All Pepped Up (Pepper Jones) (18 page)

As we approach the start line, Zoe points out Kendra Smith. I recognize her from cross country. She has the same body type as me – a little taller than most distance runners and long legs. We both have long brown hair pulled
back in ponytails. Her school colors are purple and her running spikes, socks and hairband match the uniform.

She smiles hesitantly
my way when she catches me eyeing her.

I return her smile, slightly embarrassed. Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to her after the race. Maybe I’ll even thank her for setting the pace for me. If she sets a good pace
, that is. Actually, if I beat her, that would be sort of obnoxious.

The first lap is slow –
too slow – and I debate whether to take off on my own. I’m behind Kendra and a girl with really short hair who looks familiar from cross season. The race is 8 laps, so I figure I’ll hold off another lap or two and see if I get too antsy.

It doesn’t even seem like I’m racing. It’s slightly faster than my jogging pace, but not by much. There are five of us in the front pack, and I know Zoe is with us by the cheering from our teammates.

They call out our splits when we finish the first mile. We’re definitely on pace to hit the state qualifying time, but if we don’t pick it up, this might end up being the slowest 2-mile I’ve raced since freshman year.

Kendra’s coach
yells at her and her teammate to follow through with a “negative split”, meaning the second half of the race is faster than the first.

I’m only paying attention to the girl
with short hair in front of me, and I don’t notice that Kendra is pulling ahead until her teammate passes me. Before I can pass the girl with short hair, who isn’t changing pace, Zoe passes me on the tail of the purple uniform, following Kendra and her teammate’s lead.

Although I barely feel like I’ve been
in a race up until this point, I hardly have the energy to catch up to the quicker pace. I should keep pushing forward past Zoe and move in on Kendra’s heel – or pass her – but I’m suddenly feeling exhausted.

It’s all I can do to hang on with Zoe.

Last race, I didn’t feel tired but I couldn’t go any faster. That was a new sensation. Now, it’s time to go faster, and I’m exhausted. It’s not necessarily a new sensation – fatigue in the middle of a race – but it’s inexplicable. I’ve barely put forth any effort. Why does it feel like I’ve just run the first half of the 2-mile like it’s a one-mile race?

I trudge ahead, barely paying attention to our splits as we round each lap, and ignoring Coach as he tells me to move ahead on the last turn. It’s the sense of nervous energy in the group that reminds me I only have one lap to bring it home.

Kendra surges forward, and her teammate and Zoe fall behind, with me still on their tail. It’s now or never.

I know I have to go with Kendra. It’s what’s expected of me. But my body protests. It doesn’t want to feel the burn that comes with digging deeper and running faster. My legs are on cruise control, and I realize it’s not so much my body that’s fatigued, but my competitive spirit.

When the realization hits, it tears through me and rips me wide open. For the first time I can remember, I don’t have a desire to win. I’m fine finishing right where I am.

Zoe and Kendra’s teammate battle it out on the final stretch and I simply stay behind them. I watch Zoe edge out the other girl, and a small happiness for her victory washes over the deep sorrow I feel for a loss I can’t explain.

I want to run off and be alone. I need to mourn whatever piece of me just disappeared. Will it ever come back?

But I don’t want to act like a sore loser. Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe I’m only being dramatic over a bad race. I remember Jace’s words – that all athletes have bad days – but this is something different. I feel it deep in my bones. Usually after a bad race I’m ready for a comeback. I want to race again as soon as possible. Right now, I dread the next track meet.

The funny thing is that it’s a lot easier to congratulate people when they beat you. I’d never realized it before. I’m able to approach Kendra without f
eeling like I’m rubbing it in her face that I beat her. She’s a sweet girl – though I can tell she’s exercising all her willpower not to ask me what happened to me on the track. I wouldn’t know what to tell her anyway. I’m not sick or injured.

