TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright 2011 by Craig Hansen
First Smashwords Edition: May 2011
ISBN: 978-1-4581-8481-8
Web site: http://www.craig-hansen.com/
Cover design by http://www.streetlightgraphics.com/
Editor: T. L. Haddix
LICENSE NOTES
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
DISCLAIMER
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
DEDICATION
For my mother, Gertrude Lucille Hansen, who started it all by reading to me as a child. You are missed.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank my beta-readers: Andie Hansen, Jason Letts and Victorine Lieske, as well as my beta reader and editor, T.L. Haddix. Your feedback helped transform this twenty-year-old master's thesis into a viable novel for today's audiences. I also wish to thank Richard Solly, the Minnesota COMPAS program writer who first recognized the potential writing talent in me and encouraged it; young adult novelist Terry Davis, my mentor throughout my college years at Minnesota State University at Mankato, who guided me through an earlier version of this novel; and the community of writers in the Writer's Cafe at Kindleboards.com, whose feedback proved vital over the past several months, and who asked me that one vital question: "What would prevent you from updating and releasing the novel you wrote in college you never found a publisher for?" Nothing, as it turned out.
CHAPTER 1
"Runners to your marks!"
At Coach Lansing's words, Becky Howard walked to her respective lane and assumed her starting stance. She looked to her right and her heart began pounding quickly, climbing in her throat while she waited for the smoke from the starter's pistol.
"Set!" the coach yelled.
Becky shook her arms out. She felt poised and patient.
When the smoke appeared, she launched herself down the track, the sound of the pistol reaching her an instant later. She started smooth and found her pace. In one of the outside lanes, Lucie Ford jack-rabbited off the gun and leapt to an early lead. Becky didn't let it bother her. Her legs pumping, she breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. She kept her eyes straight ahead and concentrated on maintaining her pace.
As the first lap came to a close, she pulled even with Lucie. The younger girl was huffing irregularly, her skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat in the oppressive afternoon sun. When Lucie glanced over and saw Becky running even with her, she panicked and poured on an extra burst of speed. The effort put her three strides ahead of Becky. She stayed there throughout the second lap.
Becky picked up her pace as she pounded out the third lap and hugged the inside track as she came to the first turn. Lucie's feet moved in a blur but as Becky pulled even with her, they fell into an identical pace. Lucie's face strained from the effort to breathe as she huffed like a steam engine.
Her own lungs began to burn, but Becky maintained control of her breathing. She ignored her body, knowing the feeling would soon pass.
As the girls passed Coach Lansing, the gun sounded again, signaling the final lap.
Becky sped up, pulling energy from an inner reserve. Lucie found her own burst of energy and managed to stay even with Becky as they entered the first turn. Becky held the inside lane as she rounded the turn, hoping to pull ahead and finish Lucie off, but the sophomore stayed dead even.
She's improving, Becky thought. As they entered the far stretch, matching each other stride for stride, Becky held her pace. She reserved her final effort for the finishing turn. When Lucie cried out, "No, no, no," each time she exhaled, Becky knew she had won.
The final turn rose to meet them and she poured everything she had into the last push. She pulled ahead. As the sound of the team's cheers reached her ears, Lucie faded back and out of Becky's peripheral vision. When she reached the finish line, she led by two full strides. She slowed down and began walking off the run. She turned around to look for Lucie. The sophomore seemed ready to collapse. Becky walked up and embraced her despite the blistering temperature.
"Good run," she whispered to her.
Lucie wheezed, but managed a reply. "You ran like it was the state meet, not just a regular practice heat."
"You have to," Becky replied.
"Don't sit down," Coach Lansing reminded the two girls as she approached them. She patted each of them on the shoulder. "Walk it off."
They nodded and made their way to the inside field, where they began walking slow circles. Becky felt like the heat emanated off her body instead of beating down on her from the sun. Her uniform clung to her, soaked with sweat, and her legs felt as though they might turn to liquid if she stopped walking.
"You're really good," Lucie said.
She thought she detected a note of despair in the other girl's voice.
"So are you," she replied. "You've improved a lot. You had me going until that final turn."
"Story of my life," Lucie said, and attempted a smile.
"Don't think of it that way," she said. "You just need to nail down a couple more fundamentals. Get your breathing under control for the whole run and you'll make a lot of folks lose sleep."
"You think so?" Lucie asked.
Becky smiled. "Maybe even me."
"In my dreams." Lucie wiped her forehead with the back of one arm. "It's so hot."
"Let's grab some Gatorade."
They walked to the center of the inner field where a huge orange cooler sat on a bench next to an open bag of Styrofoam cups. Becky let Lucie pour one for herself first, then poured her own.
"Take it slow," she said. She grabbed Lucie's arm as the other girl gulped her drink down. "You'll make yourself sick."
"Tastes too good to go slow," Lucie gasped.
The starter's gun cracked behind them, signaling the start of another heat, and they both startled in spite of themselves.
"Where's your buddy, Tammy Jo?" Lucie asked as they each poured another cup of Gatorade. She glanced around the field. "We're just a week out from regionals. She's almost guaranteed gold for us in the high hurdles."
