Breathe, Annie, Breathe
Page 11
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I run past a smattering of trees that surround LP Stadium, where the Titans play. Titans tickets cost a few hundred apiece, so the only time I’ve ever been to a game was when my brother won a pair of tickets from a radio station contest. I loved the cheering crowds, the cotton candy. It was just an overall good day. Remembering the energy in the stadium gives me the extra oomph I need to push through this mile as I head toward Bicentennial Park—the finish line.
When I see the final orange ribbon, I sprint toward Matt and arrive to cheering and clapping from the people who finished a few minutes before me. Matt hands me a cup of Gatorade, checks his watch, and writes my time on his clipboard. “You did good today, Annie.”
I lick Gatorade off the cup’s rim so it doesn’t get my hand sticky and then take a sip. “Am I getting faster?”
He grins. “No, not really. But all that matters is that you build the stamina to finish the race, okay? Your goal is to finish.”
Queasiness suddenly rushes over me. I squat to the ground. Sweat rolls off my face and splatters on the concrete.
“Up you go,” Matt says, pulling me to a standing position. “We gotta walk it off. Let’s move.” He leads me in a wide circle like a circus elephant. After I’ve caught my breath, stretched, and clapped for the runners who came in after me, it’s time to go home. Since we ran from one place to another today, not out and back like we do at the Little Duck River, Matt said he and his assistants would give us rides.
“Who’s taking me back to my car?”
“I’ll take you,” a voice says.
It’s that slow, twangy accent again. I look up from wiping sweat off my face with my tank top to find Jeremiah grinning his ass off. Did he appear out of thin air?
“No,” Matt says, rolling his eyes. “Bridget’ll give her a ride.”
“Why can’t I take her?” Jeremiah says. “I’m a good driver. I’ve been driving for four years…six if you count the time I borrowed Dad’s truck freshman year of high school.”
“You mean the time you stole his truck to go fool around with Melody Andersen at that potluck supper at church?”
“I borrowed it.”
“You stole it.”
“That’s just semantics.”
I interrupt, “I’m glad I only have one brother, not two. All y’all do is fight.”
“That’s not true,” Matt replies. “We don’t fight when we sleep.”
“Sometimes we do,” Jeremiah says.
What goofs.
“C’mon, I’ll drive you,” Jeremiah says, jingling his keys, and I shrug okay. Matt doesn’t look pleased, but I’m eighteen now. I make my own decisions. And even though getting a ride from Jeremiah is sort of like running into a burning building, I like the way I feel when he makes me laugh.
I need to laugh.
I say bye to Matt, follow Jeremiah over to his Jeep, and he opens the door for me. My knees tremble as I step up into the Jeep. He shuts the door and my hands shake as I buckle my seat belt. It smells like boy in here. Cologne, sweat, muskiness. I suck in a nervous deep breath as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
I peek at him while he turns the key. A dusting of golden hair covers his strong hands and tan arms. Just like the light stubble on his face. Does he not shave on weekends? Jeremiah’s face is tan and his eyes are a pretty light blue, but I wouldn’t call him traditionally handsome. Something about him is too jagged. He’s cute though. Three black, circular tattoos the size of quarters race up his left forearm. A scar runs along the right side of his jaw, matching the scar on his right arm. There’s one beside his eye too. God, I hope he doesn’t get into knife fights or something.
I decide to ask about it. “Jeremiah?”
“Call me Jere. Only my Granny and PopPop call me Jeremiah.”
“But I like Jeremiah better.”
He flashes me a smile. “Jeremiah it is, then.”
“How’d you get that scar on your jaw?”
He starts telling me about how he loves Adventure Races, these crazy races that involve anything from running a half marathon and jumping over huge holes throughout the course, to running beside fire pits that spit out smoke like volcanoes. He explains he got the scar on his jaw from a race through a thick forest in Georgia: “A tree branch got me.”
“What’s been your favorite race?” I ask.
