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  “I know,” she said. “You did a great job today. What a race. It was unbelievable to see you come around that bend. You were flying!” She cupped her hands around her mouth like a loudspeaker. “Ethan Beckett!” she called. “How did it feel to hear your name announced like that?”

  “You should know,” I said. She looked puzzled. “They announced you too! I heard them say you finished seventh when I was lining up to start. I knew you made the All-State team and I was really happy for you.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m happy for me too and for Andrea. And I’m happy for you. Second in the state!”

  And she honestly did look happy for me. She was smiling and she smelled like the fresh-cut grass on the course and the bus was very dark, since it was late now. There was a little, tiny bit of coolness in the air because it was fall, but it still felt summery and golden. I wanted to take this day and keep living it over again. How was I going to go back to school and real life and days where I didn’t have close-to-perfect races and the chance to sit next to the girl I liked on a bus in the dark?

  “Next year,” I whispered into her ear, “I’m going to be first.”

  “I know,” she whispered back.

  So I kissed her.

  Chapter 5

  October

  Andrea Beckett

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. That’s what I was. I don’t know why I couldn’t have waited one more day to break up with Connor. He’d been driving me crazy for weeks—what was one more night?

  But no, we had to break up the night before the Homecoming game.

  It’s during the Homecoming game that they parade the royalty out at halftime and announce the Homecoming Queen and King in front of the whole crowd. I had been elected to the court, and I was supposed to be escorted by my date for the dance, which happens after the game. Homecoming is a huge deal at our school—the parents come and watch and take pictures, and the whole student body shows up for the game and to see who’s crowned.

  Our school is big on pomp and pageantry and so we all have to be up there on the makeshift stage in the middle of the field when they announce the results of the student vote. It’s almost like the Miss America Pageant, but more ridiculous and serious at the same time. It would cause a lot of consternation if I didn’t show up. People would call my house; they would make a fuss; they would act like idiots. But once Connor wasn’t my date, I didn’t have an escort. I didn’t mind missing the dance; it’s so shallow and juvenile anyway. I knew it would be humiliating to walk across the stage without an escort, but I decided the alternatives were even more degrading.

  I didn’t want to ask Ethan or my father to escort me—that would be unbelievably pathetic. I’d rather walk alone. I also didn’t want to explain to my family that Connor and I had broken up. They could figure that out for themselves later. And finally, the last alternative was to ask someone from school to be my escort. I absolutely did not want to do that. There was no reason to make a bad situation worse by groveling.

  As for actually being the Homecoming Queen, I wasn’t sure if I would win. I win at a lot of things. Lots of people think I’m lucky, and maybe I am, but I also work hard too. I won the State cross-country meet this year, which was a big event. I was on the front page of the newspaper and colleges started calling about scholarships. I had been working toward winning State for years and I was surprised at how I felt when I won. Sure, I felt happy, but it was more a relieved kind of happy as opposed to a wild and exhilarated happy. It was the way I felt when I got away with something when I was younger and had tricked my parents somehow.

  I hate losing. I’m so competitive, in fact, I don’t have time for a lot of friends. I never realized until now that you can be popular without having a lot of friends. I have people I sit by in every class, people to eat lunch with, people to call about homework assignments, but I don’t really hang out with anyone on the weekends. I think that was one of the problems with dating Connor.

  Connor is very good-looking and I liked having a boyfriend, but all I could think about when we were kissing was, I have so many other things I need to be doing right now. And everything he did seemed so mundane and predictable. That’s what our fight was about. He wanted to take me somewhere to celebrate my State Championship, and his idea of something special was dinner and a movie. I realize that isn’t such a ridiculous idea and that people do things like that all of the time. But that, in my mind, is precisely the problem.

  “Can’t we ever do something a little less asinine and high-school? Maybe go to a play, or to the ballet, or something?” I asked. Connor pointed out that I was never satisfied with what we did and that I never seemed happy with him and that I really was the Ice Queen everyone thought I was. That was enough. I got out of the car and stalked back into the house. He called out, “What about the dance?” and I called back without turning around, “You’ll have to find someone who’s easily satisfied.”

  Sometimes I hate my nickname. Sometimes I do my best to live up to it.

  On the surface, it looks like I’ve had a perfect year—winning everything. What people don’t know though is that I’ve been losing a lot this year too. It’s similar to running up a trail when it’s wet—you might look like you’re gaining ground, but sometimes you can feel that you’re going to fall and it’s simply a matter of time. I felt that way when my parents were fighting before the divorce. I knew I was going to say or do something that would make it all worse somehow, so when I did, it wasn’t a surprise.

  The night of the Homecoming game, my mom dropped me off before she took Chloe into the bleachers to watch the game. Ethan had begged and pleaded with my mom to let him use the other car for the night, so I was out of luck and had to catch a ride with the family, just to make my night even more magical. I went into the dressing room in the gym before halftime, slipped into my dress and did my best to make everything look perfect. I had to be perfect. Everyone was expecting me to be. And I don’t disappoint.

