Breathe, Annie, Breathe (4 page)

I head to the drive-in movie theater, to the spot I shared with Kyle. I make it in time for the last half of the late showing of
Clueless
, that Alicia Silverstone movie from the nineties. It’s about this rich, hilarious girl who does nice things for people.

I buy some popcorn from the concession stand, then sit on the hood of my car and laugh at all the funny parts, wishing he was laughing along with me.

Today is what Matt calls a “rest” day.

This means our team has to run five miles before we do seven miles next Saturday. Five miles does not seem like rest to me. I’m beginning to think a radioactive spider bit my running coach.

I wonder if it’ll be a Jeremiah-free day—I didn’t see his Jeep parked near the rest of our cars this morning. Maybe he’s off working with runners training to run the Boston Marathon or something fancy.

Matt’s making us run around downtown Nashville this weekend, because we’re all sick of the trails; plus he wants us to get used to running in the city since we’ll be doing that during the marathon itself. He made us memorize our route today—it’s important to understand a course before you run it. You need to know where the hills are, so you can steel yourself. It’s also crucial to know which coffee shops are runner-friendly and will let you use the bathroom if there aren’t any porta-potties nearby. And just in case we get lost, Matt hung a bunch of orange ribbons on various light poles and street signs. Like Hansel and Gretel and their crumbs.

Our team started out at Music Row, home to all the country music labels, and now I’m coming up on mile 4. The largest building in Nashville—the AT&T building—looms over the city. Everyone calls it the
Batman
building
because its spires stick up like Batman’s mask.

I run past a smattering of trees that surround LP Stadium, where the Titans play. Titans tickets cost a few hundred apiece, so the only time I’ve ever been to a game was when my brother won a pair of tickets from a radio station contest. I loved the cheering crowds, the cotton candy. It was just an overall good day. Remembering the energy in the stadium gives me the extra oomph I need to push through this mile as I head toward Bicentennial Park—the finish line.

When I see the final orange ribbon, I sprint toward Matt and arrive to cheering and clapping from the people who finished a few minutes before me. Matt hands me a cup of Gatorade, checks his watch, and writes my time on his clipboard. “You did good today, Annie.”

I lick Gatorade off the cup’s rim so it doesn’t get my hand sticky and then take a sip. “Am I getting faster?”

He grins. “No, not really. But all that matters is that you build the stamina to finish the race, okay? Your goal is to finish.”

Queasiness suddenly rushes over me. I squat to the ground. Sweat rolls off my face and splatters on the concrete.

“Up you go,” Matt says, pulling me to a standing position. “We gotta walk it off. Let’s move.” He leads me in a wide circle like a circus elephant. After I’ve caught my breath, stretched, and clapped for the runners who came in after me, it’s time to go home. Since we ran from one place to another today, not out and back like we do at the Little Duck River, Matt said he and his assistants would give us rides.

“Who’s taking me back to my car?”

“I’ll take you,” a voice says.

It’s that slow, twangy accent again. I look up from wiping sweat off my face with my tank top to find Jeremiah grinning his ass off. Did he appear out of thin air?

“No,” Matt says, rolling his eyes. “Bridget’ll give her a ride.”

“Why can’t I take her?” Jeremiah says. “I’m a good driver. I’ve been driving for four years…six if you count the time I borrowed Dad’s truck freshman year of high school.”

“You mean the time you stole his truck to go fool around with Melody Andersen at that potluck supper at church?”

“I
borrowed
it.”

“You
stole
it.”

“That’s just semantics.”

I interrupt, “I’m glad I only have one brother, not two. All y’all do is fight.”

“That’s not true,” Matt replies. “We don’t fight when we sleep.”

“Sometimes we do,” Jeremiah says.

What goofs.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you,” Jeremiah says, jingling his keys, and I shrug okay. Matt doesn’t look pleased, but I’m eighteen now. I make my own decisions. And even though getting a ride from Jeremiah is sort of like running into a burning building, I like the way I feel when he makes me laugh.

I need to laugh.