Becky shrugged. "I didn't see her at lunch today."
"She wouldn't skip before regionals, would she?"
Not if she had a choice, she thought to herself, but to Lucie she merely shrugged. Tammy Jo skipped school more often than she should, but Becky still worried when it happened. She decided to call her friend after practice.
"So are you ready for the prom?" Lucie asked.
"Pretty much," she replied. "I still need to buy my prom dress."
Lucie looked at her, eyes wide. "You don't have your prom dress? The dance is only a month away!"
"I'll be picking it out tonight," Becky said. "I've narrowed it down to a couple choices."
"I would just go insane if I hadn't picked out my dress yet," Lucie said. "If I were going to the prom, that is."
Becky was looking forward to the dance, but for the moment the regional meet weighed more heavily on her mind. She'd begin preparing for the prom once the track season wound down.
Beyond the track area, a group of boys practiced the field events. Scott Layman, a junior, stepped into a netted area and began warming up for a discus throw.
"There's your boyfriend, right?" she said. She pointed at Scott
"That's him," Lucie replied. She grew silent for a moment, watching him warm up. He spun around and around before he let the discus fly as easily as a Frisbee. It landed two feet short of the best mark on the field, and as Scott trudged off, another boy rotated in.
Lucie sighed. "He hasn't asked me to the prom yet. I'm going crazy. I'm beginning to wonder if he's going to ask me at all."
"I saw him at the mall last Saturday," Becky said hesitantly. "Hanging with Lynn Klien."
"The freshman? I don't worry about her. Scott and her are, like, next door neighbors," Lucie said.
Becky decided not to press the point.
"Talk to him if you're that worried," she suggested. "Maybe it just slipped his mind."
"Slipped his mind?" Lucie said, shocked. "Something as important as the prom slipped his mind? No way."
"He's a guy," Becky said. "It's possible."
Lucie laughed. "Thanks, Becky," she said. "I needed that. Too bad Scott isn't more like Tom. You're lucky. What a hunk."
Tom Shooter and Becky had dated since almost the beginning of the school year, ever since her parents had given her permission to date. She wished he were on the track team, instead of swimming at the Y, so she could sit and watch him practice between her own heats, like Lucie.
"Tom's not bad," she agreed.
"Not bad?" Lucie teased. "Only not bad?"
"Like Bill Cosby once said, God created everything and he called it 'good.' Just good. Think about it like that, and 'not bad' is…"
"Not bad?" Lucie finished.
They giggled and watched the boy's team practice while they continued to cool down from their run. Practice lasted another half hour and Becky ran two more short heats to pace and push underclassmen before Coach Lansing finally called it a day. As the team made their way off the field and toward the showers, the coach made her way toward Becky and fell in step beside her.
"Do you know where Tammy Jo is?" Lansing asked.
"No," Becky replied. "Not for sure."
"Are you going to see her tonight?"
Becky shrugged. "I plan on calling her. Why?"
"Give her a message from me. She can't miss any more practices. Regionals are Saturday. If she doesn't practice, she doesn't run."
"If I get hold of her, I'll tell her," Becky promised.
Coach Lansing frowned. "Make sure you do."
CHAPTER 2
After Becky finished showering, she changed back into her street clothes and headed for the student parking lot. Tom stood waiting for her, leaning against the hood of her decade-old, blue Chevy Lumina as she approached. His own black Honda Civic was parked next to it. He was dressed simply in black khakis and a powder blue Hope High School t-shirt, darkened in spots where it clung to his chest. Even as simply as he was dressed, the sight of him revved Becky's engines. Still, part of her wished he wasn't waiting for her. She wanted to drive home, call Tammy Jo and find out what was going on, and if Tom turned on the charm enough, Becky knew she'd get swept up into whatever he had planned.
"Hey there," she said, smiling.
Tom stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her. She let him hug her for a moment, breathing in the smell of his skin. When she detected the hint of chlorine, she gently pushed him back. "It's too hot," she said. "No time to shower at the Y after your swim?"
"I wanted to be here on time to meet you. Want to come over to my place for supper tonight?"
"Mmmm," Becky hedged, considering. Tom's mother cooked like a talented contestant on The Next Iron Chef. "I'd love to, but I have plans."
"Fine," Tom said. Although he was still smiling, there was a note of disappointment in his voice. She hated when he acted like that.
"Stop pouting," she said. She reached out and poked him in the ribs to ease the sting out of her words. "I need to check in on Tammy Jo."
"Need help?"
Becky shook her head. "No. She'll be more open if it's just the two of us."
She joined him, leaning against the hood of her car. The metal hood burned the backs of her thighs and she was glad she was wearing jeans instead of shorts. Despite the heat, she leaned toward Tom and rested the side of her head briefly on his shoulder.
"Have you been waiting long?" she asked.
"Not really," he said. "After the Y, I picked up a new sheaf of paper at Wal-Mart. I've only been here for a couple minutes."
"How's the writing coming?" Tom wrote short stories all the time and had been talking about a novel he was planning for several weeks now.