  I saw the other two girls elected to the court and we made small talk. The girls who were the escorts for the boys on the court were there too. I wondered who Connor had found to replace me on such short notice. He probably hadn’t had too much trouble.

  “All right, everyone, it’s time to go,” Principal Downing said. She herded us all to the edge of the field where the guys were waiting for us. “Everyone pair up with your escort.” Everyone did. Except for me, of course. I stood there and did my best to appear cool and unconcerned. But Principal Downing still noticed. “Andrea,” she began.

  I saved her the trouble. “I don’t have an escort,” I said, daring her to say another word.

  “All right,” she said, after a pause. “Let’s put you at the very beginning, then.”

  At first, I thought that was a good idea because that way I didn’t look like a little tag along, like someone who decided to attach themselves to the rest of the court as an afterthought. Then, as I stood there and heard everyone whispering behind me, and as I turned around and met Connor’s eyes for a brief second before looking away, I knew that leading everyone out would be even worse. I’m always conscious of appearances and I knew that it would be much more noticeable if I paraded out there alone before everyone else as if I were already the queen or something. When Principal Downing wasn’t looking, I moved out of the way and told the couple behind me to go first. They looked startled, but everyone was waiting, so they had no choice. I slipped back into line after them.

  That was a long walk. The red carpet seemed to be a red version of Astroturf, prickly and cheap and synthetic. But it was much better than trying to walk across the wet playing field in high heels. I could just picture myself sinking deeper with each step into the grass. This way, we were able to hang onto a shred of dignity as we marched out in front of everyone. The crowd was cheering and I couldn’t tell if anyone had noticed I didn’t have an escort yet.

  It was better when we stood up on the stage and they separated us out, the royalty groupe
d together with the escorts standing at the back, waiting to walk up with us when they announced our status. I was safe in a group for a moment, but I knew that when they called out my name, whether it was second attendant or first attendant or Queen, I would be the only one who walked up to the front of the stage alone. That was what finally made me lose my poise.

  Standing and waiting for them to announce who would be the Homecoming Queen, I think I almost had an anxiety attack. The stadium lights up there were so bright and I was standing next to two girls who were wearing gallons of perfume and I was wearing a silver dress that was catching and reflecting a lot of the light. I knew my mom was sitting in the audience, rabid, with her camera at the ready.

  I felt my muscles tense like they do at the start of a race and I had to hold myself back so that I didn’t run. I felt sweaty and cold. I felt some of the sweat gathering on my face and I didn’t even care that it might make me look bad. I didn’t think I was going to make it. The crowd was quiet, waiting for the announcement. I felt myself get ready to spring.

  It was right at that moment that Ms. Downing leaned in to the microphone. “Let’s give our Homecoming Court this year a round of applause before we make the final announcement.” The people in the stands obliged. I couldn’t see any individual faces in the crowd, only smeary streaks of color, a lot of green and white because most people were wearing the school colors to the big game.

  After the applause and catcalls died down, Mrs. Downing announced, “We’ve tallied the votes, and the race was very close. Our second attendants are Kate Larkin and Connor Manwaring.” Kate and Connor stepped forward and everyone cheered. A small tide of relief washed over me. At least Connor and I didn’t have to stand together. Connor and Kate accepted their little crowns and their roses and waved to the crowd. I stared straight ahead and willed myself to stay put.

  “Our first attendants are Jade Winters and Michael Walker.” It took a moment for that to register. That meant . . .

  “Our Homecoming Queen and King this year are Andrea Beckett and Corbin Gray!” The crowd went wild. But Corbin was the quarterback and he was still in the locker room prepping for the second half of the game, so everyone’s attention was on me. I walked up to the front of the stage alone. I felt the urgency to run leave me and I collapsed a little inside. It was ending. It would be over soon. I felt detached from everything again, which was a welcome relief.

  I don’t remember much about being crowned or accepting the roses and tiara and sash, or even really walking over to the other side of the stage for the required yearbook pictures. Look, I thought, there I am being crowned Homecoming Queen. Isn’t that interesting? It was eerily similar to the way I felt when I was accepting my trophy for running. Look, there I am winning the State Championship. Isn’t that something?

  I almost made it. But then, at the very end, when we were about to leave the stage, that disengaged feeling stopped again. The anxiety was back, even worse this time. As I stood there on the stage, waiting for my turn to step off and go back into the gym, away from the lights, I wondered why people had voted for me, since I don’t have many close friends. Did people vote for me because it’s all about the eye candy and I happen to be five foot ten inches with long hair and the long legs of a track runner? Did they vote for me because I’m smart, or at least have that reputation? Did they vote for me because the crowd I’ve been hanging out with is Connor’s crowd, the crowd that always wins these things? They probably voted for me because of those reasons.

  I don’t think anyone voted for me because they actually like me. No friends were waiting for me in the stands to watch the rest of the game together. No girlfriends would be ready to tell me how exciting it was that I won. I found myself wondering what my old friends from church would have said. Probably something comforting about how it’s what’s inside that matters and that not having a date to the dance didn’t matter at all. But I would know that there wasn’t much inside me anymore and even those words, meant to be comforting, would hurt. They’d probably hurt the most of all. I felt sick. The cameras flashed in our faces.

