Breathe, Annie, Breathe Read online

  “You’re doing really well, Annie,” Matt says when I’m done with a load of jumping jacks. “You think you’ll be able to run the full ten miles on Saturday?”

  I lean over and rest my hands on my knees, panting. “I’m gonna try…but, Matt?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  Every week the runs get harder and harder. I sleep more and more. More aches and pains pop up every day. I should go ahead and buy a lifetime supply of ibuprofen at this rate.

  Do I have a limit?

  “I’m scared that I won’t be able to do it all, you know? The last time I ran ten miles, I got really sick.”

  Matt pats my back. “If you weren’t scared, then I’d be worried.”

  •••

  “Now, who wants to buy the bath mat?”

  I groan. It seems bass ackwards that I haven’t even picked out which classes I’m taking yet, but I have to decide if I’ll supply a crock-pot or an ironing board.

  I’ve been sitting at the Roadhouse for over an hour discussing our college suite with Vanessa, Kelsey, and her cousin, Iggy, a self-proclaimed hipster. She says that anyone who has a bike with more than one gear and claims to be a hipster isn’t really a hipster.

  Who knew?

  When I sat down at their booth earlier, Kelsey’s mouth fell open and she glared at Vanessa. “Annie’s your roommate?”

  “You didn’t tell her?” I blurted at Vanessa.

  Vanessa looked back and forth between us. “I told you my roommate was coming to meet us, didn’t I?”

  “You could’ve told me,” Kelsey replied, furrowing her eyebrows. “I have a say who lives in our suite.”

  “I thought this could be good for all of us,” Vanessa said, biting her lip.

  “How could living with her be good for me?” Kelsey hissed.

  My face burned red. “Is this because I live in a trailer?”

  Kelsey gave me her what-the-F look. “Of course it’s not. It’s because we’re not friends anymore, Annie.”

  We would be if you hadn’t ditched me for Vanessa and spread that rumor I dated Kyle even after you declared your love for him.

  “Fine, whatever,” I said and got up to leave. Taking my chances with the random roommate lottery had to be better than this.

  “I don’t want to live with a stranger, Kels,” Vanessa whined. “And my brother doesn’t want me to either. He’d probably make me keep on living with our papa.”

  Kelsey looked over at Iggy, who was busy making a house out of sugar packets. “Fine,” Kelsey said, and I slowly sat back down, wishing she’d never moved out of Oakdale. If she hadn’t, I never would’ve grown self-conscious and started turning down her invitations to spend the night. I wouldn’t have started pulling away from my friend. How would my life be different now if she’d never moved?

  An hour later, it’s like we’re participating in Middle East peace talks.

  “I’m not bringing the bath mat,” Iggy argues. “I already said I’d bring the shower curtain. I have one with skulls on it.”

  Kelsey, Vanessa, and I all pause to look at each other.

  “I’ll get the bath mat,” Vanessa says.

  “And I’ll get another shower curtain,” I say.

  “Deal,” Kelsey says.

  “Hey!” Iggy blurts. “I want my skulls!”

  Kelsey makes a green checkmark on her color-coded chart that details all the stuff we need to buy for college. Kelsey is bringing everything with an orange checkmark next to it, which so far includes the coffee maker, a broom, and cleaning supplies. Vanessa is green and Iggy is blue. My color is purple. An assortment of Kelsey’s colored Sharpies is fanned across the table in a straight line.

  “How did you get the name Iggy?” Vanessa asks, shoveling more cheese fries in her mouth.

  Iggy peers at us through thick glasses and adjusts the leather bands circling her arms. “My parents named me in honor of the night I was conceived. They were at an Iggy Pop concert getting stoned and they did it in a bathroom. And here I am.”

  Uh, okay.

  Chewing, Vanessa stares at Iggy for a long moment. Kelsey ignores her cousin, seemingly used to such remarks. How in the world is the former head cheerleader of Hundred Oaks High stepcousins with Iggy the self-proclaimed hipster?

  At least I’m sharing a bedroom with Vanessa at college.

  “Can we get more cheese fries?” she asks me, gesturing at the empty white plate in front of us.

  Anything to get away from this table. I jump to my feet and take my time walking over to the vestibule, where I find my manager, Stephanie.

  She grins and I give her my don’t-mess-with-me face. “Can I have another order of cheese fries?”

  “Hell, I’ll give you free New York strips if you want ’em. Your mom will be so happy to hear you’re hanging out with friends.”

  I lift a shoulder. “We’re making plans for college is all. Nothing big.”

  “I’ll get those fries right out to you,” she says, pushing me in the direction of our table. Damn. I’d been planning on loitering in the vestibule until the fries are ready. I slip back into the booth as Kelsey is checking her phone.

