Effortless With You Lizzy Charles 13 page

“Well, this deserves an A. Your format is flawless and your content is original.”

I shake my head at him. “No. I’m not getting a grade for it.”

“You’ve been spending your summer writing an essay that you’ll never get a grade on?”

“No, just last night.”

Justin rubs his cheeks and smiles. “You’re funny. You know that, right?”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I need to know what exactly I’m doing that he enjoys so much. I want to do it more.

“I don’t know. You just are.”

“Great.” I roll my eyes playfully to make him laugh. He does and my cheeks warm. I look out the window. If we’re going to be friends, I have to get control.

Justin offers to drive me to school so I can drop off the essay while he checks on some basketball business. We walk into the school together. It’s weird to be at his side, where I’ve seen Jennifer walk across this parking lot with him so often. I had no idea I’d paid such close attention to Justin Marshall back then. As Justin and I walk up the stairs to the school’s entrance, it’s almost creepy how much detail I remember about them together. Where he put his hand on Jennifer’s waist. How his backpack always fell over his left shoulder. Seriously, I used to loath him, believing him to be such an egomaniac.

But, as the detailed memories flood me, I realize my heart knew the truth of what he would be to me, even then.

I nod toward the direction of the office, stepping away from Justin’s side. He waves, before heading down toward the athletic office. He leaves a sense of loss in his place. I hate how complete I feel with him near. It’s not fair. I need to suck it up, learn to feel good and whole in myself. I can’t depend on Justin for that or I’ll never heal. I refuse to live a half life.

It's odd walking through the school when it's empty. My footsteps echo off the bareness. The hallways look gigantic without the student posters plastering the walls. I duck into the office without notice. The administrative assistants are chatting at the copier about some barbecue. I grab a blue post-it note off the front desk and jot down a message for Mr. Taden.

Mr. Taden, I’m sorry this is late. Please don’t grade it. I just want you to know that I got your note and you were right. My first try sucked. Hopefully, this one is more satisfactory. Enjoy your summer. I’ll see you this fall. ~Lucy Zwindler

Mr. Taden’s mailbox is overflowing with flyers and notes. I flatten the pile and shove my rolled up essay and note into the corner. My essay will probably get lost in this mix anyway. I glare at his mailbox feeling oddly defeated. I sigh. It doesn’t matter. It isn’t the mailbox’s fault. I should have written my essay right the first time.

I step out of the office. Time to find Justin. I glance down the corridor, past the cafeteria toward the gym. I’d avoided this route all last year. I hated how the janitor closet reminded me how much of a loser I was. Of how much the senior girls hated me for taking the most popular girl’s starting position on the varsity basketball team. Of how the pain from the injuries they inflicted was easier to cope with than the pain inside.

It got to the point where being thrown into a locker was pleasant in comparison to hiding from them, with my feet up, in the bathroom stalls.

That’s when I lost myself.

I pause as I pass the closet. I ate so many lunches there, with so many chemicals. I pull on the latch, it clicks and the door swings open. I wave my hand above my head in the darkness. Grasping the cord I always depended on. Light.

A red bucket is stacked meticulously in the corner. My bucket, my throne of loser-dom. There’s a new open space on the shelf to the right. I lean down. Pencil markings are lightly written on the wood. I suck. I hate this life.

Not my handwriting.

I take a step back, alarmed that this is someone else’s closet now. I notice a small pillow jammed under the box of rags. Smart, good for quick naps to save yourself from the nightmare-ish sleep the bullying from school inflicts.

I click off the light, pulling the door closed. Giving this person their space. Respect of whatever they endured last year. As the door latches shut, I make a promise. No matter what, I’ll pull this kid out of this closest and be their friend next year. Not like Marissa did though. I’ll help them find their way, their own feet. And I’ll stick up for them. Hell, I bet with Jennifer and Justin’s help, we may actually be able to change the bullying dynamics of this school. Maybe. Hopefully.

This type of world shouldn’t exist.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Lucy!” Justin’s voice carries down the hall. My heart melts when he calls my name. His gorgeousness waits, smoldering and perfect. Totally out of my league. I can’t help but gaze into his eyes as I walk toward him. I could live forever there.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yup. It’s dropped off.”

“Great.” He folds up a piece of paper and shoves it in his back pocket. We turn at the same time, accidently bumping pinkies and brushing arms as we walk toward the front door. My face heats as my pinky burns. Crap. Please don’t notice my flush. Or the way my heart is galloping out of control.

This being friends thing is going to be so hard.

But it’s worth it. Any part of Justin is worth this restraint. I can’t have it all, but it’s better than no relationship at all.

“I called your Dad,” Justin says as we reach the truck. “Checking in, being polite after all the crap that went down this weekend, ya know?”

“Thanks.” I climb in, thankful I don’t have to make that phone call. I need a break from the constant questions.

“So,” Justin says as he turns the ignition. “I kind of asked him permission to take you out …”

Out?

“As friends, of course,” he rushes to clarify.

I nod with a smile, of course. Of course. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

My heart tickles, such a perfect response. He has no idea he’s sweeping me off my feet. No idea what power he has.

“Of course it is.” I try to sound collected, even a bit annoyed. I glance down at my running shorts and tank top. “Can we swing by my house so I can at least change?”

“Nope, what you’re wearing is perfect for what I’ve got in mind.”

I lift my eyebrows. “We’re going running?”

His smile spreads and he winks back. “You’ll see.”

A fire ignites in my heart. I’ll never be able to get enough of that smile and jaw. … He’s just so freakin’ hot. Everything in me burns for him. What I wouldn’t do just to hold his hand. God, why can’t he feel that way about me?

His phone buzzes, another text. Justin glances at the screen. “Ah, Allison,” he says with a light smile.

