Glass Sneakers

11th ♕

11th ♕

I had once thought that it was untimely overacting to be shaken by a prince. I usually said to myself that there was no way that was going to happen. But then, I started to feel uneasy around Art. My heart started to beat fast when I was around him, and it was driving me insane.

We were sitting in the car. The tiara charm landed on the back of my palm, as the car stopped at the red light.

Tricky little thing.

I turned my gaze outside the window again. Staring at his reflection, I held my breath. His genuine smile and the warmth in his eyes. It was so easy to give in, but I shouldn't be swayed. I couldn't entertain these thoughts, because it would be unfair to him. When I knew I wouldn't be there to meet him in the end, I shouldn't even think of standing on the starting line.

I'd already received my first paycheck, and it was more than enough to cover up everything I needed before going to college. The mess I'd created was slowly coming to an end. By now, I was only waiting for the right time to tell everyone that I had omitted some truths about my family. From there on, I had no idea what would happen.

"You don't really have to," Art said, for the tenth time this morning.

"I have to be there," I insisted.

"We are going there. All I'm saying is, you can't participate," Art argued, tilting his head to my direction.

"I started wearing those heels again. My running shoes feel so attacked right now. Is it because I'm the princess-in-training?" I said back, facing him as well. It made me a bit conscious, because the backseat's space didn't seem to be wide enough.

"It's not. But your doctor won't like it." Art looked uncomfortable all of a sudden, too.

Turning away, I muttered, "It's been over a month. You're just a worrier."

"It might hurt again," he kept on.

"Bridge, I did get the go signal, right?" I finally asked Bridge, who was sitting on the passenger seat. "Please explain it to him."

"Yes, Art, there's no need to get worked up. We already had a briefing with her doctor," Bridge answered, looking at Art through the rear-view mirror.

Art stayed still, defeated.

"He said that I could run," I added.

"Not more than a few hundred meters, remember," Bridge reminded me.

"How many will you do?" Art asked me.

"A hundred flat."

"Okay, but that's it," he said.

"Okay," I agreed, sitting back. "Even Pete wouldn't sign me up other than for the 4x100 relay."

Art wistfully eyed me. "He did the right thing, especially in cases like this when you refuse to listen."

"I went to the doctor. Why are we even arguing again?" For the past few days, when we talked, it always seemed to end up in a spat.

"We're here," Jack interrupted, stopping the car and breaking a little too forcefully.

"Let's go, kids." Bridge dusted off her hands, and then clapped once. "Stop fighting, and get out of the car."

Art and I reluctantly dropped the topic. This sudden twist was really driving the summer heat straight to our heads. After that night, I didn't know what went wrong.

For him, anyway.

I knew what did on my case. I was always on the prevent-things-from-happening mode. In turn, it had suddenly become my normal response to pick on something he would say, and start turning things from there.