  “I swear, that boy texts me for every little last thing.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Colton.”

  “What did he want this time?” Vanessa asks.

  “To let me know he’s awake from his nap.”

  Vanessa looks at me out of the corner of her eye and gives me a sly grin. Huh. Does Colton have a thing for Kelsey? When she and her mom moved in with her new landscaper husband, Colton became her new next-door neighbor. They’ve been hanging out for years, but I thought they were just friends.

  Kelsey puts her phone away. “Who wants to bring the plunger?”

  This goes on for a while longer until Stephanie appears with the cheese fries and some potato skins. Vanessa grins widely, and I wonder where she’s putting all this food. She’s as thin as one of these fries.

  Vanessa pops one in her mouth and dusts the salt from her fingers. “We need to discuss suite rules.”

  “Like whether or not we’re allowed to cook fish?” Iggy asks.

  “Fish?” Vanessa says, crinkling her nose.

  “I know from my job at the library that some people are not okay when you cook fish in the microwave. It has a certain odor,” Iggy explains.

  “O-kayyy,” Vanessa says. “No, I was not talking about fish, but we can definitely add that to our list of things not to do in the suite.”

  Kelsey turns to a new section in her leather planner and writes “Rules of the Suite” in red Sharpie at the top. “I’ll record the rules and email them to everyone for your reference.”

  Vanessa leans over and whispers in my ear, “This is why I asked you to share a room.”

  “Agreed,” I say.

  “I was actually talking about having ‘significant others’ stay overnight in our suite,” Vanessa says. “We need to work out some ground rules.”

  “I’m not even at college yet and I’m already being sexiled,” I mutter.

  “I say that none of us can have a guy spend the night more than twice a week,” Kelsey says.

  “But what if Rory comes to stay on a three-day weekend?” Vanessa asks. “He’s going to college two hours away!”

  “You’ll have to decide which two nights matter more,” Kelsey replies.

  “You can always pitch a tent in the woods and sleep outside with your boyfriend,” Iggy says. “I have one you can borrow, but it might have a slightly fishy smell.”

  Vanessa points at Kelsey with a cheese fry. “Only two nights? You need to get laid, my friend.”

  Kelsey points at Vanessa with a green Sharpie. “I’m in a guy drought. You know that.”

  Vanessa mutters to me, “Maybe she wouldn’t be in a guy
drought if she’d just jump Colton already.”

  “I have a great guy I can introduce you to,” Iggy tells Kelsey. “His name is Chevy Ernesto and he publishes his own newspaper, The Nashville Newsmonger. He sells it every day outside Food Lion.”

  My mouth falls open. Kelsey ignores her cousin and focuses on punching numbers into her planner’s built-in calculator.

  “I say we make up a signal to let each other know if we have a guy in our bedroom,” Vanessa says. “We can tie something to the doorknob, like a necktie or a jump rope.”

  “What if someone steals the jump rope and we walk in on something we don’t want to see?” Iggy asks, pushing the glasses up on her nose.

  “Who would steal the jump rope?” I ask.

  “Anti-hipsters.”

  Vanessa and I are now shaking our heads at each other.

  “Is there anything else we’re missing from our supply list?” Kelsey asks, dragging a pen down a sheet of paper. “If not, I’ll email a copy of the list to everyone for your reference—”

  I start laughing and find I can’t stop, like when Vanessa and Savannah giggled about that Justin Bieber cookie for ages.

  It feels good.

  Marathon Training Schedule~Brown’s Race Co.

  Name Annie Winters

  Saturday

  Distance

  Notes

  April 20

  3 miles

  I’m really doing this! Finish time 34:00

  April 27

  5 miles

  Stupid Running Backwords Boy!!

  May 4

  6 miles

  Blister from HELL

  May 11

  5 miles

  Ran downtown Nashville

  May 18

  7 miles

  Tripped on rock. Fell on my butt

  May 25

  8 miles

  Came in 5 min. quicker than usual!

  June 1

  10 miles

  Let’s just pretend this day never happened…

  June 8

  9 miles

  Evil suicide sprint things. Ran w/ Liza. Got sick.

  June 15

  7 miles

  Skipped Saturday’s run…had to make it up Sunday.

  June 22

  8 miles

  Stomach hurt again. Matt said eat granola instead of oatmeal.

  June 29

  9 miles

  Matt says it’s time for new tennis shoes.

  July 6

  10 miles

  July 13

  12 miles

  July 20

  13 miles

  July 27

  15 miles

  August 3

  14 miles

  August 10

  11 miles

  August 17

  16 miles

  August 24

  20 miles

  August 31

  14 miles

  September 7

  22 miles

  September 14

  20 miles

  September 21

  The Bluegrass Half Marathon

  September 28

  12 miles

  October 5

  10 miles

  October 12

  Country Music Marathon in Nashville

  TODAY’S DISTANCE: 10 MILES

  Four Months Until the Country Music Marathon

  Kyle wasn’t my type.