Coach is preoccupied watching the boys’
2-mile, and Zoe puts her warm-down on hold to cheer for Charlie. It allows me the opportunity I was hoping for to jog by myself for a few minutes. By the time Zoe catches up with me, the pain that ripped through me as I finished the race has dulled to a mild sadness. And a slight panic. Running is at the core of my identity. Without a desire to compete, who am I?

“I’m having an identity crisis,” I confess to Zoe.

“How so?”

“I don’t enjoy racing anymore. And even worse, I don’t think I even care about winning.”

Uncharacteristically, Zoe doesn’t respond right away. “Do you still like running?” she asks after a moment.

“I love running,” I don’t hesitate to tell her.

“I think you just need a break, Pepper. Don’t freak out. Just take some time off from racing. It’s not such a big deal.”

“I can’t just quit. What will I say?” I want to get angry at her. Tell her she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like. But that’s not fair.

“It wouldn’t be quitting. Unless you wanted to be done. Do you want that?”

“No.” My tone is harsher than I intend, but the idea of never racing again cuts deep.
In a way, it’s comforting to know there’s still some fire in me.

“Then just take the rest of track season off. Coach will let yo
u train with us still, I’m sure, even if you don’t race.”

That idea is tempting, but it doesn’t sit well. It feels like giving up.

“Maybe I can just do relays.”

“Yeah! That’s a really good idea,” Zoe exclaims. And she’s off talking about who might be on the 4 x 800 and
DMR teams at State, and who the main competition will be.

I feel better with this new plan formed, but I’m not sure it’s resolved my identity crisis. I’ve only put it on hold for a little longer. In the meantime, how am I supposed to reclaim my competitive spirit?

When the bus returns to school, I hurry to the locker room and take a shower in record time. I’m excited to get to Wes’s place and see Jace. I want to talk to him about what happened on the track today, and tell him about my new plan for the season. I’m curious what he’ll think.

I’ve invited my friends to the party, but they’re getting a bite to eat first and changing at home. Jace left his Jeep in the parking lot for me so I can drive myself to Wes’s place.

I hear the party before I even turn onto Wes’s street. Is
n’t anyone worried that the neighbors will call the cops? Although Wes’s parents throw parties sometimes, so maybe the neighbors assume it’s them and don’t want to ruffle their feathers.

Just as Wes promised, there’s a free spot in his driveway for me to park. I wander through the house, looking for Jace. A few faces are familiar from school, but some of them look older, like they might be UC students.

Twenty minutes later, I’ve made two rounds through the house and still no Jace. I check my phone again, but he hasn’t responded to my text. Frowning, I make my way to the porch outside, for the second time, and take a soda from the cooler. It’s a cool night, and there aren’t many people outside.

I lean my hip against the porch railing and watch a group of guys leave the pool house. Two of them are taller than the others, and I recognize them as Brockton Public basketball players. As they draw closer, I make out their glassy eyes. They probably weren’t having a book club meeting in the pool house. I glance away,
toward a couple flirting on the other side of the porch.

A moment later, an arm settles around my back and squeezes my shoulder. “Pepper Jones!”

I glance up and stiffen when I recognize the owner of the arm around me.

“It’s Wolfe,” he says with a grin. “Remember me?”

Gulping another sip of soda to hide my reaction, I nod. I wouldn’t forget a name like that. It’s comical how fitting it is. Not only are his features hard – with a buzz cut that shows off a scar on his forehead – but Jace told me to stay clear of him. Even his grin has a dangerous tinge to it.

I try to duck away but he tightens his hold. “Hey Rex!” he calls to his friend, who’s headed back inside. Rex turns around. “Look who I found!”

Rex checks me out as he walks back our way. “Oh yeah, you were around here awhile back when we came by.” Rex points at me as he asks Wolfe, “She was the one Wilder and Wes were all, like, protective about, right?”

“Yeah, she’s Wilder’s girl now. Aren’t you?” Wolfe asks.