"Okay," he answered. He fell silent for a moment, then asked, "So how'd practice go?"
"I ran a heat against Lucie today," Becky said. "She really pushed me."
"She's only a sophomore, isn't she?" Tom asked.
She nodded. "She's improving. She may give me trouble next year."
"I don't think you have anything to worry about," he said. "You're terrific and you're going all the way to state this year and next."
"I wish I felt so confident about it," she said. "Meg Swanson's going to be hard to beat."
"Maybe so," he allowed. "But you want to know what I think? I think over in Spooner, Meg Swanson is standing in the parking lot with her boyfriend, complaining about how Becky Howard is going to be tough to beat."
Becky's heart melted a little then and she leaned over and allowed him to kiss her. His lips were dry and she realized she'd taken him by surprise for a change. The moment sent chills down her spine and she shivered. He drew back and said, "Orange rosemary chicken. Stuffed red peppers."
Becky growled, hunger catching up with her. It had been a long practice in the intense heat.
"No fair," she protested.
"Tomato pie. Raspberry yogurt pops," he continued.
"I can't," she said. "Other plans."
Tom clutched his heart as though he'd been stabbed and staggered backward. "Okay," he said. "Fine. Whatever you say. I'll just find something else to do."
Becky laughed. She stood and leaned toward him to give him another kiss, this one brief. "Check with Larry. I bet he's free."
"Homemade barbecue-flavored potato chips." Tom's eyes glinted with sexy mischief.
"Meanie," said Becky. "Tammy Jo, remember? I really need to get going."
"I'll call you later tonight," he said.
"Okay. Love you."
"Later," he replied. Tom ducked into his Civic and drove off, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel as he left. Becky watched him go, then climbed into her Lumina and drove home, her stomach growling all the way.
~ * * * ~
When Becky arrived home, stillness encompassed the house, making it clear no one else was there. On the dining room table, she found a letter addressed to her from her sister, Geena, and calling Tammy Jo slipped her mind. Becky picked the letter up. The Phoenix, Arizona postmark always looked foreign to her. It was hard to believe her sister now lived so far away.
Geena had moved away to attend the University of Minnesota when Becky was in eighth grade. A year later, Geena had become engaged to a young man she'd met at the university, Peter Malkowitz. After they married, Geena and Peter had moved to Arizona, where he had a job with IBM waiting for him.
For the past couple years, Geena had written to Becky at least once a month, and sent her emails weekly and text messages almost daily. Becky missed her sister, and in all of Geena's communications, Geena had confessed the feeling was mutual. She wished Geena could be with her tonight, when she went to pick out her prom dress.
Becky enjoyed shopping, but it always reminded her of her sister. Geena excelled at shopping for clothes, and served as her mentor. She had created three rules of dress shopping.
"First," Geena told her in a dramatic voice, "never trust the advice of a salesperson, no matter how well they treat you. A salesperson will say you look great in a burlap bag if it costs a lot."
Becky would nod in agreement each time Geena gave the speech on dress buying. She had enjoyed these times with her sister, and counted them among the few moments they shared when Geena treated her as an equal.
"Second," Geena would always say, "never be fooled by a huge price tag. Just because a dress costs a fortune doesn't guarantee it will look good on you. Remember my purple dress? I look great in that dress, don't I?"
Becky agreed. Of all the dresses her sister owned, the purple one was Becky's favorite. Some nights she'd lie awake wishing the dress belonged to her, and for a figure to fill it out. Becky considered her sister attractive, but when Geena wore the purple dress she transformed into a knockout.
"I bought that dress for sixty-nine dollars in JC Penny," Geena had boasted. "I'd spotted other dresses priced two, three, even four times as much. None of them complimented me like the purple dress."
She would continue with the speech. The third rule was the most important and whenever she reached it, Geena's voice drop. In a solemn tone, she told Becky, "Sometimes, it's okay to break the rules. Dress shopping should be fun, not a chore. Remember, it's supposed to make you happy. Not your boyfriend, not the salesperson, not Mom and Dad, and not even me. Just you. So learn to listen to your heart, and learn when to trust it."
The advice had served Becky well. In the last three years, she hadn't purchased a dress she didn't love. The only difference now was shopping for them without Geena.
A month before her wedding, Geena had taken Becky dress shopping one final time. Becky's maid of honor dress had already been chosen and Geena made it clear this spree was for a dress Becky wanted for fun, a gift from one sister to another. Due to the wedding plans, they only had one day free to shop. Instead of messing around in Hope, they went straight to the Mall of America in Bloomington, their favorite retail location. They looked at all sorts of dresses that Saturday afternoon. Geena kept telling Becky price was not a question, but as the day slipped away, Becky still hadn't found a dress she loved.
"I don't believe there's not at least one dress you really want," Geena said as they sat in the food court on the third floor, munching on tacos and gorditas.
Becky shrugged. "I don't know. We've seen a lot of dresses, but.... This is all going so fast."
Geena nodded, pursed her lips and stared at her gordita for a long moment.
