Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five

Chris Cline, September 2016

“Alright, boys. Let me quickly remind you our bus leaves at 7 tomorrow morning. Top 12 guys will be racing, but we’ve got a bus big enough to transport everyone. So I’d encourage anyone who wants to cheer us on at Cedar Crest to tag along.

“Unfortunately, despite consistent lobbying from the coaches, the meet staff has decided to keep in place their rule excluding seniors from participating in the Junior Varsity race. So that means if you are a senior and you're not top 7, you won’t be able to race this weekend.

“So our lineup this week will be as follows:

“Varsity: Aldrich, McGee, Lowery, Lynch, Ricky Collins, Eggleston and Schmidt. Junior Varsity: Caleb Collins, Rykken, Robinson, Wikler, and Wall.”

Coach Finley paused here to look around at his athletes and make sure each understood their inclusion. The West Chester North Cross Country team sat scattered among the desks in the Coach’s classroom before the day’s practice was to begin. After the meeting, half the team would set out on an easy run in preparation for the next day’s invitational at Cedar Crest. The other half, including Chris, would be doing a difficult workout as a substituted hard effort in place of the race.

“Lots of good teams will be there this weekend so it's a great chance to match up with some state caliber programs. Mannheim Township, Cedar Crest, Mount Lebanon, North Allegheny. They are from out of the area. The team’s we will need to focus on from our own district are DT West, Hatboro Horsham and Coatesville.”

There was a general murmur of excitement at the mention of Coatesville.

“Don’t go and yourselves all worked up!” Chris Finley said, waving his arms as if he was trying to push a fly out of his face. “Ricky, keep everybody in your group under control today, OK?”

“I’ll try my best, Coach. No guarantees with McGee.” Team Captain Ricky Collins said from the front row. A few of his teammates snickered. Two seats over a boy with short red hair raised his arms looking marginally offended. “How far?”

“Five miles and a good stretch. Ice if you need it. Those not racing, you can start up your warm up now. Kenny and Ben, lead them through two miles and the usual drills. I’ll meet you over at the cross country course start line. Be ready to run fast.” He stood up from behind his desk at the front of the classroom. “Go ahead and get going,” he said waving them out the door, “And send in the girls on your way out.”

Ben Havleck, June 2016

There was a light whoosh from a passing car. A sprinkler ticked slowly. He wiped his nose with his right hand. His tempo slowed for a moment as he peered back over his shoulder to ensure his path was clear before crossing the street. Embracing the entropy, he floated through a small downhill and jogged onto the wooded trail. It crunched under his feet to signal his arrival. A bird floated up into the air defensively as the newcomer approached.

He could feel his shirt getting heavier as sweat continued to accumulate over his body. He fidgeted with it in annoyance before, ultimately, deciding to remove it entirely. Without breaking stride, he spun the shirt in his hands and then tied it around his head like a makeshift bandana. He inwardly lamented the fact that it didn't fit as nicely as it had in the past without his longer hair.

After an hour, he reached the light post that stood a few yards from his house and slowed to a walk, reaching down for his wrist and tapping his watch. With his hands behind his head, he meandered forward, letting his breathing gradually adjust to its normal cadence. Then, he cut across the lawn toward his house.

“How was it?” Mr. Havleck asked as Ben opened the door and stepped inside.

“Not too bad, it's starting to get pretty hot,” he grabbed a worn towel from the hall closet and wrapped it around his waist. “I'm gonna have to get up early tomorrow and go when it's cooler.”

“Tomorrow?” Mrs. Havleck said, entering the living room from the kitchen. “You're going to run again tomorrow?”

“I run every day, Mom,” he said with a smile. “Do I have time to hop in the shower before dinner? I feel gross.”

“Yes, I think it's going to need another ten minutes or so. We'll wait for you.”

“Thanks,” he gave her a small peck on the cheek and then dashed upstairs to the bathroom.

About twenty minutes later, he came back down the stairs, rubbing a towel fiercely through his hair.

“I'm not sure you need to do that anymore, Ben,” his father said watching him in amusement.

“Force of habit,” he replied, running his hand through his buzzed hair. “It still feels really weird.”

“Well you look very handsome. It makes you look more like your father.” Mrs. Havleck said, briefly passing through on her way towards the back room. “Cayley, dinner's ready!”

“Maybe one hundred pounds ago,” Mr. Havleck replied. He took his seat at the table and Ben followed, eyeing the food hungrily.

