Page 52 of Fake Dates and Home Plates
I look around the room again, forcing eye contact with each of my teammates. There’s a freshman, Claire, sitting on thebench. Her eyes are focused on the floor, her body drooped in what I assume is sadness. Her pitch black hair hides her face, and as much as I want to check on her, it’s obvious this isn’t the time.
“If I’m honest, I don’t really give a shit who you fuck in your free time. I don’t care about your past or even your present, as long as it doesn’t impact the dynamic we’ve worked for all season. Some of us are done here after next week, but the rest of you have a year or two or three left together.”
Lily squeezes my shoulder—our days wearing these terrible school colors are almost over.
I continue my speech, “Let’s not end it like this. We’re a team, so from this point forward, we'd better start acting like it. No more whispers or rumors, no more strange looks at the water cooler. Got it?”
Nods and a chorus of agreement echo throughout the locker room.
“Good. Now, hands in.” I wait for everyone to put their hands in for our team huddle. “Shoreline Sharks on three. One, two, three.”
“Shoreline Sharks!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Henley
Standing at the starting line for my last college race, I stare at the ground. This course is familiar. Even some of the runners surrounding me are familiar.
But the pinch in my gut—that’s new.
I wasn’t this nervous for my very first race. This isn’t my last raceever, but I know this one is special. It’s the last time I’ll run with this team, these girls, my school.
The bus ride last night took six hours. We played silly road trip games and sang obnoxious pop songs at the top of our lungs.
And when Coach invited me to sit up front for a few minutes, I swear her voice cracked as she told me how proud she was of me, that nothing today would ever lessen that. Then, we both pretended we weren’t crying as another song started up.
This morning, though so similar to our other meets, feels like so much more.
I turn to Lily, who’s already got glassy eyes, though she shakes her head quickly. “Captain, I’m going to need you to keep it together, or I’ll spend the entire course hyperventilating from crying.”
With a quick nod, I say just loud enough for my team to hear, “Alright, let’s leave it all here, ladies. Cross that finish line knowing you gave everything you could.”
A round of agreement is murmured, and I feel the shift in energy to something more positive, more confident.
Jumping in place, I will my body to push away these jitters. I roll my head side to side, loosening the tension in my neck. The nerves start to roll away, replaced by determination.
I know my parents are at the halfway mark, like usual, but I’m a bit giddy wondering where Theo will be waiting.
He was extremely vague when I questioned him about it. Giving him a blow job while he read an absolutely filthy section of his book didn’t help convince him to spill whatever he was hiding either.
I shake my head, trying to focus on the race and nothing else.
The whistle blows, and in the next heartbeat, we’re off.
The sound of everyone’s breathing and their feet hitting the ground is chaos, but my body knows what to do. It remembers every hill, every curve of this course.
So I settle into my stride, near the front but not leading.
The crowd is loud, bodies filling every inch of space behind the plastic tape blocking off the course. People are shouting their encouragement and cheering us on, but the voices begin to blend before eventually fading out to silence.
Then, I see it.
A poster, bright pink and ridiculous.
It’s a printout of Theo’s face with a quote bubble that says:YOU GOT THIS, GETAWAY GIRL!
The sign is held by one of his teammates I recognize from game night, Ezra, who is whooping and fist-pumping with his free hand. My mouth curves into a smile, and I speed up just a little more. I feel the butterflies in my stomach flittering around uncontrollably.