"All right," she said. "Magic time. I'm your fairy godsister and I can grant you one wish. Imagine a dress. One dress you want more than any other in the whole world. Just picture it in your mind."
Becky laughed. "Are you serious?"
"Do it."
Closing her eyes, she did. The dress that came to mind didn't surprise her, but she felt ashamed for even thinking of it. Her cheeks grew warm.
"You've got it," Geena said triumphantly. "I know you do. Now tell me."
Becky said nothing and Geena reached across the table and put a hand on her arm, concerned.
"It's all right, Becky. Just tell me. Whatever it is, it's yours."
She sighed. "The purple dress. Your purple dress."
"I still know you." It had been a strange statement at the time, but Becky later came to believe Geena had been talking to herself at that moment.
Then Geena had caught Becky's eyes and said, "It's yours. I've known you wanted it for a long time."
A month later Geena married Peter and they had moved. The purple dress had stayed behind, hanging in a protective plastic bag in Becky's closet.
Smiling at the memory, Becky turned the letter over and tore it open. A paragraph on the first page caught her eye.
"I should have finished my degree before marrying Peter," Geena wrote. "I've been able to take a couple night classes per semester out here in Phoenix, but now with the baby due in a month, I won't be able to keep that up. At the pace I was going, I would have finished my degree in two more years. Now I wonder if I'll ever earn it."
The rest of the letter was filled with stories and anecdotes of Geena's life in Phoenix. It ran five pages in all and when Becky reached the end she was almost exhausted at the thought of all the life her sister had been through. Then she read the postscript, written across the bottom of the last page in a hasty scrawl.
"If I'd chosen my husband as carefully as I choose my dresses," Geena had written, "I think I might have been a lot better off."
Becky stuffed the letter back into the envelope. Her body, still soaked with sweat in spite of the shower, felt cold. By the time she ran to her room, stripped off her clothes and buried herself beneath the sheets of her bed, she was shivering so hard she couldn't stop.
~ * * * ~
Later that evening, Becky ate her meal quietly. Her eyes kept returning to her mother, and she realized how long it had been since she'd really looked at her. She wondered what it was like to live inside her mother's skin. Each morning, her mom pulled her hair back into a tight, neat bun, but by the time she returned home each evening, the hairstyle would appear frayed and chaotic. Becky supposed it was a good indication of the emotional drain of her mother's job as a social worker that unraveling over the course of the day. Even though her mother's skin retained a healthy glow that hinted at the beauty she possessed, that glow was slowly wearing away. Becky thought it had to be from the burden of carrying so many of the troubles of others. Finished with dinner, Becky pushed her plate away, leaving half of her lasagna uneaten. Melanie looked at Becky's plate with a frown.
"Are they loading you down at school again?" she asked.
Becky stopped, her chair halfway back from the table. "What do you mean?"
"I was wondering if you had a lot of homework."
She shook her head. "Not really. Why?"
"Well, you were awfully quiet when we came home today, and now you haven't eaten most of your meal."
"I'm not very hungry," Becky told her.
Becky's father, a mild, balding man with large glasses and a wide face, worked as a long-distance trucker. The job kept him on the road most of the time. He'd arrived home that morning as Becky left for school, back from a run to Atlanta. Even though he'd slept most of the day, his eyes were still rimmed red with exhaustion.
As he shot her a weary smile, Becky didn't think her father looked like a trucker. She thought he looked like an accountant, or maybe a missionary. She often wished he could find another job, so he wouldn't disappear for days at a time. But he loved the road and it paid well.
He looked at Becky and said, "Lasagna is your favorite. Is something bothering you?"
"Not really," she replied. Her father stared her down. Becky relented. "I got a letter from Geena today, that's all."
"And?" her mother asked.
"She just didn't sound very happy."
"What did she say?" her father asked.
Becky thought for a moment. "It's not what she wrote, really. Maybe it was. I don't know. Maybe I imagined it."
There was a short silence and Becky noticed a look pass between her parents.
"Well," her mother said finally, "try not to let it bother you, then. Concentrate on your track meet."
She knew her mother was right, but her tone of voice made it sound like an order and Becky tensed.
"I agree," her father said. "I want to see you run in Madison."
"So does Coach Lansing," Becky said.
"I should hope so," her mother said.
Her father looked directly at her. "And what about you? Do you want to run in Madison?"
The question surprised Becky. "Of course. I've been training for this all year."
"I know. Just checking."
"I know I can make state," Becky said. "Meg Swanson's the only real threat. I read in the Veritas County Register the other day she's been invited to try out for the Olympics this summer."
"What about Jen Phillips over in Ashland?" her mother asked.
Becky shrugged. "I've beaten her before. She's tough, but I've beaten her."
"I know you're capable of it, Becky," her father said. "It's not a matter of whether you've beaten her in the past. The question is can you beat her Saturday."
Becky thought about it. She'd trained a long time and felt confident in her speed. "Yes," she decided. "Yes, I can."
"Good," her father said. He looked over at his wife, an unreadable look in his eyes. When he looked back at Becky a moment later, his face was grim. "I wish I could be there to see you run it."
