I bounce on the tips of my toes, my ponytail moving with me, as I survey the competition. The girl next to me looks like she wants to throw up, and I shift my gaze fast. Seeing other people get sick just grosses me out, and I don't want to risk my power bar making a second appearance. I glance to my left, and my gaze lingers on the runner on the other side of me. His skin is bronzed, and with his dark curly hair and wide brown eyes, he looks like the posterchild for sporty-sexy-casual. He notices me staring and cocks his head to one side, his eyes skimming over me from the top of my ponytail to the soles of my well-worn shoes.
The way he looks at me should make me feel bitchy, but instead, I feel the familiar tightness in my gut when I notice his interest vanish as soon as he gets to my mostly flat chest. I sigh, turning away and acting like I don't care. It's not like you'd have stood a chance once the gun goes off anyway, I tell myself, trying to get my head back in the game. He's probably just staring at me because I'm THAT girl. That freak girl who beats everyone. Cute or not, once I beat him, the guy would be just like all the rest, and I don't need to waste any brain power wishing for something that would never be.
Most people think running is all about physical strength and endurance, but that's not what makes or breaks me when I'm on the track. It's all a head game; I know my brain will give out long before my legs do.
The loudspeaker crackles to life, and a sudden hush descends over the crowd of parents, friends, and coaches. The blood starts to thrum in my ears. This is it. I'm not nervous at all; I'm an arrow, taut and ready to fly. Or is it the bowstring that's taut? I barely have time to smile at the ridiculous thought before the gun sounds and instinct takes over.
The track, the spectators, the other runners, everything becomes a colorful blur as I throw myself forward, my feet barely touching the ground.
At school meets, Coach usually lets me run all the events I want, distance and sprints, but for the state championship, he's treating me like the secret weapon I am. He held me back all day until nearly the last event, saving me for the 3200-meter race. Sure, everyone here has heard rumors about the girl who's sweeping the competition, but that doesn't make it any less impressive when I finally appear. Despite the fact that this race is nearly two miles, I don't ease out of my starting sprint. Sweat drips into my eyes, and my mouth tastes like hot air, but I don't slow down. I run like I've got wings on my shoes, and in record time, I'm sailing across the finish line, one fist in the air in my usual triumphant celebration, but even then, I don't stop. I ease up a bit, slowing to a gentle jog as I take a victory lap (which is really more about cooling down than showing off), and gradually, I slow to a walk.
The spectators should be cheering wildly, but for a moment, silence hits me like a heat wave. I've stopped with my back to the stands deliberately; I don't want anyone to see that it rattles me, their predictable, almost frightened reaction to my supernatural speed. I can feel them watching, trying to process what they just saw, and the feeling makes my skin crawl. The pause is usually over in an instant, and just like clockwork, someone whistles, and then another person applauds, and by the time I turn around, most of the people in the stands are cheering. They know they just saw something pretty unlikely; the scrawny girl from next to nowhere just busted all the records of the best high school runners in the entire state, and despite the rumors, despite the handful of interviews in the local papers, nobody saw it coming.
Well, not nobody. My eyes find Coach Merk on the sidelines, and he grins broadly, sunlight glinting off his silver goatee as he gives me two thumbs way up. I jog over to him, and he claps me on the back.
"Way to go, Lana," he says, leaning in so he doesn't have to shout the words. "I'm proud of you."
I smile at him, the runner's high still carrying me into the clouds. "So what's next, coach?"
He chuckles, and the lines around his mouth get more prominent. "Go shake hands with the other kids, and then stretch out. Were you going to change for the awards ceremony?"
I'd actually like nothing more than to strip off my sweaty clothes and put on something light and flowy after taking a good long bath or, at the very least, a shower, but hardly anyone on the team ever changes after these things, so I swallow the urge and shake my head, leaving Coach on the sidelines as I go over to the other runners. Even though there's a lot of debate in the athletic community about letting men and women compete together, especially at the high school level, Ohio has moved to a hybrid model for the track and field season this year. The small, regional meets are still gendered, but at states, all bets are off, and the guys are running right there beside us. I love the challenge, even when it means my chances of getting a boyfriend have gone from slim to a snowball in hell.
