Runner Girl

Chapter Ten

"All right. We'll start working on music and choreography after your run. Eight laps, and then meet back here."

My heart sinks as the girls around me take off, jogging in a pack around the perimeter of the gym. Frustrated, I head to the bleachers, ready to sit out and sulk, but a hand on my shoulder stops me. I look up into Coach Cypri's piercing blue eyes.

"Just because you can't run doesn't mean you get to sit this one out," she says, handing me my crutches. "Eight laps, Lana."

I stare at her in surprise, not sure I've heard her right. "But it's broken," I say, gesturing toward my cast.

She raises an eyebrow. "I'm not telling you to run, Lana. But you've got crutches, and you've got your other leg. Eight laps."

I know I shouldn't argue, especially not with my new coach, but I can't stop the words that spill out of my mouth. "I'll be out there forever."

She studies me, but her expression doesn't soften. "That's a feeling you'll have to get used to if you want to keep training while you heal. If you aren't ready to let go of being the fastest, I don't think you're ready to be part of this team."

Her words sting, and as much as part of me wants to tell her off and stomp out of the gym, a bigger part of me rises to the challenge. She's right; I've never known what it feels like to be last, to struggle. I wouldn't even be struggling right now if I'd been smart and gone out for the cross country team this fall; at least then I'd still be running. But I take a deep breath, remembering the welcoming smiles on Janel and Rosie's faces when I showed up today, and I realize that even if it means losing, this is where I want to be. If the girls are willing to take me, even with my injury and my complete lack of knowledge about cheer, shouldn't I be willing to work for them? I nod, my jaw set, and the ghost of a smile flickers across Cypri's face. Without another word, I turn from her and start the slow, awkward process of hobbling around the gym on my crutches.

By the second lap, my arms feel like they're about to come out of their sockets, and by the fourth lap, my good foot is throbbing with the continued impact of bearing all of my weight, but I keep going. By the sixth lap, I get into a pretty good rhythm, swinging my body forward and almost setting a pace like a light jog, even with the crutches, and even though everyone else on the team has been done for ages, I'm smiling when I finally make it around the gym the eighth time. I've never finished last, and it wasn't running, but it wasn't giving up, either, so I feel a strange sense of pride as I rejoin the team to discuss their—our—ideas for the routine this year.

Coach Cypri doesn't single me out when I come back over, but Janel claps me on the shoulder as I lower to the floor beside her, and Rosie leans over, putting her face close to mine to whisper, "Last year, I broke my arm during one of our competitions, and Cypri didn't let me get out of pushups. I hated her for about a week, but I can do a mean one-handed pushup now. And," she adds with a grin, "it looks like you're going to be a pretty good one-legged runner."

I smile despite the way my arms are aching, and I nod slowly. "She seems like a good coach. Tougher than I would have thought, but good."

"Cheer is tough," Rosie says with a casual shrug. "It's not for everybody, but I can't live without it."

Even though I don't share her passion for cheer yet, I totally understand how she feels. "That's the way I am about running."

She groans. "I forgot you were a runner. Shit, your cast sucks even more."

I snort, but then I shake my head. "I think," I say slowly, studying the eager faces around me before finally swinging my eyes back to Coach Cypri, "that it might actually be a good thing."