At a stoplight, he pops a piece of gum in his mouth and chews. “I had to do an obstacle course with rock climbing and inner tubing down a river, and then I rappelled off a mountain, and then I had to run a 10K after that. I came in fourth.”
When I see the final orange ribbon, I sprint toward Matt and arrive to cheering and clapping from the people who finished a few minutes before me. Matt hands me a cup of Gatorade, checks his watch, and writes my time on his clipboard. “You did good today, Annie.”
I lick Gatorade off the cup’s rim so it doesn’t get my hand sticky and then take a sip. “Am I getting faster?”
He grins. “No, not really. But all that matters is that you build the stamina to finish the race, okay? Your goal is to finish.”
Queasiness suddenly rushes over me. I squat to the ground. Sweat rolls off my face and splatters on the concrete.
“Up you go,” Matt says, pulling me to a standing position. “We gotta walk it off. Let’s move.” He leads me in a wide circle like a circus elephant. After I’ve caught my breath, stretched, and clapped for the runners who came in after me, it’s time to go home. Since we ran from one place to another today, not out and back like we do at the Little Duck River, Matt said he and his assistants would give us rides.
“Who’s taking me back to my car?”
“I’ll take you,” a voice says.
It’s that slow, twangy accent again. I look up from wiping sweat off my face with my tank top to find Jeremiah grinning his ass off. Did he appear out of thin air?
“No,” Matt says, rolling his eyes. “Bridget’ll give her a ride.”
“Why can’t I take her?” Jeremiah says. “I’m a good driver. I’ve been driving for four years…six if you count the time I borrowed Dad’s truck freshman year of high school.”
“You mean the time you stole his truck to go fool around with Melody Andersen at that potluck supper at church?”
“I borrowed it.”
“You stole it.”
“That’s just semantics.”
I interrupt, “I’m glad I only have one brother, not two. All y’all do is fight.”
“That’s not true,” Matt replies. “We don’t fight when we sleep.”
“Sometimes we do,” Jeremiah says.
What goofs.
“C’mon, I’ll drive you,” Jeremiah says, jingling his keys, and I shrug okay. Matt doesn’t look pleased, but I’m eighteen now. I make my own decisions. And even though getting a ride from Jeremiah is sort of like running into a burning building, I like the way I feel when he makes me laugh.
I need to laugh.
I say bye to Matt, follow Jeremiah over to his Jeep, and he opens the door for me. My knees tremble as I step up into the Jeep. He shuts the door and my hands shake as I buckle my seat belt. It smells like boy in here. Cologne, sweat, muskiness. I suck in a nervous deep breath as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
I peek at him while he turns the key. A dusting of golden hair covers his strong hands and tan arms. Just like the light stubble on his face. Does he not shave on weekends? Jeremiah’s face is tan and his eyes are a pretty light blue, but I wouldn’t call him traditionally handsome. Something about him is too jagged. He’s cute though. Three black, circular tattoos the size of quarters race up his left forearm. A scar runs along the right side of his jaw, matching the scar on his right arm. There’s one beside his eye too. God, I hope he doesn’t get into knife fights or something.
I decide to ask about it. “Jeremiah?”
“Call me Jere. Only my Granny and PopPop call me Jeremiah.”
“But I like Jeremiah better.”
He flashes me a smile. “Jeremiah it is, then.”
“How’d you get that scar on your jaw?”
He starts telling me about how he loves Adventure Races, these crazy races that involve anything from running a half marathon and jumping over huge holes throughout the course, to running beside fire pits that spit out smoke like volcanoes. He explains he got the scar on his jaw from a race through a thick forest in Georgia: “A tree branch got me.”
“What’s been your favorite race?” I ask.
At a stoplight, he pops a piece of gum in his mouth and chews. “I had to do an obstacle course with rock climbing and inner tubing down a river, and then I rappelled off a mountain, and then I had to run a 10K after that. I came in fourth.”