“Wow Ben, your new hair cut makes you look like a super model!” Cayley said, stepping into the kitchen holding her mother's hand.

“Haha thanks Cay,” he replied, taking his plate and dropping on some salad.

“Aren't you going to compliment me on my dress?” She asked, sitting up on her chair.

“It makes you look like a princess!” He said smiling, now focusing his attention on the breaded macaroni and cheese.

“Predictable,” she said flatly, making the family laugh.

“Cayley, I'm going to miss you while I'm gone,” Ben said, pouring himself a glass of juice. With his meal set, he began to attack his plate, clearing away food like a garbage disposal.

“Speaking of which,” his mother said, placing a full plate in front of Cayley, “did you tell your friend at Barnes and Noble you won't be able to do your usual hours there this summer?”

“Yeah I 'old 'im 'esderday,”

“Ben, c'mon honey, no talking with your mouth full.”

“'Orry ma,” he said before pausing to chew and swallow. “I told Neal yesterday after work so that’s all taken care of.”

“And have you packed all your things?” She asked her question just as Ben took a rather large mouth full of noodles. He opened his mouth to respond, but, seeing his mother’s expression, closed it again.

“Yep, packing is done.” He said once he had finished, “Only thing I have to do is give Nicole her SAT book back and then-”

“Wait-Nicole? Who’s Nicole?”

“She's the girl I studied with a couple times for Calc, remember? At the end of last quarter? I definitely told you about her.”

“It’s his girlfriend,” Cayley said matter-of-factly to the amusement of his parents.

“No!” Ben replied, a little too defensively, “We’re just friends.”

Cayley shrugged her tiny shoulders. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

After dinner, he jogged upstairs to grab the book and double check that everything important was packed away for the next day’s departure. From his night stand, he picked up his training log and stuffed it into the front pocket of his backpack. Then, he carefully folded up the paper his coach had given him with his summer training plan and tucked it away in between a pair of running shorts. With one last turn around the room, he stepped out only to realize he had forgotten the book for which he had come in the first place. Returning, he took it down off his book shelf.

“Mom, can I borrow the car? I gotta run this back,” he said, stepping down the stairs with the text under his arm.

“No problem. Keys are in the basket by the door,” she said with her back to him, washing a dish in the sink. “Are you going to be out late?”

“Nah, I don't think so. Since I'm waking up early to run, I'll need to get extra sleep tonight. Got to make sure I'm recovering properly.”

“You’re like a professional athlete. I would never have that kind of discipline.”

“You can't spell victory without sacrifice.” He said simply before grabbing the keys out of the basket. “I'll see you guys in a few!”

“Drive safe! Love you!”

“Love you too!”

“Mommy, how do you spell victory?”

Chris Cline, cont.

“Hey Chris, are you coming tonight?”

“Uh, coming where?”

“To Florentino’s.”

“Who’s that? Does somebody else have a secret first name I should know about?”

“No,” Sam responded smiling slightly, “It’s the pizza place. Florentino’s. It’s right by the Sunoco on County Road and-”

“Oh yeah, I know that place. What’s going on there?”

“We always go there for dinner the night before our cross country meets. It’s like our team tradition.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

Sam watched him for a moment, but Chris did not elaborate. “So are you coming?”

“I don’t know, it kinda feels like I wasn’t invited ...”

“Of course you’re invited! You’re on the team! It’s implied, even if no one directly asks you.”

Chris stared at him, eyebrows slightly raised. The two stood just outside the gym. Chris leaned casually against the wall, his bag at his feet. Sam bounced slightly on his toes as he attempted to be persuasive.

Practice had ended. Chris had completed a difficult workout with some of his junior varsity teammates. They ran eight times through a small section of their home cross country course, mainly flat but with a brief incline about half way into the loop. It had been his most successful effort to date as he alternated pacing duties with senior Kenny Brown and junior Phil Lee throughout the workout. He ran controlled, poised and confident for the first time this season.

Both he and Sam were waiting together for their parents to arrive to transport them home from practice. Chris’s usual ride, Jacob Naughton, was staying at school with the rest of the football team in anticipation of that night’s away game at Downingtown East High School.

As they waited, their teammate, Austin Lynch, emerged from inside the gym. He had a pair ice packs tied carefully around his hamstrings.

“Hey Austin,” Sam said, with a wave and a smile, “You feeling OK?”

