Runner Girl

Chapter Twenty-One

My hands are shaking as I open the bottom drawer of my dresser, and my fingers fumble as I try to grip the frame. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I carefully pick it up and flip it over. The image hasn't changed, and my chest clenches as I stare at my parents' loving expressions. Which one of them is part god? The longer I stare at the picture, the less certain I feel, but then I remember the fragments of things I've heard about my mom.

She was fast, just like you. She loved to run, and no one could beat her. I feel like I'm gulping for air, and I realize I've started crying.

What if everything I've ever believed about myself is a lie? What if I'm not just a good runner; what if there's something magical, something godly about my abilities on the track? What if Mom was Hermes's daughter?

I've always thought that if I couldn't run, I wouldn't know who I am, but what if all this time, my running has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them? Angry and confused, I fling the frame aside, barely registering the faint sound of breaking glass as the picture hits the wall. I curl forward, wrapping my arms around my legs and pressing my forehead into my knees as if I'll disappear if I can just make myself small enough. Curled up in a ball, rocking on the floor of my bedroom, I begin to dissolve, crying harder and not caring about the snot in the back of my throat or the tears soaking my face. Maybe it would be a blessing to forget, I think fleetingly, but my tears don't stop.

***

I press my head against the sticky bus window, glad to be finally headed back home. Somehow, when Coach reset the score, he snapped me all the way back to the starting line of the last race at the state meet last spring, so I've just relived my victory without any of the weirdness with Miles and Cal, and, obviously, without my dad showing up and kidnapping me. It was surreal, but I'm surprised at how quickly I've slipped back into thinking and feeling like the old Lana. Winning at the state meet was a pretty awesome feeling, but it's been a long day, filled with tension of one kind or another, and I'm ready for things to get back to normal.

Rosa, an underclassman shot putter who's surprisingly cool, slides onto the bus bench beside me. "You rocked it out there."

"Thanks," I say, sitting up and forcing a tired smile. I've been preoccupied with everything, and I barely even noticed the medal that got draped around my neck during the awards' ceremony, but I reach for it now out of habit. Rosa's not praising me to make me feel strange, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm all over the place right now.

She leans in close, like she's about to confide a secret. "Any tips? Are you taking anything? I won't tell Coach."

It takes a minute for her words to process, but when I finally wrap my brain around her meaning, I'm speechless. Is she seriously asking if I'm doping? Wordlessly, I shake my head, and Rosa pouts.

"Come on, Lana. Fess up; you're undefeated. Even against the guys, and you know they're always faster."

True, they still keep time by gender, and there are still male and female winners for each race, but Rosa's right. I even beat the guys, which is usually unheard of for a runner. Not that it's exactly a fair fight, given my freaky genetics, I think with a frown.

Rosa misinterprets my expression and she pulls back. "I wasn't trying to start anything," she says hurriedly. "Just asking."

"No, you're cool. I'm not taking anything, and the only tip I have is to run like it's the only thing that matters."

Rosa crinkles up her nose. "That's it?"

I shrug. "I guess. I've never really thought about why I win."