The girl who looked sick before the race is panting heavily, doubled over with her hands braced on her knees while another girl in the same maroon and white uniform offers her water, so I hang back a second, but her friend notices me and says something too soft for me to hear. The girl straightens up carefully and looks me up and down. She nods once, and then she grins.
"You're too damn fast!" Her voice is light, and I feel my shoulders relax. She doesn't hold winning against me, at least. The girls never do, I remind myself.
I stick out my hand, and she clasps mine. "So're you," I say. "Good job."
She chuckles, but it turns into a groan. "God, I'm just so glad that's over. I'm ready to spend the summer in the pool instead of pounding the pavement."
I nod like I understand, but really, I don't. Running is as natural to me as breathing, and I've always thought I might self-destruct if I ever missed a day. I suck at making small talk, but before I can try to figure out what to say next, the girl spots someone waving to her in the stands. With a last friendly smile for me, she hurries away, and I stand there scanning the crowd. There's a hitch in my chest for a moment when I don't spot the embarrassingly tricked out forms of my foster brothers, but then I see a swath of purple halfway up the bleachers, and I snicker to myself. They went all out today, which shouldn't surprise me; States is a big deal, after all.
At least I'll never have trouble knowing who I belong to, I think as I hop over the fence and take the metal steps two at a time. The fact that my school colors look like they threw up all over Miles and Cal is actually less obvious than the huge sign they're still waving over their heads, the sign that says, "Bring it Home, Lana!" in too many shades of glitter to name. It seriously looks like unicorn shit, and it's the gaudiest sign they've ever made for me. I should hate it, but embarrassing or not, it's the prettiest thing ever. Even when other guys talk about me like I'm a gorgon, Cal and Miles have never stopped smothering me, and if it weren't for them and their dad, I'd probably hate men just on principle.
I punch Cal in the shoulder when I get to where he and Miles are still cheering and waving like idiots. "I thought I said no banners this time?"
He turns to me, widening his eyes in innocence. "It's not a banner."
I put my hands on my hips. "Oh?"
Miles leans over. "Oh. It's a poster, which, I'll have you know, is distinctly different from a banner."
He looks serious except for the familiar spark in his eyes, and I can't help it; I snort, and after a few failed attempts to get myself under control, I'm clutching my sides and laughing while Cal and Miles make ridiculous proclamations about the size of their poster.
Once I calm down, I reach over and swipe Miles's water bottle. I haven't stopped to hydrate since the race, and I down more of it than I probably should, but Coach isn't around to warn me to go slow. When I finally come up for air, Jacob has materialized in the stands behind his sons.
He smiles at me, but it looks forced, and I stop myself seconds away from wrapping him in a sweaty hug. Jacob's always been awesome to me, from the day before I can remember when he brought me into his family all those years ago, to the summers he spent taking me and the boys camping. He's always treated me just like he treats Miles and Cal, and I've never felt like he looks at me and wonders why he's stuck taking care of someone else's daughter, but despite all that, despite my victory, Jacob's giving me a strange look I can't read.
The moment passes, and he pulls me into a bear hug, like normal, and I wonder if I'm imagining things. "You were magical, Lana. Just like always."
He releases me, and I grin, looking down at the track. "Thanks. It felt good."
He laughs, the sound a deep rumble that starts in his chest. "You're a natural. I just hope you'll stick with it over the summer."
"Not like Coach is going to give me any options," I say, rolling my eyes in mock annoyance. "I don't think he'll ever let me quit."
Jacob is silent, and tension crackles over the four of us. I glance at my foster brothers, but their usually open faces are shadowed, and when I look back at Jacob, I know I wasn't imagining it before.
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of the way sweat has pooled between my shoulders, and I look around, desperate for a distraction that will help me fight off whatever mysterious weirdness I can feel coming. "I need to change," I say lamely, pointing back toward the track and not looking at my family. "I don't want to be a mess for the awards ceremony."
