Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [43]
“Tra-la-la! Tra-la-la!” she sang, her Nonconformist catchphrase. “Tra-la-la! I’ll find Marcus!”
“Um, Jessica?”
“Nonconformists, where are you?” shouted Haviland, louder than before.
Where was he?
K8linnn boinged over to Haviland, the bells on her Nonconformist jester’s cap a-jangling.
“Marcus isn’t here,” she said, gritting her teeth, which were covered in Nonconformist neon-green orthodontia. “He didn’t show up. Tra-la-la.”
I damn near peed my pants I was laughing so hard. Now, that’s a Nonconformist for you.
I was about to say as much to Len, but when I turned to face him, he had vanished, too. But Len’s disappearance didn’t disturb me at all. I was thinking about Marcus. Where was he?
Where is Marcus?
Why can’t I stop myself from asking?
the Seventh
In case you were wondering how my cross-country season is going, I still suck.
Suck, suck, suckity suck suck.
I suck worse than I did last spring. I’ve sucked about as badly as a nonparaplegic can suck at the sport of cross-country running. Last year I won the Juniors division at the Eastland Invitational. I won by eleven seconds, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but it is. Today, on the same course, against all the same girls, I ran forty-two seconds slower than I did last year. I came in twenty-third place! Twenty-third! The only upside to my suckiness is that the paper only prints the names of the top twenty finishers, so my humiliation isn’t a matter of public record.
After I crossed the finish line, I curled up into a fetal position on the grass with my eyes closed, contemplating how much I suck, and how much I couldn’t wait for the season to be over, how much I dreaded indoor track season, and spring track season. Then I thought about how much I couldn’t wait until college because only then would I be free from all this torture, which sent me into a panic, since I still have no idea where I want to go.
I didn’t see my father, camcorder in hand, having just documented the race for Notso Darling’s Agony of Defeat, Vol. 5, but I felt his presence, like a cold shadow after the sun disappears behind a storm cloud. The gray behind my eyes went black and a chill shot straight through me to the bone.
“Dad, don’t say a word.”
“I don’t know how many more of these disasters I can take.”
You would think that in light of 9/11 he wouldn’t be throwing around words like disaster. But to him, my performance really was a disaster, which is really messed up.
“I just don’t know,” he grumbled again.
I knew the answer to that question: None. I couldn’t take any more pain and suffering all in the name of preserving my honor as a mighty Pineville High Seagull. Screw it. I was done.
“You won’t have to worry about it anymore, Dad, because I quit.”
I couldn’t believe I said it. Neither could he.
“You what?”
“I quit,” I said. “I’m done with running. It hurts too much.”
“But the orthopedist said that you should be fine.”
He thought I meant my busted leg, so I didn’t bother to correct him.
“Well, it’s not. I tried and I failed and I don’t see the point in trying anymore.”
“Then what the hell are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, without looking up or opening my eyes.
“Not this.”
When the darkness lifted, I knew he was gone. The wind shifted, then lifted the familiar, pungent scent of Chanel No. 5 into the air.
“Jessie . . .”
I looked up and saw my mom, just as I had expected to, but she had someone with her, which I hadn’t smelled coming at all.
“Um. Hi, Jess.”
Len had come to see me run. No one came to cross-country meets unless they had to. My first reaction was shock, followed by my second reaction, which was total and utter embarrassment, both over my performance and my sweaty, grimy appearance. This led to my third reaction, which again was shock. Why would I care about my performance or appearance in front of Len?
“Len was telling me that he’d been to every other type of sporting event but a cross-country meet and wanted to see for himself what it was like, so he could round out his Pineville High experience.