Becky's heart dropped. She'd been reminding her father about the regional meet since the beginning of the school year, so he wouldn't make other plans. Deep inside, she had felt something would come up. "Don't tell me…"
"Now, I don't want you to get angry," he started.
"I've been telling you all year." Becky's voice rose. She noticed, and made a conscious effort to calm down.
"I know, angel," her father said apologetically. "I'd give my left thumb to be there. But I'm not my own boss. I'm the only driver who isn't already scheduled for the weekend. It's an emergency order that came up while I was down in Atlanta."
"Where do you need to go?"
Her father looked at his plate, then back at Becky. "Florida. Tampa Bay."
Becky swallowed hard. He'd be half a country away while she was running the most important race of her high school career. "What are you hauling?"
"Sofas."
"Sofas? An emergency shipment of sofas?" Feeling very near tears, Becky looked down at her own plate.
"Becky, it's not my choice."
Her mother stood and began gathering their plates. "This is hard enough on your father. Don't make it worse."
"I want to be there," her father said. "You don't know how much."
Becky stared at her cold lasagna until she felt like she could speak normally. "I'm sorry," she told her father.
"So am I," he said. "Do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Win."
There was a moment of silence. Then Becky nodded and the awkwardness passed. "Okay. But you do me a favor."
"If I can."
"Don't miss me at state."
He nodded. "Not on your life."
Becky stood and rounded the table to give her father a hug. He kissed her cheek. "That's my angel."
She looked over at her mother, uncertain. "You'll still be there, won't you?"
Her mother smiled. "You know I wouldn't miss it."
Relieved, Becky decided this was the perfect time to go pick out her prom dress. "I'm going out. Is that okay?" she asked.
"This late? Where?" her mother asked.
"Shopping. I want to pick up my prom dress."
"Do you need any extra cash?" her father asked as he reached for his wallet.
Becky stopped him. "No, I've been saving for it. Thanks, though."
"Don't stay out late. You have school tomorrow," her mother reminded her.
"I won't be too late," Becky said, and she hurried to her room.
Once there, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and called Tammy Jo. She felt bad about putting off the call so long, and as she dialed the number the concern she'd been carrying all day rose to the front of her mind again. If Mrs. Ross has been out drinking again...
To her relief, Tammy Jo answered on the third ring.
"Teej," Becky said, "where were you today?"
"Around."
"You skipped?"
There was a long pause on Tammy Jo's end. "Kinda."
Warning bells sounded in Becky's mind. She knew the pattern.
"I'm coming over," she said.
"Don't."
Becky wouldn't take no for an answer. "I'll be there in five."
CHAPTER 3
When Becky pulled into Shady Acres trailer court, two miles north of Hope, Tammy Jo was already standing outside the home she shared with her mother. Her head was bowed, her hair covering her face. Two trailers down, three men stood astride their motorcycles, whistling and hooting at Tammy Jo. Their ancient boom box blasted an old Motorhead tune. Tammy Jo pulled open the passenger door and climbed in the Lumina before Becky even came to a complete stop.
"Let's go," Tammy Jo said. "Mom's out, but she could be back any time now."
Becky pulled away and looked over at her friend. She knew Tammy Jo wasn't bothered by her neighbor's catcalls. They made Becky nervous, but Tammy Jo claimed they were good people. No one applied the phrase good people to Tammy Jo's mother, however. Becky knew out meant drinking and that drinking turned Alice Ross mean. "What did she do this time?"
When Tammy Jo looked up without a word, Becky saw that the entire right side of her face was swollen and bruised around her right eye. She looked like a rookie mixed martial arts fighter who'd attempted to go five rounds with Brock Lesnar and lasted maybe thirty seconds.
"God," Becky breathed, the word both a prayer and an imprecation.
"I've had worse," Tammy Jo said. "I'm glad you came over, though. Mom's been out since this morning. When she returns, she could be even worse than when she did this. If I stay out for a while, maybe she'll be passed out on the couch by the time I get back."
Becky had seen Tammy Jo beaten up more than she cared to and knew trying to convince her friend to seek help always proved fruitless. So she said, "Ms. Lansing told me to tell you if you miss another day of practice, you won't be able to compete on Saturday."
"Guess I'd better show up then. The swelling should go down by tomorrow."
Becky pulled to a stop at the trailer park's exit, waiting for a break in the traffic to pull out onto the road. "And if it doesn't?"
Tammy Jo shrugged. "I'll wear makeup."
"That won't fool Lansing."
"I'll tell her I fell."
Becky gestured to Tammy Jo's face. "And did that? How?"
Tammy Jo considered the lie for a moment before she replied. "When I was running. I'll tell her I was running and I fell, and gee, look what happened."
"I don't think she's going to keep buying that."
"What should I tell her, then?"
Becky looked at her friend directly. "Why not the truth?"
Tammy Jo snorted. "Yeah. Right."
"You can't just do nothing."
"I'll be eighteen next October, and then I'm out of here."
Becky threw herself back against the seat in frustration. "Do you know how dumb that sounds? Listen, Ms. Lansing's pretty cool. Just try talking to her, that's all."
