Page 15 of Waking Olivia

He laughs. "Yes, it's so well-received when I say it to you."

Moments like this almost make me wish I were a better person. The kind who makes other people happy.

Or at least not the kind who makes them miserable.

13

Will

That girl.

I’m still kind of smiling when she leaves. When I realize this, I wipe it clean from my face. I cannot allow myself to get sucked in by Olivia Finnegan. She’s already got half the men at this school watching her every move like she’s a wet dream come to life. I refuse to join her cheering section.

I had to hide my shock when she took off her shoe. That cut was deep. I know a lot of tough guys, but I’m not sure I know any that would have run on a cut that deep unless their lives were at stake.

She’s tough, but no one’s tough enough to overcome self-destructive tendencies as bad as hers. I know she’s still running before practice, though she won’t admit it. And why was her foot so cut up? I wasn’t entirely kidding when I asked if she walked on broken glass every day.

What kills me is that she could be amazing if she’d stop doing whatever it is she’s doing. She’s capable of blinding, astonishing speed. She shouldn’t just be running for a D1 school, she should be its star. At a different school, with a different coach, someone would be preparing her for the Olympic trials, not getting ready for a quiet local meet against four other D3 schools, which means she’s capable of giving our track team their first winning season in over a decade. But she didn’t perform at UT, and I suspect that counting on Olivia Finnegan for anything is a losing proposition.

14

Olivia

It’sthe week before our first meet.

Aside from Betsy, the entire freaking team is looking at me like I’m the second coming, and this is the week that every last one of them,my coach in particular, will discover I am not. I try not to think about this as I go to sleep. I try to think of happy things, few though they are. I imagine the beach, though I’ve never been. I imagine floating on a raft on a peaceful sea. I imagine, and I pray, that somehow this will keep me in bed tonight.

I find myself deep in the woods the next morning, gasping and drenched in sweat though the air is cool. I run back to my apartment, strip my running clothes off and pass out. An hour later, my alarm goes off. I’m not sure I’ve even stopped sweating from my earlier run when I meet the rest of the team at the track.

It happens again Tuesday morning, and then Wednesday, at which point Will loses his shit. "What the hell is going on, Olivia?" he demands. "Your running has been half-assed all week."

"I'm just tired from class."

That muscle ticks in his jaw. "Is it that, Olivia, or have you been running before we practice, even though I told you not to?"

I can't tell him the truth, now. He’s made sure of that. "No, I'm just tired."

“If I catch you running before practice you’re off this team. Do you understand?”

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

I’m not allowed to say it, but I think it. My frustration clogs my throat, making my brain hazy. I want to scream at him. I want to tell him that I can’t help it, that no one alive wishes it would stop more than me. But I’ve told people before. I know where it gets me, and I won’t do it again.

At the end of Thursday’s practice, Will gathers us in a circle and reminds us to take it easy on Friday, drink lots of water, no alcohol, extra protein, and carbs. The freshmen ask dumb questions because that's what freshmen do. He sends us off but stops me with a hand on my shoulder. "I shouldn't have to say this, but no running tomorrow. Got it?"

"I heard you the first time," I snarl, shaking out of his grip.

“I get the feeling you don’t hear anyone,” he mutters.

On Friday night, I run until it's dark.

Yeah, I’m not listening to him because I know for a fact that exhaustion is the only thing that will keep me in bed tonight.

I slide beneath the sheets.Please, please, please let this work. I really need this to work.

I’m not sure exactly who I’m whispering this to because as far as I can tell, God hasn’t looked out for or listened to me once my entire life.

Iwaketo find myself in the middle of a field beneath a black sky streaked with hints of daytime. I’m barefoot and my legs are cut to shit, the blood an itchy trickle down my ankle. No phone, no shoes. Jesus, I should just crazy glue them to myself before I go to bed. My shirt is drenched and my heart is hammering as I gasp for breath. The gasping always happens, and I'm never sure if it's because I ran hard or because I was terrified. It's happened so many times I can't begin to recall them, yet it's always a surprise.

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