  Right before the Welcome Back Dance freshman year—the night of our first date—I stared in the mirror and swiped on mascara, wondering if I should cancel. I’d said yes because he put me on the spot. And he was kind of cute, I guess, if you liked short boys with short blond crew cuts. Which I didn’t. I liked tall skinny guys with floppy hair. Nick made fun of Kyle, saying he was too angelic looking and should go join a boy band immediately. If my own brother didn’t think Kyle was good enough for me, what would other people think? I’d always figured that people determined what kind of person you are based on who you date, whether you’re cool or pretty or not so attractive. It’s not nice, but it’s true.

  At the dance, Kyle and I sat on the bleachers and talked, and he paid no attention to the guys goofing around, jumping to touch the rim of the basketball hoop. He didn’t check his phone once all night. I hated when people did that. He stayed tuned in to me, and the more I considered him, it didn’t matter that he wasn’t gorgeous, that he wasn’t tall. I honestly don’t know what clicked in my brain that night at the dance. Something just told me—this guy is nice; he treats you well. His smile is bright like a waking sun, peeking over the horizon. Who cares what other people think? Just give him a chance.

  I did, and I never got bored with him. It seemed we always had something to talk about. He’d love hearing about my marathon training. It’s strange to have something new I’m excited about and not be able to tell him.

  Matt doesn’t want us to get bored on our runs either, so he changes up our long-run locations nearly every weekend. For our second ten-miler, we’re running a trail called the Richland Creek Greenway in Nashville. It connects a lot of the trails to each other, sort of like an interchange. You can tell the Fourth of July was a couple days ago—lots of firework debris and beer cans litter the area. People really partied here, I guess. I partied hard by working at the Roadhouse and making huge tips.

  Still, even with the change in scenery, ten miles is a long time to spend alone—I’ve been thinking about him today, even though I try not to.

  About half a mile from the finish, I see Jeremiah leaning against a mile marker. I haven’t seen him in over a month. How did I miss seeing him on the trails today? Was he coming from another direction and switched onto this trail at the interchange? As I get closer, I realize his face is bright red and his breathing is rough. I sprint to him.

  “Annie, my ankle,” he says through gritted teeth.

  I drop to my knees and touch his foot, making him wince.

  “Shit!” he says. I glance up to find him looking down at me with watery blue eyes. Considering he’s got scars all over him and he did crazy races, his ankle must hurt pretty bad for him to have this kind of reaction.

  “Are you pacing somebody today?” I ask, looking around for that Charlie guy he works out with.

  He shakes his head. “I moved our sessions to Sundays. I was just training myself today—I have a race next weekend,” he says quietly.

  Did he move his work to Sundays so he wouldn’t have to see me on Saturdays or something? That sure makes me feel good. It’s like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Was our hookup that bad for him?

  “We need to get you back to your brother.”

  “I can’t walk,” he whispers.
“I don’t want to make it worse.”

  “I’m only a half mile from the end of the trail. I’ll go get your brother.”

  Jeremiah bites into his hand and nods.

  “Can I help you sit down first?” I ask, wrapping an arm around his waist. Nodding, he inhales deeply through his nose. I can tell he’s in a ton of pain as I lower him to rest on the ground. I yank off my CamelBak and slip it under his ankle, to prop it up.

  “I’ll be back in a few, okay?” I say softly, then hop to my feet, and I’m fixing to start sprinting when he speaks again.

  “Annie.”

  I look into his blue eyes.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” I rush back onto the trail and make a mad dash to Matt. I’ve never run so hard in my life, not even during suicide sprints at the gym. I imagine Jeremiah wincing and that pushes me even harder. Run faster.

  When I see the finish line and my teammates cheering, I don’t hold my arms up in celebration or yell “Woo!” like I normally do. I run straight into Matt’s arms. I’m panting so hard I can’t form words.

  “Annie, why were you running so hard? You shouldn’t push yourself too soon,” Matt scolds me.

  “Jere,” I blurt and lean over, my hands on my knees. “Jeremiah is hurt.”

  “Where?” Matt asks.

  “Half mile that way.” I point down the trail. “He can’t walk.”

  “Let’s go,” Matt says, jerking me toward his truck. “Bridget! Stay with everybody else,” he yells to his assistant.

  I jog to Matt’s truck, hop in, and he drives along the trail, hitting tree branches and running over tree roots all the way to Jeremiah. When we get there, Matt slams the truck into park, leaves the engine running, and leaps down before I can even get my seatbelt unbuckled. Matt squeezes Jeremiah’s shoulder, then immediately starts examining his ankle.