approached the gate to exit the stadium. He spoke to the boy Chris had
recognized earlier as his classmate, who had arrived with their coach.
“That
should be good. It gives everybody a chance to run together for the first
couple miles and then the guys doing five can turn around.” Will replied,
stepping importantly to the front of the group. Filing in behind Will, the boys
eased slowly into a jog, striding away towards the sidewalk along the side of
the school. Chris slid himself into position near the back of the pack, feeling
awkward. His arm carriage felt unnatural and he was suddenly extremely aware of
the expression his face was making as he ran.
Once
the group picked up steam, conversations sprouted up throughout the pack. Chris
listened to the talk ahead of him for a moment, before determining he was
listening to some type of indecipherable gibberish.
“I’m
not ready to quit on Alamirew, he’s got better wheels than Gebrehiwhet and
Longiswa.”
“But
what about Kejelcha? Or Gebremeskel?”
“Doesn’t
matter, nobody’s beating Farah. He’s the greatest since Bekele.”
Chris
hid his bewilderment behind what he hoped was a relaxed expression. To his
pleasant surprise, he felt quite comfortable at this pace. It was much slower
than any sprinting he did during football practice. Am I doing this right? He thought to himself. I feel like I’m not getting any benefit out of this.
No one ever taught me
how to run …
Unsure
of himself, Chris quickened his pace, moving up the assembly to the shoulder of
the top group. As he advanced, he noticed things had quieted behind him. Some
of the younger runners had turned their attention to the action ahead. A few
looked curious, while others looked amused.
“Five bucks on Will,” he heard someone
whisper.
“Ten on McGee,” Came the faint reply.
The
team continued toward a four way intersection, where they briefly paused to
check for traffic. It was here that Will and the runner to his left, a boy with
short, dark red hair, exchanged the swiftest of glances. Then, crossing the
street, Chris felt the tempo begin to quicken. Gradually, Chris’s breathing
became more irregular. Determinedly, he tried to stick with the lead pack. His
competitive instincts had taken over. However, his hubris had betrayed him.
As
they made a small right turn into a side neighborhood, the football star began
to understand he was fighting a losing battle. The pack split from him as he
plummeted off the pace, panting feebly. The team made another right, followed
quickly by a sharp left. Chris tried to stay close enough to keep the slowest
runners in sight, but his side ached and his mouth felt dry. At another
intersection, he watched the last harriers split in two different directions. Feeling
confused and defeated, he let himself slow to a walk. Great. Now what do I do?
Taking
in his surroundings, he recognized next to nothing. It was an empty
neighborhood with few street signs away from any major roads. Now, he came to a
complete stop, racking his brain for an idea. He was completely lost. Tired. Alone.
No one knew where he was and, most likely, nobody cared. In fact, they’re probably thrilled.
He
imagined Will and the red haired boy laughing hysterically miles away as he
trudged off the street towards the nearest house, hoping that, for some odd
reason, they would be comfortable with a sweaty stranger entering their home
and borrowing their phone. His head drooped in misery as he scanned for the
house most likely to get a response. Fortunately, as he moved to the sidewalk,
he heard a voice call out to him from somewhere in the distance.
“Hey!
HEY!”
Chris
whirled around, trying to find the source of the yelling. He spotted a short
boy splitting off from a small pack of runners and approaching him. As he grew
from a distant speck, Chris could see how young and tiny the boy was. He was
probably near 90% legs.
“We’re
heading back to school-wanna jump in with us?” He smiled softly and gestured
back over his shoulder.
“Us?”
Chris nodded his head in the same direction. The boy turned to follow his gaze
and saw, with awkward surprise, that his teammates had had no interest in
waiting up for the struggling quarterback. They, instead, continued their run,
taking a turn down a side street and disappearing from sight.
“Oh
… uh-” He shrugged his shoulders slightly, giving another small smile, “Well we
should probably-er-start running?” He attempted an encouraging nod over his
head and turned back up the street. Chris raised his eyebrows but, reluctantly,
turned to follow. Not like I really have
a choice at this point. If I don’t follow him, I’m stuck here.
They
broke into a slow jog with the small boy cautiously running to Chris’s left.
“I’m Sam by the way,” he remarked, extending his hand.
“Chris,”
the quarterback replied. Despite his short rest, he was still struggling for
breath on the run. Sam, on the other hand, was strolling casually. Although he
was short, his long legs allowed him to amble along gracefully, eating up the
road with ease. Occasionally, he would drift a couple steps ahead of the fraught
newcomer but then, after a moment of realization, slow himself back to even
position.
“You
don’t have to do that you know,” Chris said after Sam jolted back to his
shoulder for a third time. “I don’t wanna … mess up your run or … whatever.” He
felt embarrassed. Even the tiny freshman was running circles around him. He
didn’t belong here.
“No
it’s fine, I-today’s a recovery day for me so-,” he fumbled through his excuse,
again drifting a step or two ahead. “You know-at my first practice, we went to
this park called Liberty Park. And we were supposed to do this, like, ‘hilly’
run.” Pausing for a second, Sam pointed to the left and directed the pair down
a side street. “It went so bad. I got lost in some back woods or something and
Coach had to send out a-a search patrol. Just to find me.” He laughed.
“I
went home that day and I told my mom I was never
going back.” Sam looked off in the distance, not meeting eye contact with
Chris. He scanned the road ahead for cars, before leading the way across the
street.
“So
why did you?” Chris asked after a moment’s silence.
“Because
I don’t give up easily.” He replied simply. They turned up another familiar
looking street and Chris spotted the high school gymnasium in the distance.
“Most of my life, people have been telling me that I can’t do something. I’m
too short or too small or too weak. I couldn’t help those things-I can’t
control how tall I am. But if I had quit? I can’t blame that on genetics or fate. I’d just be a wimp. I’d just be … the
puny, weak little kid that everybody else sees me as.”
Lost
in emotion, Sam was continuing to absentmindedly increase his pace, but, with a
newfound resolve, Chris forced himself to keep up. Eventually, they reached
their finish line, stopping a few feet from a crowd of runners waiting by the
grass, unlacing their shoes. As they walked to the pack of runners, Sam raised
his hand for a high five.
“Good
run, Chris.” Their hands met in the air.
“Thanks
Sam. You too.” Saying the runner’s name out loud trigged a memory from inside
Chris’s head of the beginning of practice. “Hey … is it true that you-you
kicked a guy?”
“Kicked
a guy?” Sam looked at him, confused.
“Like
in a race. Mr. Finley-er-Coach Finley-said something about it during practice
…”
“Ohhhh,
you mean out-kicked a guy?”
Chris
looked back, still completely lost. “Was it like a competition? How much
kicking goes on during Cross Country? Can you even kick and run at the same
time?”
Sam
grinned widely, struggling to hold back a fit of laughter. “No a kick is like-it’s
like a sprint at the end of a race … It’s just some runner jargon. You’ll pick
it up.” When they reached their teammates, Sam dropped to the ground and began
to untie his shoes. Most of the runners were, for some reason, sprinting
barefoot across the soccer field.
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