I say bye to Matt, follow Jeremiah over to his Jeep, and he opens the door for me. My knees tremble as I step up into the Jeep. He shuts the door and my hands shake as I buckle my seat belt. It smells like
boy
in here. Cologne, sweat, muskiness. I suck in a nervous deep breath as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

I peek at him while he turns the key. A dusting of golden hair covers his strong hands and tan arms. Just like the light stubble on his face. Does he not shave on weekends? Jeremiah’s face is tan and his eyes are a pretty light blue, but I wouldn’t call him traditionally handsome. Something about him is too jagged. He’s cute though. Three black, circular tattoos the size of quarters race up his left forearm. A scar runs along the right side of his jaw, matching the scar on his right arm. There’s one beside his eye too. God, I hope he doesn’t get into knife fights or something.

I decide to ask about it. “Jeremiah?”

“Call me Jere. Only my Granny and PopPop call me Jeremiah.”

“But I like Jeremiah better.”

He flashes me a smile. “Jeremiah it is, then.”

“How’d you get that scar on your jaw?”

He starts telling me about how he loves Adventure Races, these crazy races that involve anything from running a half marathon and jumping over huge holes throughout the course, to running beside fire pits that spit out smoke like volcanoes. He explains he got the scar on his jaw from a race through a thick forest in Georgia: “A tree branch got me.”

“What’s been your favorite race?” I ask.

At a stoplight, he pops a piece of gum in his mouth and chews. “I had to do an obstacle course with rock climbing and inner tubing down a river, and then I rappelled off a mountain, and then I had to run a 10K after that. I came in fourth.”

“Fourth place?” I exclaim.

“I’m still pissed. I would’ve won it if I hadn’t lost control of my inner tube after I hit a rock in the water.”

“Do you do a lot of races?”

“I do normal races all the time, but I haven’t done an Adventure Race in a few months,” he says in a soft drawl.

“Why not?”

“I promised my mother I wouldn’t.”

“Huh? Why? If you were doing well…”

“She said I was addicted…I dunno.”

Jere turns down 6th Avenue in silence, glancing at me. He hasn’t said a word in a few blocks. He kinda went gloomy.

I can’t just sit here. “So did you train somebody today?”

“Yeah. I paced for this guy who’s training for the Ironman Triathlon in Wisconsin this fall. We only did fifteen miles. It was a rest day.”

I swear, these genetically enhanced brothers are gonna be the death of me.

He drums the steering wheel. “I’m thinking I’ll do a ropes course this afternoon.”

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Oh yeah. I’m so beat at night, it takes like five minutes for my parents to wake me up in the mornings. Alarm clocks don’t work for me.”

The image of his parents shaking him awake makes me giggle. “Your parents have to wake you up? How old are you?”

He turns left, grinning. “Twenty. You?”

“Eighteen. Did you run downtown where we did today? I didn’t see you.”

“No, the Stones River Greenway. We needed room to stretch the run out.”

“But then Matt asked you to drive downtown?”

“No.” He glances over at me. “I came down here ’cause… I wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable last week or whatever. With the blister and the Band-Aid. I saw the look on your face when you left.”

“No, no. Everything’s good.” I’m such a liar.

“I don’t believe you,” Jere says with a smirk. “I realized later it was weird that I gave you first aid when you didn’t even know who I was.”

“I thought it was nice of you.”

“Yeah?” He grins widely. “I can’t wait to tell my brother that I didn’t traumatize you. He said that I did.”

“Do you really not get along with Matt?”

Jere pauses. “He’s my best friend. I love him. He’s giving me a chance… you know, with this job and all.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he goes silent again. “But do you guys seriously fight a lot or something?”

“We’re brothers—we fight all the time. But I’ve heard that if you fight about all the little stuff, then you’re less likely to blow up big time.”

“Doesn’t that more apply to couples?”

He shrugs. “I think you can apply it to all friendships.”

I gnaw on my pinky, pulling the skin away from the nail. I told Kyle so many times that I didn’t want to settle down right after high school, that I had a lot of things I wanted to do before marrying him. But we never had a big fight until I refused his proposal. If we had had more arguments, would things have turned out differently? Would we have understood how to move past our problems without Kyle having resorted to a full-on breakup?

The five-minute drive goes by in a flash. Jere pulls up alongside my ancient Audi and puts his Jeep in park. He hops out, jogs around to the passenger side, and opens my door. Hello, über gentleman.

“I hope you have a nice rest of your weekend,” he says, helping me down.

“You too.”