“Yeah, I should be feeling better soon. Just trying to be on the cautious side.” He glanced sideways at Chris who, unsure what to say, gave the junior a small, awkward nod of greeting. Austin returned it just as uncomfortably. “So, um, you guys coming to Florentino’s tonight?”

“I’ll be there, but he-,” Sam gestured at his taller friend, “isn’t gonna come because he ‘thinks he’s not invited’. I mean, c’mon! It’s not like you were invited or anything, right?”

“Well-er-not this year. At this point it’s just kinda implied.”

“See!” Sam said, looking satisfied.

“What about last year?” Chris pressed, noticing the specification.

“Last year? Oh, um … Last year Will invited me ...”

“But just like in passing, right? Like he just as easily could have missed inviting you?” Sam countered hopefully.

“Not exactly ... he kinda chased me down as I was leaving practice ...” A blue SUV pulled into the traffic circle just in front of them. “This is me,” Austin said lamely, “I’ll-uh-see you guys tonight, maybe.” And he climbed quickly into the front seat of the car, grateful to escape the uncomfortable conversation.

“Dang it. I was worried he’d say something like that.” Sam said as they watched the Lynch’s car drive away.

“Why is that?”

“Because Will did the same thing to me earlier this year.” He glumly plopped down on the ground and dropped his chin into his hands. Smiling exasperatedly, Chris sat down next to him.

“Can you explain to me why it matters to you so much that I come?”

“I don't know-it doesn’t really.” The freshman replied miserably.

Chris considered him, half amused half frustrated. “Alright, perk up, Wendell, I'm coming.” He got to his feet. “But you owe me one.”

“Actually, I'm going to owe you two,” Sam said crouching in preparation to rise onto his feet as well. “Can you give me a ride?”

Chris shook his head and smiled. “You know, you’re good, kid. Definitely helped I’m such a sucker. But still good.” He extended a hand and pulled the freshman up off the ground. “This is us by the way.” A white Honda had pulled up into the traffic circle with Mrs. Cline seated behind the wheel. Chris walked forward, wobbling slightly on his tired legs. He pulled open the trunk at the back of the car and threw in his pack, encouraging Sam to do the same.

“Hey Mom, can we give my friend Sam a ride?”

“Of course. Where am I taking him?” She asked as Chris joined her at the front of the vehicle. She kissed him quickly on the cheek. 

“He’s coming back to our house if that’s cool. The Cross Country team is going out to dinner tonight.”

“Ooo, that sounds like fun.” She put the car into drive as she heard the click of both boy’s seat belts. “Where are you eating?”

“You know that place Florentino’s? By the Sunoco?”

“I know of it, yes, but I’ve never been there before. You will have to let us know if it’s any good. Maybe we will go back another night with your father.” She slowed as they approached a red light. “So Sam, where do you live?”

“Um-I live on Taylor Road.” He said, sounding a little nervous. “It’s pretty close to the Shankweiler Elementary School.”

“Oh, very nice. So you aren’t terribly far from us then.” The light turned to green and Mrs. Cline restarted her drive. “Chris, you can probably just cut down Prosser Ave when you take him back.”

“But I’ll be coming from Florentino’s, how do I get to Prosser from there?”

“I can show you,” Sam piped up from the back, his comfort level rising. “I remember from when my dad did the drive last time.”

“Ah perfect, that’s very nice of you!” Mrs. Cline said, turning off the main road and into the neighborhoods. “Now, Sam, let me ask you something …”

As they continued toward her home, she asked Sam a variety of questions about school, family and running. Eventually, she pulled into the driveway outside of the Cline house and paused her interrogation.

“Sorry about her,” Chris whispered to Sam as the pair exited the car and walked around to the trunk. “She does that with all my friends.”

“It’s OK, I kinda like it.” He hoisted his back pack around his shoulders and followed Chris toward the house. “She’s super nice.”

“Just wait. Once you hit your peak teenage years, you will probably feel differently.” As they entered through the front door, Chris tossed his back pack into the hall closet. “I’m just going to run up and change real fast.” He sniffed under his arms. “Maybe put on some deodorant or something.”

“Please tell me you won’t be using any more of that awful spray?” Mr. Cline walked down the stairs to greet the new arrivals. He gave Chris a wide smile which Chris sheepishly returned. “Hi, I’m Scott.” He said extending his hand.