Tammy Jo huffed, refusing to give in. There was a break in traffic and Becky pulled out onto the road. Nothing more was spoken until they entered Hope.
"Where we going?" Tammy Jo asked as they entered the town.
"The Corner," Becky said. The Corner ranked as one of three truly fashionable women's clothing stores in Hope, and the most expensive.
"Are you kidding?"
"I want to try on a couple dresses. I still haven't chosen one for the prom."
"I'll wait in the car."
Becky felt frustrated. "No you won't. I didn't bring you along to have you sit out in the car."
"Are you picking out your prom dress tonight, or just looking?"
"Picking it out."
Tammy Jo sighed. "All right. I'll come in."
Becky stopped at a red light. "Good. And don't worry about your face."
"I just hope I don't still look like this when prom comes round. I'm not sure Jeff likes me enough to go with me if I look like someone's punching bag."
"Jeff's your boyfriend. If he only likes you when you look perfect, he's not worth your time. Screw him."
Tammy Jo stared at her. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you even come close to swearing. Jesus, Bec. I thought you were a Christian."
"I am. That doesn't mean I don't have a temper. You should hear me when I'm alone playing PlayStation," Becky said as she turned onto Kennedy Avenue. Soon the two-story brown brick structure of the Downtown Hope Mall came into view. The Corner enjoyed a prime position on the second floor, across from a comic book shop. Becky slowed down at the Texas Street intersection and waited for the left turn arrow.
"I want to grab a bite to eat when we're done." Tammy Jo said. "I am so starving."
"How about Heroes and Zeros?" Becky asked, nodding toward the restaurant across from the mall that served as their most frequent hang-out.
"Sounds good to me," Tammy Jo said. "I could really go for a bacon cheeseburger and a banana malt."
"At least you still have an appetite."
When the turn signal finally changed to green, Becky pulled onto Texas Street and entered the mall's parking ramp. She found a vacant spot on the third level, where a short skyway connected the ramp to the mall. Grabbing her purse, she turned to Tammy Jo with a nervous smile.
"Let's do this."
~ * * * ~
The gray and pink colors of the prom theme limited Becky's choices somewhat, but with the prom so close, she needed to make a final decision. Preparing for the regional meet had been gobbling a lot of time, but that was more excuse than reality. As much as she hated to admit it, she remained uncertain about going to the prom with Tom. She cared about him, but it felt like something was missing. Becky didn't have a clue what that something might be.
She stood in front of the mirror outside the changing room and looked at the dress she'd tried on. It was puffy and modest and billowed at the hips and shoulders. In other words, it was completely unremarkable. Tammy Jo stood behind her, leaning against the wall.
Becky looked at her in the mirror. "Well?"
"Very classical."
"What does that mean?"
"It looks like every prom dress every girl has ever worn since your mother was our age."
Becky rolled her eyes and turned to look at her friend. "My mom's not that old."
"Her mom, then," Tammy Jo conceded.
Becky turned back and looked at her reflection. The dress didn't even have a V-neck. She saw what Tammy Jo meant. She looked like some kind of storybook princess. Yuck.
"Maybe I'll try the gray one."
"Is Tom wearing a pink tux?"
"No." Becky imagined it, though, and smiled.
"Then you'd better go with something pink."
"I hate color schemes." Becky stepped back in the dressing room and began taking off the dress. They continued talking through the door.
Tammy Jo said, "You're starting to sound like me, Bec. Lighten up."
"I am?" Becky thought about it. "I am."
"Wait in there," Tammy Jo said. "I'll be right back. Don't get dressed."
Becky heard Tammy Jo walking off and thought about calling after her, then decided not to. She finished stepping out of the dress and then placed it carefully back on the hanger. Zipping the dress back up, she heard Tammy Jo return and toss a dress over the door.
"Try this on," Tammy Jo said.
Becky took the dress and handed the other two back to Tammy Jo the same way.
"Put these back for me?" she asked.
"Sure thing." As she listened to Tammy Jo move away with the dresses, Becky held the dress her friend had selected in front of her. A deep, bold shade of pink, the dress shimmered in the lighting of the dressing room. It offered no sleeves and no straps and Becky didn't think she'd like the dress. It was something she never would have picked up herself, but there was no harm in trying it on.
As she stepped into the dress, she noticed how smooth and expensive the fabric felt against her skin. She wondered what the price tag said, but decided not to look. That would spoil the fun.
She was a little surprised Tammy Jo knew her size. The last time she had given Becky any clothing was over a year ago, when she'd been several sizes smaller. Over the last year, Becky had sprouted up like corn in a June field, shooting up from a modest five-foot-six as a sophomore to her current height of over six-foot-three. This made finding dresses in her size more challenging than ever. Most of the time, she had to shop at specialty stores to find dresses with the right dimensions for her new, freakishly tall self.
She was struggling to reach the zipper when she heard Tammy Jo return.
"Got it on?" her friend asked.
Becky opened the door and stepped out. "Zip me?"