  During the walk off the field, I was alone again while everyone else had their escort beside them. I still didn’t run, although it took everything I had not to bolt across the wet grass and into the night, past the lights and the staring faces and the gossip and the questions that would come later. Wasn’t it ironic that I could run faster than anyone in the state except for the one time I really needed to be able to flee? And even if I did run, I couldn’t outrun myself.

  I didn’t go into the dressing room with everyone else to get my stuff. I veered toward the parking lot as soon as I was out of sight from the bleachers in the stadium. I heard someone call out my name but I ignored them. My one thought was to get out of there before anyone could find me. I didn’t want to explain things to my mom, to Ethan, to Connor, to anyone.

  I took off my heels, crammed the roses into a trash can, and started running across the parking lot. My feet are tough from years of running, and I ran right on the cold asphalt, feeling the rocks making indentations in my feet. The pain was almost welcome. I ran fast and quiet and smooth—until I ran right into someone. He had stepped out from his car and I slammed into him, knocking my shoes and tiara out of my hands and onto the ground. What was left of my composure crashed too.

  The moonlight glittered off my tiara and my hands starting shaking like leaves. I felt tears running down my face, wreaking havoc with my mascara. But I didn’t care at all. I knew I had to start running again or I might disintegrate. I didn’t even look at who I’d collided with, I just mumbled, “Sorry,” and stared hard at the sharp edges of my tiara. I was a grotesque caricature of Cinderella—both shoes missing, no coach, no fairy-tale ending on the way because this Cinderella was angry and bitter and didn’t deserve one.

  “Andrea? Do you need a ride home?” said the voice. I saw hands reach down to pick up my shoes and my crown.

  I looked up. It was David Sherman, a guy I know fairly well from when I used to go to church, and from running. He was looking worried and serious, which wasn’t his usual state. He was tall and gangly with the world’s biggest smile, which he used often as the class clown. But he wasn’t smiling then.

  It was an out. “Yes,” I said, climbing in the door he held open and pulling it shut before he could say anything. David got into his dilapidated car and looked over at me. He must have decided that it was better to just get going because he grabbed the keys out of the cup holder and started the engine. “You still live on 137th, right?” he asked. I nodded.

  He drove through the dark night and I sat there and cried as though I would never stop. I didn’t know it would feel so terrible and so good. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d cried. David didn’t say anything, but he handed me a roll of toilet paper from under the seat. I don’t even want to know why that was there. I went through almost the whole roll in the few miles to my house. When we pulled into the driveway, I started crying again, and I couldn’t seem to pull it together. I said, “Pull around the corner. I don’t want anyone to see me.” He did it without comment.

  It started to rain when he stopped the engine. It’s always raining here. The streetlight near the car reflected light off each droplet as it sparkled and fell to the ground. The air was thick and humid and sometimes the drops that landed on the windshield stayed there for a while before they slid lazily down to join other drops of light, making bigger and bigger jewels that eventually vanished from the windshield altogether. I followed the tracks of several drops, watching them merge and absorb and disappear, watching them as I cried. Something about it became mesmerizing and soothing, and I stopped crying after a while. I’m not sure how long.

  I looked over at David. All I could see was his profile in the streetlight, his face very sad and serious, looking straight ahead and his hands still on the wheel. He turned to look at me. “You all right?” he asked. There was no laughter in his eyes, but there was something very kind in h
is face. I felt a rush of gratitude toward him. It was thoughtful of him not to watch me while I cried.

  I nodded shakily and tried to give him a smile, a confident smile, an “isn’t this funny?” smile. I don’t know what it looked like, but it didn’t have quite the effect I’d intended. I’d wanted to put him at ease, to make him think that I was simply having one of those days and would be fine, to make him crack one of his signature jokes, to make him let me go. Instead, it made him reach out and take my hand, the one full of mascara- and tear-stained tissues, and hold it tight for a second before he let it go. I opened the door. I realized I had to get out or I was going to start crying again.

  “Thanks,” I said a little too cheerfully. I climbed out and started toward my house, hoping he didn’t see that the tears were starting again. I couldn’t keep being vulnerable this way. It had already gone straight past embarrassing to humiliating and was rapidly approaching ludicrous. I was a few steps away when I heard the car door open again.

  “Wait!” David said. “You forgot your tiara!” He was standing there by the car, holding it out in front of him like an offering, his skinny arms sticking straight out in front of him. The crown looked garish and fake and not nearly as beautiful as the rain falling everywhere. But he was serious.

  “Keep it,” I said. I tried to smile again and gave him a little wave. Then I started running up the sidewalk. He knew enough not to come after me.

  Chapter 6

  October, Phoenix, AZ

  Tyler Cruz

  It was ridiculously easy to forget that nothing was the way it should be. I forgot for a few hours tonight that my world as I know it is about to end. Funny what a conversation with a good-looking girl can do to you.

  After work today, my dad came home and announced that he was going to ruin my life. Then he told me I should be excited about it, that I should think positively. What he said was, “I got the job with Microsoft in Redmond! They want me to start as soon as I can.”