Page 10 of The Tomboy

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And congrats on the win.”

There was something about him that made me want to stay exactly where I was. To stare at the hideous blazer that covered his broad shoulders and the black pants that hid those spectacular legs. Now that was laughable—Taylor Frank crushing on a boy. It was a distraction I couldn’t afford and definitely didn’t need.

Chapter 4

Max

It was my fault thatBianca sat next to me in Calculus. You see, being punctual, I chose my seat and proceeded to open my laptop. The next minute she was at the desk beside me, calling my name.

“Max! Max?” Her husky whisper was unnecessary because the teacher hadn’t closed the door yet. As I was forced to glance in her direction, her tone changed, “Heyyyyyy, what’s up?” Like we were best friends and she’d never stomped on my heart.

I turned back to my screen, pretending to be doing some very important typing.

“Hey, Max? What’s happening?” Her giggle annoyed me, as did her painted fingernails, as did her full pouty lips. How had I ever kissed her? And what about that coffee mug I’d given her for Valentine’s Day, printed with our initials in a heart—BH & MS. Wow, cringe factor a million.

I rolled my eyes and continued to hit my keyboard, opening and closing files.

“We’ve got our first tennis practice after school,” she said. “I was thinking that we should team up for the club’s fall tournament. What do you think?”

I’d rather stab myself in the eye than play tennis with you.That’s what I was thinking, but it’s not what I said. Thankfully, Mr. Parvin stepped into the room and I was saved from having to reply. I ignored her constant whispers for attention and leaned to the other side of the desk. After class, I moved like the wind, keeping my eyes peeled for Taylor in the hallways, but didn’t see her anywhere.

Seeing her on the track earlier in the morning had make my heart skip a beat. Or three. It was like fate had intervened, the girl I’d been searching (okay, stalking) online materializing in front of me as if a genie had granted my wishes.

She’d been oblivious to my presence for a lap, and that was good. I was able to observe undetected, marveling at her long legs, upright body, fluid running style—no one wore the Covington Prep PE uniform better than Taylor Frank.

She was defensive when I approached her, creating an irrational fear that somehow she knew I’d googled her tennis history. But I surmised that she couldn’t possibly know, and we’d fallen into a brisk pace together.

A daily run had become part of my morning schedule over summer. For years Mom had hounded both my brother and me into running. She was a social runner, started off with a 5 km run when I was in kindergarten, her initial motivation to regain her pre-pregnancy weight, she’d said. Discovering that she was quite good, she trained for a 10 km. The next thing, she’d moved up to half marathons, running early mornings before work and for hours at a time on the weekends. Now, twelve or so years later, she’d run countless half marathons and ten full marathons. Mom had long given up on persuading me to‘come on a run’with her. But Phoenix’s accident happened—and I became grateful that I had two legs that worked.

And now I found that running cleared my head and gave me structure, and weirdly, I came to enjoy it. Running on the school track was perfect because my mind worked best when it knew exactly how far I was running. I’d tried joining Mom once, down the Covington hill and along the river bank. But it was arduous coming back up the steep incline (there was a price to pay for living in a house with splendid river views), and crossing streets and curbs and traffic—whereas the track was soft and flat, the curves gentle, and if I really wanted variety I could turn and go anti-clockwise.

Yeah, some of my friends teased me and called me over the top because I liked order and tidiness and familiarity. Nothing wrong with having your clothes hanging in their rightful place in the closet, or your shoes paired nicely on the shelves, or your study schedule filled in for the whole semester. I attributed it to years of hanging around Mom and Dad and their realtor business—staging houses for perfect presentation required attention to detail.

So, I was starting senior year with a routine. A run around the track while the weather still allowed it, followed by a shower and breakfast. Once winter kicked in, I’d likely use the treadmill in the school gym.

But Taylor Frank put me in a fluster. For some reason, running beside her made me increase my speed. I did my regulation five laps, but at a pace I was struggling to sustain. I should have stopped when she did, but in my mind I was going to do five, so I had to keep going.

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