Tammy Jo obliged. The dress zipped, Becky flipped her dark blonde hair into place and turned to study herself in the mirror. The hem reached down to her ankles, but a side slit ran up to mid-thigh, showing quite a bit of leg when Becky moved. The top seemed to hold her breasts in place well enough, but she'd never worn a strapless dress before and she felt less than completely dressed.
"I'd need to buy a strapless bra to wear this," she told Tammy Jo.
"True. The back looks good."
Becky turned around. It felt strange to see her shoulders completely bare. Knowing prom was coming up, as well as the track season, she'd laid off sweets for the past two months. The skin on her back had cleared up nicely. Becky rarely endured acne anymore, but only because she fought hard to keep it away.
"It's pretty revealing." Actually, it was as daring as any dress she'd tried on for pure fun, let alone anything she'd seriously considered buying. She knew if she wore it, her parents would probably protest.
Tammy Jo smiled. "You love it, don't you?"
"No!" Becky protested immediately. "Of course I..." She looked at herself in the mirror and she saw something amazing. There was a woman looking back at her, and she was stunning. More sure of herself. No vanity stained the assessment. Becky held a balanced view of her own appearance. She knew she turned more heads than just Tom's, but she also knew she carried maybe ten more pounds than she wished around her middle. It wasn't much, and her height helped mask it, but it was enough to make her feel insecure from time to time.
Tom always gave her a hard time about her concern over her weight. He said she looked fine and if there was any less of her, she'd be a skeleton. As far as her face was concerned, Becky knew she'd never have to stay home on a Saturday night unless she chose to, but she'd never make the cover of Seventeen, either.
Yet, as Geena had taught her, there are some dresses so perfectly matched to a particular person that, even if she's average-looking, when she wears that dress she'll look more beautiful than the sum of all her physical attributes would seem to allow. The purple dress had been like that for Geena. Although Becky treasured it when her sister had given it to her, the purple dress never transformed her as it had Geena. The cut of this pink dress was far more daring than anything Becky had ever seriously tried on, but it was...
"Perfect," Becky said. "It looks perfect."
"I know," Tammy Jo said with a smile. "I thought it would. Now let's go pay for it and get out of here. I'm starving."
Becky looked at the price tag. Two hundred and fifty dollars. She'd saved just enough, but the price of the dress would drain her. Accessories would have to wait. "All right," Becky said. "I'll be out in a bit."
Tammy Jo left her alone then. Becky didn't jump right back into the stall and change. Instead, she stood studying her reflection for several seconds. She felt lonelier for her sister than she had for anyone in her life. She wondered what time it was in Arizona, and whether it was too late to give Geena a call.
CHAPTER 4
Heroes and Zeros seemed unusually busy for a week night when Becky and Tammy Jo walked in. They had dropped the dress off at the car on their way to the restaurant. Even this late in the supper hour rush, over half the booths were crowded with people. Becky scanned the room. There were families trying to catch a bite to eat, probably there after the early show at the Downtown 5 Cinema, as well as the group of regulars who were always at Heroes and Zeros. This second group consisted of old men, most of them gruff Republicans like the establishment's owner, Leo Palmer himself, who came in to grumble about politics. When Becky spotted an open corner booth, she grabbed Tammy Jo by the hand, and rushed back to claim it. They barely settled in before Palmer walked up.
"Becky. Tammy Jo." Palmer stood before them, order pad in hand, his blue chambray work shirt soaked through with sweat. He smelled like the grill he'd probably been standing over all day. "You girls going to win Saturday, take us to state?"
"I hope so," Becky said. She shifted in her chair. "Busy night, huh?"
"I'm a little short-handed, yeah. Daughter couldn't work." Palmer turned to Tammy Jo, who sat with her head bowed, hair hanging over her face. "Think you'll take first?"
Becky tried to shift his attention back to her and save Tammy Jo from the unwanted attention. "Why is it so busy tonight?"
Palmer shrugged. "Maybe just a fluke. There's a convention in town, not a big one. Might be part of it."
Tammy Jo answered softly while Palmer talked to Becky. When they finished, Tammy Jo repeated herself. "I should take it. No one's matched my time this season."
"Good," Palmer said. Becky began tapping her fingers on the table in an uneven rhythm. Palmer usually exchanged a few pleasantries with his customers, but normally he didn't talk with anyone for long unless it involved politics. Talks with Palmer almost always shifted to politics.
"I'd like a cheeseburger with everything, large fries, and a chocolate shake," Becky said. She felt ravenous. The thought of all that grease caused her some apprehension, but she'd add a few extra sit-ups tonight and then really throw herself into track practice tomorrow. Still, she felt glad prom was a few weeks off. Tonight would have to be her last greasy meal until after prom, unless she wanted to show up looking like a walking zit in a dress.
Palmer nodded. "One Bill Clinton, then."
Becky felt the earth shift back into proper orbit. The theme of Heroes and Zeros was political and reflected Palmer's leanings. Menu items that were tasty but healthy, he named after his Republican heroes; the items that were full of calories and otherwise less healthy choices, he had named after politicians he considered Democratic "zeros." Even so, hearing Palmer talking politics, even incidentally, set her at ease. He glanced over at Tammy Jo.
