Waking Olivia(5)

Nicole and Erin start to giggle, that kind of secretive girlish giggle, a  noise I'm proud to say I've never made. "We love the grey shirt,"  explains Erin with a lascivious grin.

When I roll my eyes, Nicole looks at me as if I've just denied evolution. "You don't think he's hot?" she asks.

"Maybe I'm just having a hard time seeing under that thick layer of dickhead he wears," I reply.

"He's not as bad as you think," Erin argues. "Off the track he's super nice. On the track too, actually."

"Not to me, he's not."

"He gives people what they need." She cocks her head, eyeing me somewhat  warily. "No offense, Finn, but he seems to think you need discipline."

If it didn't piss me off so much, I'd probably agree.



He has us do speedwork, and I immediately regret my showboating this  morning. I no longer have that buzz of energy that kept me well ahead of  Betsy. This afternoon we are neck-and-neck during every 800. We're both  destroyed during the recovery, and then we do it again. But I'm the one  Will calls out, of course.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Running 800s, like you said."

"Really? Because it looks to me like you're racing Betsy."

"Or maybe she's racing me. Why am I the one getting bitched at here?"

"Because I expect more of you."

"You shouldn't."

He looks at me. It's an assessing look, not cocky or angry but earnest  as if he's trying to decide something. "Yeah," he finally says sourly,  "you're probably right."

The remainder of the week passes with a few more lectures from Will and  not a single compliment. I give him what he wants. I'm fast but I'm not  too fast, and I don't race Betsy even though I'd like to pound her into  the dirt and stomp on her remains, yet he stands there praising everyone  but me. I scowl at him as I pass, but he doesn't even seem to notice.  Probably because he assumes I'm not going to be his problem for much  longer.

I guess I assume it, too.

If he's not happy with me right now, then he's definitely not going to  be happy when the real problems begin-when school starts in two weeks  and our first meet looms. The stress will lead to nightmares, nightmares  will lead to running, and running leads to meets where I perform about  as well as a retiree trying out a treadmill for the first time.

I spend my time between our two practices mapping the town and combing  the woods, which is where I almost always head during the dreams. I have  no idea why I go there, and I don't really want to know.

Erin continues to follow me to lunch, despite the fact that I've told  her I want to eat alone. At this point, her attempts at friendship are  flat-out stalking.

"Seriously?" I groan when she sits at my table. "I think I need a restraining order."

"Restraining orders can only be issued if there's intent to harm," she quips cheerfully.                       
       
           


///
       

"I'm not at all surprised that you are so informed about restraining orders," I gripe.

She just laughs.

As if I was joking.





7





Will



I can see five different peaks I've climbed on the drive to my mother's  farm. I'm not sure if that's necessarily ironic, but it's definitely  shitty. Fate's way of laughing in my face. Rubbing salt in the wound.

I climbed those peaks when I was younger and every single time it was  against my father's wishes. Every single time it led to a fight. It took  my desire to climb and transformed it, took something pure and made it  angry and defiant. I look back on those climbs, how reckless they were,  and realize they proved my dad right in a way. I did need to grow the  fuck up. I just couldn't do it until it was too late for him to see it  happen.

The farm is my full-time job, left in my unwilling hands when my father  died. It was already failing when I inherited it. Coaching is part-time,  covering my younger brother's tuition but not a lot else. Between two  jobs and the debt my father left behind, there aren't enough hours in  the day and there probably never will be, so my climbing days are over. I  sometimes wonder if my dad is looking down and getting a good laugh out  of the situation.

"Was Jackson even here this morning?" I grouse when I walk into my  mother's house. We sold off some of the farm, but what's left is still  too much for us and the part-time guys we've hired. "The stables look  like shit. Probably because they were full, literally, of shit."

She sighs. "Yes, he was here. You know how that goes, Will."

Yeah, I know. No one is going to kill himself for a job that is seasonal  or part-time. This is just a stop-gap until he finds something better.

"How's work?" she asks.

I shrug. "Pretty good. This year's team looks okay." Even if it didn't, I  wouldn't tell her. She's got enough guilt about the fact that I'm here  as it is.

"How are the new ones?"

"Hard to say. There's one with some promise." I didn't mean to add that.  I don't know why but something about Finnegan makes me want to discuss  her with someone, and at the same time makes me want to pretend she  doesn't exist.

"Well, you've got four years to make something of her."

"Only two. She's a transfer."

She nods. "That's right. Peter told me about her."

This surprises me. Peter's been a friend of the family all my life, but I  didn't know he discussed work with my mom. It's a little weird. It  makes me wonder if they discuss me too.

"She's fast, but she's unstable," I sigh. "That girl's got more problems than an entire psychiatric team could fix."

"Will, she just got here," she says gently.

"Didn't Peter tell you what she did at UT?"

"Yes," she says, raising a brow. "And I remember a time when you  couldn't set foot outside this house without winding up in the back of a  police cruiser. So maybe you shouldn't be so quick to judge."

Fine. But I never tried to kill someone.

She sets food on the table. "Eat," she commands. "It'll make you less grumpy."

I'm sure she's right, but even a full stomach won't make me feel better about Olivia.





8





Olivia



The next two weeks are basically a repeat of the first: Me, working my  ass off, and Will, being a total dick about it. The twice-a-day workouts  are so exhausting that I don't dream at all. I give him everything at  practice, and while I don't deserve an award for it, I do deserve one  for not telling him to go fuck himself. Actually, I deserve something  better than an award for that. Maybe a new car or a trip to Disney.

Erin not only eats with me every day, but she gets my number off the  team roster and starts texting me too. It's unbelievably annoying. I  respond to her initial texts with one of my own.

Me: Stop texting me.

Erin: Aren't you cute? ;-) ;-)

I hate emojis.

I'm not sure why I haven't just blocked her yet. And then she invites  some of the other girls to eat with us and I know what hell truly is.  Nicole, a mouthy redhead who's the fastest girl on the team after me and  Betsy, Meghan, whose dark curls are so big her head blocks half my view  of the cafeteria, and Hannah, blonde and quieter than the others but  not quiet enough.

Betsy and her small posse sit at a separate table. It feels as if we're  two rival gangs, and I wouldn't be surprised if Erin and these girls  have befriended me solely because I'm faster than Betsy, and add some  clout to their side. Clearly it's not my winning personality attracting  them.                       
       
           


///
       

I listen in surly silence as they chatter. 10% of the conversation is about running, and the rest is about boys.

"You'll see the guy's track team at tomorrow's practice," Nicole tells me the week before school starts.

I couldn't care less about meeting the guys. Runners are too gangly for me. I prefer a build like Will's.

I want to take bleach to my brain the moment I hear that admission in my head.

"Mmmm, and Erin will get to see Brofton," someone teases.

"Dan Brofton is hands-down the hottest guy on the team," Erin informs me. "Aside from Will, that is."

There's a lot of sly giggling. "Will doesn't count. He's not on the team," Nicole objects.

"But if he were ..." Hannah sings, and there is more giggling. Coaches  can't date students, and even if they could I can't imagine the appeal  of an asshole like Will. Okay, that's a lie. I can totally imagine the  appeal. But I refuse to let myself.

"Did you see the way his shirt clung to him at yesterday's practice?" asks Meghan.

"Wish his shorts had clung too," cackles Nicole.

I roll my eyes. "This is like listening to a bunch of horny teenage boys."

"Welcome to the team." Erin grins.