“Sam.” The freshman took it and shook.

“Mom says you guys are going out to dinner?” He asked the boys looking from Sam to Chris.

“Yeah, we’re going to Florentino’s. It’s like a Cross Country thing.” Chris said, waving his left hand. “Anyway, I gotta get some clothes from upstairs.” He bounded upward while his compatriot waited below. He quickly shifted through his drawers until he found a shirt that he liked. Then, it was on to his closet to look for matching pants. His arsenal of clothes had nearly doubled in the past year, making his usual go-to outfits harder to find. Below, he could hear Sam and his father discussing the next day’s invitational which Mr. Cline had called a “Cross Country Game”.

After changing, he paused beside his night table, examining his spray bottle. Thinking better of it, he grabbed a deodorant stick from atop his dresser and rolled it under each of his arms.

When he made his way back downstairs, his parents had disappeared to separate rooms. His mother had went into the kitchen while his father was likely back in his study. Now alone, Sam had taken to wandering around, looking at the collection of Cline family-related displays that had been scattered about the living room.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Sam said as he studied one of the photos hanging on the wall.

“I don’t,” Chris replied, wandering over in confusion. He looked at the picture his friend had been viewing. A small boy in equally small football pads was kneeling and doing his best to look intimidating. His helmet was positioned artistically at his side. “That’s me.”

“No way! But that looks nothing like you. You’re so … little.”

“Yeah,” He smiled reminiscently, “I had quite the growth spurt. After that, a lot of things changed.” He turned away from the frame and toward the front hall. “We should probably get going soon. You said six o’clock, right?” He began trying to style his hair in the mirror, shifting his head back and forth at different angles to help examine it.

“Yeah.” Sam snorted with pleasure as he watched Chris twist before his reflection.

“What?” He turned around to face the freshman who was grinning fiercely.

“Nothing. I just sorta feel like I’m intruding on something. Do you want me to leave you two alone?”

Chris shook his head and smirked. “You’re lucky my hand’s broken.” He walked to the door and grabbed a set of keys from inside a small, brown basket. “Mom, we’re heading out!” He called toward the kitchen.

“Alright have fun!” Mrs. Cline said, sticking her head out of the room’s entranceway. “What time are you expecting to get back?”

“I’m not sure-probably not that late. Everybody’s got to get up early tomorrow for the meet.”

“OK. Bring a house key, Chris. Your father and I might still be at the football game.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you guys were going … Keep me updated on how they do.”

“You got it.” Her head disappeared back into the kitchen and the boys turned to leave.

The drive to Florentino’s took about ten minutes in the post work day traffic. Chris could hear his stomach growling slightly. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and was looking forward to some pizza. Proceeding carefully, he parked his mother’s car in the middle of the lot with free space on both sides. His dashboard clock read 6:02, but, based on the surrounding emptiness, it didn’t appear many runners had arrived yet.

“How many people usually come to this?” Chris asked as he and Sam exited their respective doors.

“A decent amount. It’s probably like eight to ten most nights, but it varies depending on people’s homework and stuff.”

“Does the girl’s team come to this, too?”

“No, we pretty much never interact with them.”

They reached the door, Chris pulling it open for his friend to enter. Just inside the entranceway was a row of tables and booths that led up to a counter. There, the food was ordered and served. In the middle of the row a group of runners had peppered the seats. The new arrivals approached. Sam gave his usual wave and smile while Chris was more conservative. The latter’s reception was unsurprisingly icy.       

“Hey guys,” Sam continued past the Cross Country tables and walked straight to the counter, Chris following uncertainly in his wake. There were a variety of pizza options displayed with different sauces and toppings. They also had a tray of garlic knots in the top left corner.

“What can I get you guys?” A middle aged man with a shaved head appeared just behind the counter. He wore a plain white shirt covered with a dark blue apron. He looked gruff and intimidating.

“I’ll have a slice of Sicilian, please.” Sam said quickly, pointing to the pie.

“And you?”

“Um …” He looked around at the pies and then into the man’s impatient face. “I’ll just have two slices of plain, please.” Chris said, feeling overwhelmed by the choices. The server behind the desk silently moved the requested pieces into the oven and walked back away from his customers and out of sight.

“Two slices of plain, Cline? C’mon you’re better than that.” Their teammates Andy Eggleston and Matt Schmidt were walking up behind them. Andy was carrying what appeared to be a half gallon of chocolate milk.