"I'll have..." Tammy Jo began. She looked up to give her order and Palmer saw her face.
"Jesus Christ on His cross!" he swore. A few people nearby turned in their seats to sneak a peek at the disturbance, but with the size of the crowd, the sounds of people talking and eating drowned out Palmer's reaction. "You look like the entire softball team used you for batting practice, young lady! What happened?"
Tammy Jo stared up at him, her mouth working soundlessly, and then looked back across the table at Becky. Her expression was like that of a deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming semi. Becky wondered if this was how Tammy Jo looked when her mother came after her. Before she could say anything, her friend turned green. She clamped her hands over her mouth, pushed her way out of the booth past Palmer, and headed straight for the women's restroom. With that action, everyone in the restaurant turned to stare at them. Palmer glanced toward the door of the restroom as it swung shut, then at the people staring at him. The accusation in their eyes was easy to read. He turned to Becky, shamefaced.
"I didn't mean nothing," he said. "What's it, her time of the month or something?"
Becky glared at him, furious. The man wasn't just a pig, he was the entire pen. "You're a real jerk sometimes, you know that?"
She stood and slipped by him, heading into the women's restroom before he had a chance to answer. Inside, a middle-aged woman stood in front of the mirror checking her lipstick. She looked over at Becky.
"Are you with the girl who just rushed in?"
Becky nodded.
"She's in the middle stall. Puking her guts out, by the sound of it." The woman looked back in the mirror, pursed her lips, smiled with satisfaction at her reflection, and then left. Becky walked over to the middle stall. She could hear Tammy Jo retching. Once the heaving died down, Becky knocked on the stall door.
"Leave!" Tammy Jo said. The sound of choking and spitting followed. "I'll be out in a bit. Just leave me alone in here, okay?"
Behind Becky, the door to the ladies room opened. She turned to see Tom standing in the doorway. All she could do was blink in confusion. The planet seemed all out of orbit again.
"Becky?" Tom said, bewildered. "I saw you tell off Palmer just as I was walking in. What's going on?"
Becky started to answer when the door flew open again, revealing Palmer this time. He grabbed Tom by the shoulder and spun him around with surprising strength. Tom jerked his shoulder back, breaking Palmer's grip.
"You can't be in here," Palmer said.
"I just want to find out what's going on," Tom said. He turned again to Becky. "Bec..."
Palmer grabbed his shoulder again. "You're a guy. This is the ladies' room."
Tom turned on Palmer. "So? You're a guy, too. You're in here."
"I'm in here because you're in here. You shouldn't be. Besides, I own the place."
"I'm in here because I saw Becky telling you off. I wanted to find out what you did," Tom told him.
Palmer started to explain. "I didn't do..."
Becky couldn't stand the sound of their raised voices any longer. She needed the planet back in orbit and it looked like she'd have to push it there herself.
"Hold it!" she yelled. The two men froze and looked over at her. "Both of you, get out! Tom, I'll join you in a bit. You can talk to me then."
The two men blinked, looked at each other, and then left without another word. Becky sighed in relief.
"Bec?" It was Tammy Jo. Her voice sounded weaker. "Did that just happen?"
"Yeah, Teej. It did. How're you feeling?"
"I'll be out soon. I need time to collect my thoughts."
You're not the only one, Becky thought.
"Okay," she said. "I'll be outside."
Becky looked in the mirror before she left. Her eyes still had a wild look to them, but they were settling down. The orbit of her world was coming back to normal.
She walked out of the restroom and found Tom sitting with his friend, Larry Pfieffer, in the booth Tammy Jo and she had been seated at. Palmer stood in front of the booth, talking quietly to them. As she approached, they all turned to look at her.
"She all right?" Palmer asked.
"She'll be fine," Becky said.
"Look, I want you to stay. I don't know exactly what I did wrong, but I gotta make it right. Tonight, you and your friends, the four of you, eat free if you stay. Deal?"
Becky looked at him with a healthy dose of caution. "I'll have to see how Tammy Jo feels, but okay."
That seemed to satisfy Palmer, and he walked away. Tom and Larry were sitting together on one side of the booth, so Becky slipped in on the opposite side.
"Palmer filled me in on what happened," Tom said. "Did someone beat up Tammy Jo?"
"You'll have to ask her," Becky replied. Having to give the evasive answer twisted her stomach. She'd promised years ago she'd never say a word about the beatings Tammy Jo's mother doled out. She'd been younger then, and Tammy Jo convinced her keeping it secret was a sign of true friendship. Older now, the weight of that promise dragged Becky down to murky waters. When she had made it, the worst Tammy Jo ever received was a bruised rib. Her current injuries clearly qualified as worse. Much worse.
Larry spoke up. "So what're Tammy Jo and you up to?"
Tom glanced between the two of them. "Shopping, I'll bet. Becky takes a year to choose a dress. She started looking for a prom dress last summer."
"I did not!" Becky protested.
Tom grinned. "I'll bet she hasn't even settled on one yet."