Miles and Cal don't harass me about being too girly, and my stomach flops over because now I know something is wrong. They've never tolerated my attempts to be pretty, no matter how half-assed those attempts are. It's hard to learn how to do makeup in a house without a mom, and every time I bought mascara or a blow-dryer or anything, Miles and Cal usually stole it or teased me until I cried. But now they're just standing there, looking at their dad like they're waiting for him to say something, and I swallow my panic.
"I think I'll put on a dress," I say, laying it on as thick as possible, praying they'll give me hell. Cal's lips quirk up like he's about to say something, but Miles shoots him a look.
"That'll be nice, Lana. Whatever you want," he says, not looking at me while he talks like some body-snatcher victim, and the sweat that's coating my body turns to ice. I don't want to know, I tell myself, hoping my words are enough to stop whatever is coming. I turn around and start to head down the bleachers, away from my family, but my heart is racing, and it doesn't have anything to do with how fast I just ran.
When I drop down onto the track, I barely notice the familiar, spongy give under my shoes. I don't want to turn around and look, as if ignoring them will mean whatever's going on isn't real, but I can't help myself. I glance over my shoulder, shading my eyes with my hand, and even in the glare of the afternoon sun, I can tell that my family is still standing where I left them, watching me.
I don't have to wait long to figure out what the hell is going on. Almost as soon as I'm back on the track, somebody clamps a hand on my shoulder with surprising force, and I whirl around, ready to tell off whoever it is. The words die on my tongue when I realize that Coach is the one holding onto me. He gives my shoulder one last firm squeeze before he lets go, but his bright blue eyes are piercing, and he isn't smiling. I swallow, wondering what I've done wrong.
"Lana, I need you to grab your stuff off the bus."
His words are not what I was expecting, and I blink at him for a moment, not understanding. Finally, I remember how to speak again. "Why would I do that?"
Coach Merk sighs and glances over his shoulder. I follow his gaze, my eyes immediately picking out a tall, bald man with broad shoulders leaning against the fence. The guy looks totally out of place at a high school track meet, even if it is the state final; he's wearing a blue suit that looks way too hot for June in Ohio, and even though all the other spectators are milling around, talking and laughing, flying school pennants and clustering around tired athletes, this guy is alone. He meets my gaze, almost like he was waiting for us to look at him, and a faint shock of recognition pulses through me. There's something about his eyes, like I've seen them before a million times, but as far as I know, I've never met the man.
As if looking at him was a signal, he peels himself off the fence and begins striding confidently toward us. I glance at Coach, but his mouth is set in a thin line. Hurriedly, he turns back to me. "I don't have a lot of time to explain, Lana, but please know that none of us want this."
"Want what?" I ask stupidly, but before Coach can answer, the guy in the suit is suddenly standing there, thrusting out his hand to me like he expects me to shake it.
"That was quite a show, Atalanta."
I jerk like he's slapped me, and I narrow my eyes at the stranger. "It's Lana," I say, trying to keep my voice firm, but I'm rattled. Nobody knows my ridiculous name, or if they do know it, they've never been dumb enough to say it.
"Atalanta Lux Emerson," the man says, emphasizing each piece of my name, even though I wince. "A bit of Greek to humor your mother, and Latin for me."
My eyes go wide, and bile rises in my throat. "Who the hell are you?" I shouldn't ask because I don't actually want to know, but I can't control the words.
He raises an eyebrow, staring hard at me with those familiar grey-blue eyes. It's like looking in a mirror, and I feel my stomach twist with certainty right before he confirms what my gut is already telling me. "Who do you think? I'm your father."
The world tilts, but I force myself not to lose it as I glare at him. "My dad's over there," I say, jerking my fist toward the stands, where I hope Jacob and the crew aren't watching. I can't bear to think that they knew what was about to happen and none of them warned me.
The suit shakes his head. "Whenever you've got your things, I'll meet you in the parking lot."
It's like I've fallen into some sick alternate reality. "Why do you think I'm going to go with you?"