“What’s up guys,” Chris said grinning and moving to the side to make space for the pair to order. “Why do you have all that chocolate milk?”

“To drink it, obviously,” Matt said stepping up to the counter. The man in the white shirt came forward, his scowl turning to a smile as he spotted the two juniors.

“What’s going on, Joe?” Andy said waving and returning the beam. “Can we get the usual?”

“And also four cups?”

“Of course, how are you boys doing?” As he engaged them in conversation, he gathered Chris and Sam’s heated slices and tossed them curtly onto the counter. The duo paid for their respective orders and then slinked off to their seats, Chris looking back over his shoulder to study the unlikely interaction going on behind him.

“How do they know that guy?” He asked Sam as the pair perused seats among the teammates who had already arrived. They picked an unoccupied booth just behind a set of four runners that included the team captains Will Aldrich and Ricky Collins.

“They know everybody.” Sam said shrugging and sitting down. He eyed his pizza ravenously.

“I just don’t get it.” Chris careened his neck to try and maintain a view of the counter. “The guy was terrifying when we came in and now he looks like Santa Clause’s balder, skinnier brother.” He bit into his first slice of pizza. “Who’s also Italian.”

“He must be adopted then.”

While they sat, Chris could feel his phone buzz. He pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open, hoping to hear news from the game. Instead it was from his girlfriend Melissa. Postponing his meal briefly, he clicked away at his phone’s keys, trying to quickly update her on his plans for the night. As usual, she responded almost immediately, sometimes with multiple texts at a time. Rather than try and keep pace, he pocketed his phone and decided not to delay his dinner any longer.

As they continued to eat, a few other members of the team filed in, each barely acknowledging the table closest to the door. Austin Lynch and Mike Rykken had apparently already eaten dinner before they arrived, so they simply filed into the table across from the captains and joined in the conversation.

“How you feeling, Austin?” Ricky asked as the junior lounged casually in his chair.

“I’m fine. Should be operating close to 100 percent by start time tomorrow.”

Just after them, Alex Robinson and Jack Lowery meandered inside, nodded a general hello and made their way to the back to order. As they reached the front, Andy and Matt traded places with them, waved good bye to the man named Joe and joined the rest of the team. They skipped over an open space at Austin and Mike’s table, looking outside the heart of the group.

“Mind if we join you?” Matt said, as Sam scooted to his right to make space. Opposite them, Andy slid in next to Chris. As the juniors settled, Chris could have sworn he noticed some brief scathing glares emanating from the tables ahead of him.

“See Chris,” Andy said, pointing down at his plate, “This is how you order pizza at Florentino’s.” He had two slices on his plate, one buffalo chicken, the other barbeque chicken. He then unstacked a pair of cups, poured chocolate milk into the first and slid it across to Matt. “How’d the workout go today by the way? I never got to ask.”

“It was pretty solid.” Chris replied, in between bites of food. He felt his surroundings get a little quieter as he spoke. The captains’ table seemed to be listening in. “Kenny did a really good job helping me find the pace so that made it easier.”

“You think Coach will have you race next week? Or at least against Coatesville?” He took a massive bite from his buffalo chicken slice.

“I hope so. I’m eager to get out there and race. Plus, I hate Coatesville.” He flexed his healthy hand subconsciously, thinking back to his grueling opening football game against the Raiders.

“Yeah, we ‘ate ‘em ‘oo.”

“I’m not surprised you ate them, Andy.” Matt said jokingly, picking away at his own meal. He had ordered a plate of spaghetti; the only member of the team Chris had seen without pizza.

“Is Coatesville as good at Cross Country as they are Football?” Chris asked.

“No … They’re better. They won states last year by 106 points. It was largest margin of victory in state history.” He took a long swig of Chocolate Milk and then touched his cup to the table. There was a long silence. The name Coatesville seemed to have sucked the life from the group.

“Yo Will,” Matt said, finally breaking the silence. “You see they ranked Manheim Township over Coatesville on VaniaRunners?”

“Yeah,” Will replied. His voice was soft and even. “It seems fair. They did beat them at Gettysburg.”

“But did you see Coatesville’s JV guys?” Ricky Collins chimed in. His voice was a bit louder, a bit higher pitched and less deliberate. “A couple sophomores took the top two spots. They should jump into the varsity spots over Mahon and Wolfinger.”