I finally draw the courage to take his hand and move it off my shoulder. “Yes,” I say firmly. These guys make me nervous, but I don’t want them to know that.

When Jace decided to stop dealing drugs, Wolfe and Rex gave him a hard time. Jace doesn’t talk about it much, but my understanding is that Jace had a connection to some dealer in Denver, and Wolfe and Rex distributed the drugs. Jace and Wes were like the middlemen. When they quit dealing, Wolfe and Rex were angry they got cut out of the whole arrangement. Apparently the dealer in Denver was a gang member and decided to move his fellow gangsters to Brockton to do the distributing.

Are they still holding a grudge against Jace? And what does that mean for me? I look around, wishing I was inside with the crowds. My eyes sweep over to the basketball players, who are standing beside a couple of other guys who came from the pool house. The others look to be college-aged, like Rex and Wolfe. I glance toward the door inside, but the group is surrounding me, and there’s no easy escape.

“Why are you all alone out here?” Wolfe asks, quickly closing the space I tried to put between us. “Did you have a fight with Jace?”

“Maybe Wesley made a move on her, Wolfe, and there’s trouble in love triangle paradise,” Rex says.

Gritting my teeth, I keep my mouth shut. No sense encouraging these idiots.

One of their buddies speaks up. “I bet we have something that would make her feel better.”

“Yeah, a soda isn’t going to help you, sweetheart,” another says, commenting on the Coke gripped in my hand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the basketball players say something to each other before one of them turns and hurries inside.

“Why don’t we bring her to the pool house to cheer her up?” Rex asks with a laugh. He sways to the side, and his buddy holds him up when he stumbles.

I make a move to get away, but Wolfe swings an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. Tightly.

My eyes widen in shock. They are keeping me here against my will. Under Wes’s roof, with Jace somewhere nearby. Of course, what better way to piss off Jace and Wes? My stomach churns, fearing how far they’ll take this.

It’s obvious all the guys are messed up. On what, exactly, I wouldn’t know.

“Let me go,” I grit out.

“You don’t want to go back to the party,” Wolfe coos in my ear. I flinch with disgust. “Wilder’s probably with another girl. Didn’t we see him going upstairs with that hot brunette chick earlier?” he asks his buddies.

My stomach rolls. They’re just messing with you, I remind myself.

The next thing I know, we’re moving toward the pool house. I’m fighting, but my feet keep moving in the wrong direction. Arms are around me, so to anyone watching it looks like they are supporting me. They would just think I’m another drunk girl, stumbling around. I’m not fighting harder because I can’t believe this is really happening. Blood is rushing to my head and the voices around me are muffled.

The pool house
is only feet away and my vision starts to blur. A small part of my brain seems to be screaming that this is not the time to lose it, that I need to be alert. But a dizziness takes over and I can’t fight it. Black dots dance in front of me at the same time that Wolfe opens the pool house door. In the midst of the fear coursing through me, I think I hear loud angry voices behind me, and approaching footsteps. The arms holding me up jerk away and my knees buckle.

A moment later, I’m on
the ground, puking in the grass by the pool house. The sound of grunts and thumps surround me. Glancing into the darkness, I make out several guys brawling by the edge of the pool. I blink rapidly.

Jace. He’s straddled Wolfe and is pounding him. Behind them, Connor punches Rex in the jaw, and Rex stumbles backward into the pool with a giant splash. Connor spins around, looking for his next victim. Blood runs down his nose.

When I hear Rex sputtering and screaming obscenities from the pool, a burst of hysterical giggles erupts from my chest. This is ridiculous. They weren’t
really
trying to force me to the pool house to take drugs or… something worse. Were they? Another round of laughter escapes me as I wipe my mouth and kneel back on my feet.

It feels like I’m watching a movie of someone else’s life. This can’t really be happening.

I roll onto my back, my chest rising and falling as I stare up at the stars. The chaos around me continues and I just can’t stop the laughter that mixes with my heavy breathing.