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“We could walk a lap or two,” Cal suggested.
“Nope,” I declared. If Tyson was running every lap, then so was I.
“Okay, I’ll just run with you.”
I glanced at him. “Why?”
“Because you’re cute. I like you.” He smiled revealing dimples that I hadn’t noticed before.
“Why?”
Cal frowned at me. “Why what?”
I sighed. Really, I just needed to breathe, and the sigh was my way of catching my breath. “You must be one of the athletes.” He wasn’t breathing hard at all. Running came naturally to him.
“I play football,” he agreed.
“So does my brother,” I informed him. “Athletes don’t mix with my kind.”
Cal appeared offended. “Now that is just hurtful,” he said.
I rolled my eyes at him again.
“I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy. Besides, I told you, I like your eyes.”
I focused on running, making the last four laps. Not the ache in my side that was a burning fire now. The pain in my legs or my ankles that were feeling like they wouldn’t make it another lap around the gym.
Then it happened. My clumsy nature took over as it always did. I stepped on the edge of my shoelace. I felt it trip me and could do nothing to stop the forward motion of my body. With a hard thud, a humph and a groan from me I sprawled across the gym floor.
“Are you all right?” Cal asked, concern lacing his tone.
I wanted to cry but that would make my humiliation worse. One ankle was hurting worse than the other one because I twisted it when I stepped on the shoelace.
My chin was throbbing painfully and would most likely be bruised from where I hit the gym floor. Several people were congregating around me. I recognized one pair of shoes that ran by me and kept running.
“Break it up. Break it up. Get back to your laps,” our gym teacher, Mr. Hill snapped. Other kids who were waiting for me to acknowledge that I was okay moved on. “No show here.”
I turned over and sat up. Cal turned my head towards him careful not to touch my chin. “You busted that chin good,” he said. Then I saw the blood when it dripped on my shirt.
Wonderful.
“You’re bleeding,” Mr. Hill said.
Our gym
teacher was observant if nothing else.
“Anything else hurt?”
“My ankle,” I replied. “I twisted it when I stepped on my shoelace.”
Tyson passed again. Not stopping to see if his sister was okay and I wanted to throw something at his head. Maybe it would knock some sense into him.
“Can you stand?” Mr. Hill asked.
“I’ll help you,” Cal offered.
His hand touched me intimately. By intimately I mean no boy’s hand had ever been around my waist lifting me from the ground. I tried putting weight on the twisted ankle while blood continued to drip on my shirt. I took a step and the ankle buckled.