“They’ll both be at the meet tomorrow, right?” Chris asked, “So I guess we will see how they stack up then.” The team looked around at one another, surprised to see the quarterback join in the conversation and unsure how they should respond.

“‘We’?” Will finally said, raising his voice slightly, but keeping a similar, controlled tone. “Does that mean you’re coming to Cedar Crest tomorrow?”

“I mean, yeah, I was planning to.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Chris looked around the room for some explanation, but everyone seemed to be defaulting to their star captain. “I’m coming out to support my teammates.”

“Really?” Will said his eyebrows beginning to disappear into his long brown hair. “Because I was under the impression your teammates were playing tonight.”

Chris resisted the urge to lash out aggressively. “I wouldn’t know, considering I’m here right now.” He said as coolly as he could manage.

“Sure. ‘Right now’. We’ll see where you are in a couple months when that cast comes off.”

“Yeah, I guess we’ll have to wait and see … I’m aiming for a couple seconds ahead of you.”

“Funny, I thought quarterbacks were supposed to have good aim.” Will smirked as a couple of the others snickered.

Fuming now, Chris opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Andy stuffed a cup of chocolate milk in his hand. “What’s this?” The quarterback said, looking taken aback. A few feet away, Matt was doing the same for Will.

“Just say, ‘Cheers’, drink up and change the subject.” Andy said, holding up his own cup. “You guys are making things real uncomfortable for everybody else.”

“It’s cool,” Will said, his voice returning to its original soft tone. “I’ve got to head out anyway.” He left his cup on the table, undrained and got to his feet. “See you guys tomorrow at seven.”

Ben Havleck, cont.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I'm just gonna give her back the book and-I don’t know-maybe wish her a nice summer or something.”

“Dude, you gotta do more than that.”

“Neal, I'm leaving tomorrow, what do you expect me to do? Ask her out on a date for two months from now?” Ben sat in his car, which was parked on the side of the road outside a large house with a basketball hoop in the front driveway.

“I’m just saying,” the voice of his friend Neal came through the phone, “she seems like a nice, smart girl. If you don't make a move, she’s gonna find somebody taller.”

“Man, I’m not gonna miss this crap that you keep giving me,” he said just as a neighbor walked by with his dog. “Sorry-er-I wasn't talking to you or-”he looked down at the dog who smiled up at him with his tail wagging happily, “-just talking to someone on the phone.” The man shook his head angrily, but otherwise continued his stroll.

“What was that?”

“There was a guy walking his dog and he was carrying-well the dog had just ... you know ... and I had said-.” He stopped talking as the front door to the house opened. “Crap.”

“I'm still not sure I get it.”

“Gotta go.” He hung up the phone and tossed it aside, hurrying to pick up the book from the passenger’s seat.

“Ben?” Nicole said tentatively as she approached, “Is that you?”

“Hey!” He replied, opening the door and carrying the book out with him. “I was about to call you, I-um-didn’t recognize your house in the dark.” He walked around so they were on the same side of the car.

“That's ok, I almost didn't recognize you either. Your hair looks so different!”

“Like good different or-”

“No, no I like it. It just takes a second to get used to it.”

“Haha yeah I feel the same way about the new Ariana Grande album.” He immediately realized his joke wasn’t funny. She smiled at him, looking confused. “Er-Here’s your book by the way.” He held out the book and as she reached to grab it, their hands touched. He lingered for a moment, holding the book.

“Can I-um-have it back?” She asked awkwardly.

“Oh, right.” Blushing horribly, he pulled back his hands quickly. Too quickly, in fact. The book crashed to the ground.

“Sorry!” Nicole said, now blushing her own deep red. They both ducked down and nearly banged heads.

“Sorry!” they said together, rising up. Their faces were unexpectedly close together. They stared at each other for a second. He expected her to back up, but she didn’t move. He could hear Neal’s voice reverberating inside his head. If you don't make a move, she’s gonna find somebody taller.

“So ...” he started uncertainly. He took a tiny step forward and leaned his head toward her. She closed her eyes. “I should probably get going.” He said awkwardly stepping away. “I'm glad I could-um-give you your book back.” He cursed himself silently in his head.

“Oh-yeah,” Nicole said, briefly thrown, but recovering well. “Thanks for bringing it back!”

“No problem.” He walked back around so that his car was between them again. She walked backward toward her house.