He raises an eyebrow in surprise as if he expected me not to put up a fight. "We're family," he finally says, his face expressionless. "And I've come to take you home."
Dumbfounded, I clench my fists. "Look, buddy, I don't know who you think you are, but you can't just come in here to my school and kidnap me." I swivel my eyes to Coach Merk. "Right?"
Coach looks uncomfortable. "Lana," he begins gently, and my head starts to pound. I've never heard Coach Merk treat anyone gently; he's gruff, no-nonsense, and totally trustworthy, but gentle? No.
I shake my head, denying whatever he's about to say, but his words stop me cold.
"Jacob and I thought it would be better this way."
I gape at him. "Excuse me?"
Coach darts his eyes to the man in the suit. "When Mr. Emerson contacted your dad, we decided that it would be best to wait to move you until the end of the school year, and I thought that leaving from the meet might feel a bit more, well, neutral."
"Don't make a scene," the stranger says, his gaze cold. "I can't stand weepy women."
I realize that I've teared up when he says this, but instead of crying, I lash out at him. "Seriously, this isn't going to work. Why don't you crawl back to whatever designer catalog you escaped from, and leave me alone?"
"Atalanta," he says, seemingly oblivious to the way I flinch at the name, "like it or not, we're family. I know you don't have any reason to love me, but I promise you, I can give you more opportunities than you'll ever dream of in this Podunk town."
A dangerous expression ripples across Coach's face, but his features smooth out so fast I wonder if I imagined it.
Even if he's not going to fight back, I am. "Don't you need, like, a court order or something to take me from my legal guardian?"
The man smirks, and I realize with a sinking sensation that he can't be lying. I've seen that sarcastic smirk a million times on my own face, frozen in time in the pictures my brothers always snap of me at the worst possible moments. I suck in my breath, and I think he knows I've given up. "Of course I have all the official documents, but I wouldn't expect you to need to see them. Your guardian's already signed off, and everything is signed, sealed, and notarized."
"Jacob's letting you take me?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
"He doesn't have much choice, does he? He's not your father; I am."
"Stop saying that!" I explode, wishing for once that I'd learned karate instead of running. I'd like nothing more right now than to be able to deliver a swift roundhouse kick to this jerk's head and take off into the cornfields and never look back.
The suit shakes his head, but he doesn't respond to my outburst. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."
"Why do you think I'd want to go with you?" I glare at him, the sperm donor who gave me up almost as soon as I was born. Jacob has never told me much about my biological parents, just that my mom had died when I was still a baby, and my dad hadn't thought he could take care of me on his own, a story that had always made me feel a little bit of pity but now that I'm face to face with the monster, I don't want to feel sorry for him. I don't want to feel anything for him, and right now, all I'm feeling is confused and increasingly pissed off.
He raises an eyebrow at me. "You're my daughter. It's time for you to come home."
He says it like it's the most reasonable statement in the world, but I think Coach Merk can see the smoke starting to come out of my ears, because he puts a hand on the man's arm and pulls him away from me, shooting me a look that's mixed with pity and warning as he does so.
I don't care if this asshole thinks he's got some claim to me. I'm not going with him, and that's final. As I watch Coach gesticulating wildly at the man who calls himself my father, my blood starts pounding in my ears, and before I can stop to check the track, to worry about whether there's anyone in my way, I take off toward the horizon. If there's any justice in the world, I'll run so far and so fast that I'll leave this mess behind, and I'll never have to see the guy who has my eyes again.
But of course, I'm only mortal, and by the time I make my fifth lap of the track, I realize that I'm only running in circles, like a stupid hamster in a pet store. He can't really take me, can he? I slow to an easy jog, but I deliberately keep my eyes glued to the track in front of me, resisting the urge to look around and see if the man who gave me up when I was a baby is still hanging around.
Jacob has always been clear with me on one point; he loves me like a daughter, but he was never, ever going to adopt me. When I asked him why once, he studied me for a long time, like he was sizing me up before he answered.