He waits until I’m safely in my car and backing out of my parking spot before waving and climbing in his Jeep. I return the wave, flick on the radio, and crank down the window for some fresh air.

•••

It’s brunch time at the Roadhouse.

Sundays before and after church are always busy. Besides Saturday nights, this is when I make my best tips. And I need every cent I can get before college. Financial aid from the government will cover my tuition and my dorm room, but I have to cover my meal plan and incidentals. As it stands right now, I might be able to afford one book.

I refill the coffees of this little old couple that comes here every week. They must be in their eighties, but they always sit on the same side of the booth to work the crossword together. He pats his wife’s spotted brown hand and smiles down at her. I used to wonder if that would be me and Kyle one day.

I spend a few minutes listening to a trucker tell me how a concrete truck overturned on I-40 near Knoxville, causing a three-hour traffic jam. No one was hurt, thank goodness.

At around eleven, the hostess seats Kelsey Painter, Vanessa Green, and Savannah Barrow in my section.

Great
.

Kelsey grew up in Oakdale with me—her trailer sat two doors down from mine, and we had a lot in common. We both had single moms, only mine worked nights at the Quick Pick while hers worked days down at the Co-op. Her mom watched Nick and me while we slept, and my mother made sure Kelsey got to school, picked her up, and took care of her afterward. We shared a bed for years—it was like a never-ending slumber party. In all ways except blood, we were sisters.

Until eighth grade, that is, when Kelsey’s mom married a man who owns a landscaping business. They moved into a four-bedroom house on the other side of Franklin, and suddenly Kelsey had new jeans and an iPod while I still had the same flip-flops from Walmart and the radio. Every time I hung out at her house, all I could think about was how clean her kitchen was, how I could see my reflection in the stainless steel appliances. I wondered if the trailer park had a smell I didn’t notice, because I sure as hell could smell the lemon Pledge and dryer sheets in her new home.

Going there made me so uncomfortable, so unsure of myself, I stopped accepting her invitations to spend the night. Then she joined the cheerleading squad and became friends with the new girl, Vanessa. By the time high school rolled around, we didn’t have much in common, and we started arguing over little things, like when I accidentally lost a T-shirt of hers. And I didn’t have as much time to hang out anymore since I’d started dating Kyle. Then a rumor went around that Kelsey had a thing for him and I started dating him anyway. I never knew she liked him. If I had, I wouldn’t have dated him. If your friend—your
sister
—likes a boy, you don’t date him. But by the point the gossip started, Kelsey and I hadn’t spoken in months. Why give up the boy I was falling in love with for a friend who ditched me for the new girl? Besides, if the rumor was true, spending time with her could be super awkward.

None of that made Mom too happy; she didn’t like that I spent all my time outside of school with him and working at the Roadhouse and never really had girlfriends after that.

“A boy should fit into your life—not become it. High school is when you start to define yourself. Don’t define yourself as the girl who has a boyfriend and nothing else.”

Problems with Kelsey aside, Vanessa has been nice to me this year. Some days I feel well enough to talk to her in study hall, and we partnered for a history project on pirates.

I pull a deep breath through my nose and charge toward their table, where they’re looking at menus and talking loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear them.

“I want cheese fries to start!” Savannah says.

“But I won’t be able to try on clothes later today,” Kelsey whines. “I’ll get bloated.”

“I don’t trust anybody who doesn’t like appetizers,” Savannah says matter-of-factly.

I pull a pen from behind my ear. “Hey.”

Vanessa and Savannah look up and smile. “Hey!”

Kelsey studies the menu and doesn’t acknowledge me. Figures.

All three girls look slightly disheveled, wearing last night’s mascara. Their hair is messy and curly, falling out of pinned up buns on top of their heads.

“What’s with the hair?” I ask.

“Prom,” Savannah says.

Oh yeah. Prom. Now that I think about it, I did see some sparkly girls eating in another section last night. “How was it?”

“Use your imagination. It was a Wild West theme in the cafeteria,” Kelsey mutters.

“I wish we could’ve convinced the school board to let us have prom at a hotel this year,” Vanessa says. “Why do they always assume we’ll get hotel rooms, have sex, and drink?”

“That’s what
you
would do,” Savannah teases. “Seems the school board knows what they’re talking about.”