“See you later!” She turned away from him. He watched her go. His stomach doing back flips. His heart racing quickly in his chest.

“Nicole!” He blurted it out, forcing himself to say it before the courage dissipated.

“Yeah?” She turned back around and smiled at him. A beautiful, wide smile with bright white teeth.

“I got the Georgetown internship,” he said dejectedly, “I'm leaving tomorrow.”

“That's awesome! Congratulations!” She said, still smiling, but without some of the hopefulness she had previously. “How long will you be in DC?”

“About two months.”

She nodded. “Well … have fun!” Once again she turned to leave.

“When I come back,” he said, his voice quivering more than he would like, “do you think maybe you-um-would want to-like-grab some dinner or something?” There was a beat of silence that seemingly dragged on for eternity.

“Yeah ... yeah, definitely. I’d like that.” The smile was back in all its former glory.

“Awesome, I’ll-uh-well, I guess it might be easier to plan when we get closer ...” They laughed a nervous, excited laugh.

“Haha sounds good ... see you later, Ben!” And she turned for the final time.

Chris Cline, cont.

“Hey, dude, congrats! I heard you got named Ches-mont player of the week.”

“Thanks, man,” Ernie said embracing his friend. “How’d your race go today?”

“Oh did I not tell you?” Chris asked, walking with Ernie through the house’s atrium, “I wasn’t racing this one. Apparently at this meet seniors aren’t allowed to race in the junior varsity race. So I was just there to support the guys.”

“Wait, so you didn't even run? Why didn't you come out with us last night then? You missed a rager after the game.”

“Ah, we had a team thing I went to ... just like before all the meets, we go out for pizza.” To his surprise, he felt a bit of tension between himself and his best friend.

“Oh ... gotcha. Well come on,” the receiver replied, forcing a happier tone, “I need a partner for pong. I'm not playing with Petrov again. He sucks.”

“Actually-um,” Chris said awkwardly, “I'm not drinking tonight. I gotta-um-wake up early and run tomorrow.” He smiled sadly. “And I should probably go catch up with Melissa, I haven't seen her in a while. Do you know where she is?”

“Yeah, I think she’s in the backyard,” Ernie said, drifting in the opposite direction. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Yeah ... I’ll talk to you.” With a sigh, he pushed through the back door and out into the yard. A small group of students was clustered around an unfolded table. He recognized Melissa at the corner, across from her friend and fellow cheerleader Gabby Shepard. When she spotted his approach, she flashed a large smile and ran forward.

“Chris!” They embraced and kissed briefly. Her lips tasted slightly fruity. “I missed you!” She said flinging her arms around his neck. He wobbled slightly under the weight.

“I missed you too. Did you wanna go inside and-”

“Come play with us!” She said, unraveling herself from him and grabbing his hand. “We’re losing 3 games to 2.” She tried to pull him toward the table.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I-well-I drove here so-”

“Just sleep over!” She pulled again at his arm, this time slightly more forcefully, “Everyone’s doing it. It will be fun!” When he still didn’t budge she approached again and flung herself around him. “We could have fun.”

“I really can’t,” Chris said dodging her kiss attempt reluctantly, “I’ve gotta wake up and run-”

“Run?!” She blurted in surprise. She followed with a small hiccup. “What do you mean run?”

“Yeah, it's one of the things I want to talk to you about,” he said excitedly, thinking back to his experience earlier in the day, “I feel like we have a lot to catch up on.”

“Oh you wanna ‘talk’ do you?” Melissa said angrily. She put her hands on her hips. “No, no, no. I don’t think so.”

Chris looked back in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“You have some nerve Chris Cline!” A crowd was now forming around them. The volume on the music dropped. “You know, I’ve stood by you through all of your recent weirdness. Hanging out with your odd little track runner friends. Like in front of the cheerleading squad? Really?”

“Well that was just a stupid bet-”

“Then you were missing all our parties and just being, like, a total buzz kill all the time. And still I put up with it. Looks like that was a waste of my time.” She tapped her foot impatiently. “What-you think you can do better?”

“Huh? I think there's a misunderstanding here. If we could just go inside and talk mayb-”

“And you know what else?” Her voice carried, likely louder than intended as she took an unsteady step backwards. “You never even asked me to homecoming!” She said it with the same sort of indignation someone would direct at a criminal.