"You've still got blood family alive. It'd be a different matter if you didn't, but I'm not going to break those kind of bonds."
"But the only bond I feel is to you," I'd argued, trying not to sound too plaintive, despite the lump rising in my throat. I'd lived with Jacob and his sons for years; they were the only family I'd ever known, and part of me worried that if they didn't want to make it official there must be something wrong with me.
Jacob wouldn't say anything more on the subject, and I was so embarrassed for asking and opening myself up like that that I didn't bring it up again. How did he even know about any of this? And why didn't he warn me?
I slow to a stop and lift my head, and gray eyes met mine. I flinch, but I don't look away, and neither does he. Before I can work up my nerve to walk over and give him a piece of my mind, Coach steps in front of me, my duffle slung over his shoulder. He glares behind him for a moment, and the man in the suit moves away after a beat, turning his back to us in a semblance of privacy.
Coach Merk runs his hand through his gray hair and sighs. "Lana, this isn't the end of the world."
I glare at him. "Why did he even turn up now, after all this time?"
Coach shrugs, but he looks away, like there's something he doesn't want me to see in his eyes. "All I know is, he's got the court order that makes it okay for him to take you."
"Don't I get a say in any of this?" And why isn't Jacob the one telling me this? Doesn't he care what's happening?
The edges of Coach's mustache droop. "You don't get a say in custody battles until you're eighteen, or an emancipated minor."
"How can it be a custody battle when I've never met him before?" I argue, feeling belligerent.
Coach shakes his head. "Lana, he's your biological father. He's also offering you a spectacular opportunity. Richard Emerson can afford to send you to any college you want, running scholarship or not. You only have to stick it out for another two years, kiddo, and then you can be off, spending his money like there's no tomorrow." He coughs, and then rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "And then who's to say that you won't like him, once you get to know him?"
Tears well up in my eyes, and I grit my teeth, mortified. "Why would I want to get to know somebody who's never given me the time of day?"
Coach sighs and puts his hands on my shoulder, forcing me to look at him. The tears threaten to spill over, but I swallow hard, choking down my emotion, and after a moment, my eyes are glassy but I'm not actually crying. "You're strong, Lana. You've never taken shit from nobody, and I don't expect you to start now."
I try to snort, but the sound is strangled, and I press my lips together, holding the noise back. "So you want me to piss him off enough so that he'll send me home?" I ask hopefully.
Coach Merk narrows his eyes at me. "I want you to suck it up and deal with this situation like the champ I know. Do what you do best, and everything else will fall into place."
I glance over at the man who calls himself my father. He's been waiting impatiently while Coach and I talked, but he meets my angry stare without flinching, and I sigh. "I don't think running is going to solve this one."
"You never know, Lana. There's a lot you can do when your feet leave the ground."
I pause, choosing my next words carefully. "What about Jacob and Miles and Cal?"
Coach looks away, but not before I see the pain in his eyes. "They know this is for the best."
"Like hell it is! Why would it be best for me to spend my last two years of high school with a complete stranger, no matter how rich he is?" I don't tell him that I had been getting excited for a summer of college visits squeezed in between track practices, and that now more than ever, I want to gather familiar things and faces around me and hold them close. The future terrifies me, but the idea of a distant change in a couple of years is one I can handle. This kind of change, the kind that's happening unannounced and all at once? It's like the worst kind of eternal torture.
Coach Merk stares at me long and hard, like he's listening to my thoughts as well as my words. He hesitates for a moment, but then he pats my shoulder. "I won't be able to help much," he says, almost apologetically, "but I know somebody who owns a running shop in Columbus. She might be a good person to contact while you're getting settled."
My stomach turns over. "Columbus?" That's almost four hours away. Jacob and the boys and I live out in the middle of nowhere, Ohio, surrounded by corn fields and trees. I learned that I loved to run on a one lane dirt road that dead ends into a creek, and every summer, Miles and Cal would race me up and down that road, the dust rising under our feet like brown clouds. "What's in Columbus?"
Coach Merk smiles a little sadly. "You will be, now."