“Well, we were dating … I thought, you know, it was just kinda assumed …”

“Well you know what happens when you assume, Chris?” She hiccuped again. “It makes you an ass. That’s what happens.” He bit back the urge to correct her. “But I'm done, Chris. I’m done thinking you’re that same guy. You’re not a quarterback anymore. You're not even a-a-a penny-back.” She wobbled again as she gestured aggressively.

“Melissa,” he said softly, sensing the situation was getting dire. “If we could just go inside and talk,” he started forward, “I really think-”

“I know what you're trying to do!” She said stepping swiftly away from him. As she moved, she teetered dangerously. “But I'm gonna beat you to it!” Her eyes were welling with tears now. He could feel his own beginning to burn slightly. “I’m breaking up with you! It’s over, Chris Cline!”

It felt like he had been slapped hard across the face. His head was spinning. “Melissa … I don’t-”

“Just go!” She shouted turning into the arms of her nearest friend. “Look around! No one even wants you here! You’ve got no friends. You’ve got no football. You don’t have me.” She paused for another brief hiccup. “You’re the same loser you were two years ago.”

Chris looked around the crowd that had engulfed them. Faces stared back, not friendly or compassionate, but cruel, reveling in his embarrassment. A few people had their phones out and were filming his moment of humiliation.

She’s right.

The reality hit him like a load of bricks. He backed up, his eyes now tearing in earnest. Then, he turned and powered back into the house, making a b-line for his car. He needed to escape.

“Chris!” He heard a familiar voice calling his name. “Chris!” Ernie grabbed his shoulder and tried to turn him around. “What happened?” But Chris fought him off. He needed to get away. To go somewhere no one could see him cry.

***

I’ve been down so long, it look like up to me … They look up to me … I got fake people showing fake love to me …

He gripped the wheel tightly. His eyes watered slightly, but by now his face was dry. He wasn’t in much of a rush to get home, so he continued to circle the neighborhoods and enjoy his music.

That’s when they smile in my face … Whole time they want to take my place … Whole time they want to take my place …

As he turned right to restart his loop, a light on dashboard flashed, indicating he was out of gas. Knowing he couldn’t bring home his mother’s car with an empty tank, he adjusted course. When he made to turn around, he caught sight of his face in the rearview mirror. It looked skinnier than he remembered it looking a few months ago. After a few more minutes of driving, he pulled into a gas station, attached to a Wawa convenience store. Parking next to a pump, he got out of the car and, with his wallet in hand, made his way inside.

“20 on 4 please,” He said, handing a bill to the cashier. The man behind the counter nodded and slipped the money into the cash register. “Thanks.” He walked back outside toward his tank. A wind rushing through the gas station made him shiver. Regretting his lack of gloves, he brought his two hands together and raised them to his mouth where he could blow warm breath into them. Another man was now standing outside his car, a pump over. He was short and a little heavy. His face looked oddly familiar.

As Chris approached, the man stared at him unabashedly with a questioning look. Feeling uncomfortable, Chris nodded politely as he proceeded to his pump, but the man’s gaze remained constant. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Excuse me,” he said softly, “But do I know you from somewhere?”

“Oh,” Chris said knowingly, having experienced this a few times before, “Yeah, I’m the quarterback over at West Chester North.”

But to his surprise, the man still appeared puzzled. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“Um-well, I’m not sure I really do anything else all that significant,” he mumbled, now disengaging the nozzle from his gas tank. “Its probably just somebody else who looks like-”

“Wait, I’ve got it!” The man said, a smile stretching wide across his face. “You’re Chris Cline! The Cross Country runner!”

Chris had trouble keeping his jaw from dropping to the floor. “Yeah, I guess I am. But how would you know that? Are you just, like really into cross country?”

“Wendell Wikler,” he said now extending his hand, “My son Sam runs with you guys. He’s a big fan of yours. Really looks up to you.”

“Er-thanks,” Chris said, sounding slightly ashamed but shaking hands nonetheless. Then, with more conviction, “I’m a big fan of his too. You’ve got a really great kid.”

“Must get it from his mother,” Mr. Wikler joked. “Well, anyway, have a safe trip tomorrow. I’m excited to see how you boys do out there!”

“Right-um-me too.” Chris replied hesitantly. He watched Mr. Wikler disappear into his car and prepare to drive away. He gave one final smile and wave in exactly the same way his son would. It may have simply been the wind and cold, but he felt his eyes start to water once more.

GO TO CHAPTER TWENTY SIX