Right. That’s why.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A white banner hangs between two trees above the entrance to the beach. Triathlon for Champs. A triathlon? He’s got to be kidding me. There’s no way I’m in good enough shape to run, swim and bike. I’d maybe be able to handle the running portion. Maybe.

Please, don’t let this be his big surprise.

Justin leads toward an empty table under a blue canopy where a few older women are unloading boxes. “Kate, guess who?” Justin says as he climbs over the table, tapping her on the arm.

She squeals, taking Justin in a perfect grandma hug. Justin kisses her white curls. “I’m so happy to see you again!” He waves me over. I walk around the table with a smile. “Lucy, this is Kate, from the Children’s Leukemia Research Society. Back in the day, she was our designated comforter during Jackson’s battle.”

I reach out to shake Kate’s small hand, but she pulls me into a hug. “Any friend of Justin’s is a friend of mine,” she says with a grin.

“Fourteen years ago, Kate started volunteering to help families deal with the loss of a child who fought leukemia. She’s held the hands of hundreds while they deal with the loss of a child to leukemia.”

Kate beams at Justin, light blue eyes sparkling, full of life. “Oh hush.” She squeezes my hands, “Ready to help?”

“Sure. What can I do?”

“I’ve got forty-five minutes before the kids show up for the beach triathlon.” She hands me a three-ringed binder. “Arrange the numbers over here with the registration book. Justin,” she pushes him toward the box. “Get those stakes in the water and set up two one-hundred-foot courses. One at three feet deep, the other at five. Then everyone can participate in the fun.”

She busies herself, emptying t-shirts out of boxes. “Justin? When you’re done, there’re water bottles and certificates in the car.” She shouts at him while he walks down the beach, stripping his shirt away before hitting the water.

I bite my lip, my eyes lingering over the chiseled muscles of his back. Holy crap.

Kate nudges me and laughs, “Is that what’s going on here?”

“No.” I flip the three-ringed binder open. “We’re just friends.”

She clucks to herself, “I’ve been throwing this triathlon with Justin since he was fifteen and he’s never brought a girl along before.” She starts folding blue t-shirts and placing them on the table next to me. “His guy friends, sure. They’ve been helping out for a few years. But a girl … This is new.” She opens a box of tiny baby-sized shirts. Babies with leukemia? This world is not fair.

“I actually work with Justin, we play basketball too.”

“Ah, I see.”

I bite my tongue, trying to keep my face steady as I arrange the numbers in front of me.

I’m the first girl he’s ever brought here. Is he letting me in?

But he brings his guy friends all the time. So, no. He’s treating me like he treats his friends. Nothing special. I’m just one of the guys.

That sucks. I hate being one of the guys.

When I finish the numbers, Kate puts me to work setting up the start line as she greets the other volunteers with Justin. The families and children arrive as I place the last cone in the sand. Parents herd their children toward the beach, always having at least one child paler than the others who wears a cap or bandana to protect their bald head from the sun. Every kid runs to Kate, giving her a hug, as she pins their number to their swimsuit.

A pale girl in yellow bike shorts and a matching yellow swim suit tugs on my hand. “Can we start now?”

“Soon.” I smile back. Her grin is loose, exposing a missing bottom tooth.

“I want to start with running. I’m the fastest. I swear!” She squeezes my hand tight.

“Right on! I’ll be watching you.”

“Will you be my bike?”

“Be your bike?”

“You know, like Justin does sometimes?”

I glance at Justin, who’s swarmed with little boys. “Um, sure. Why not?”

Soon other hands are tugging at my arm. More little girls. Adorable swim suits with faces brighter than the dawn. Older girls too, gather near me. The eldest is in total tween mode. She’s daring, wearing a cute bikini that shows off an athletic form. She grabs some girls for some cartwheels. A gymnast maybe? Her bandana falls off, but she doesn’t care. She just shoves it into her running shorts and winks at me. “It’s going to come off when I swim anyway.”

“True. Smart thinking,” I say as I try to hold in my real reaction. Holy crap. Brave.

A whistle blows and everyone joins us at the starting line. Kate grabs a megaphone. “Welcome to the annual Twin Cities Triathlon for Champs,” she bellows. All the children cheer while the parents and volunteers holler and whoop, amping up the excitement. I cup my hands around my mouth and join the noises.

Kate begins with the rules, there will be two groups. Six plus will start first. A few minutes later, five and below will join. Designated parents and volunteers are to take their positions with the kids at the starting line. Everyone’s involved here.

A hand tugs mine. “You ready for a race?” Justin steps up next to me.

“Heck yes. This is awesome.”

“I know. I’ll see you at the finish line.” His hand still wraps around mine. My nerves tingle, an electrical current coiling in my palm. I have no power to let go. Why does it have to feel so good? The moment lasts a beat too long. He glances down at our grasping palms. As Kate blows the fog horn, he gives it one last squeeze, before darting forward and tugging me backward at the same time.

Cheat!

I dig my heels into the sand, my other hand still clutching the hand of the little girl in yellow. She hollers, “LET’S GET EM!” and we take off together. We wind our way through the beach running course, in pursuit of Justin and a little boy in a life vest, arms wrapped around Justin’s neck, hitching a piggy back ride. They splash into the water mere seconds before us. Justin pulls the boy with him into the older track, on course to victory.

“The big one!” Yellow yells. “I’m seven!”

We splash into the deeper water. “You a good swimmer?” She answers with diving under the water and popping up a few feet away. “Awesome!” I’m about to dive in after her when I notice an elementary aged boy with jet-black hair standing in the waist deep water. I wave to Yellow, “You go on!” She smiles back before dipping under the water again, forging forward in the six plus race. I catch Justin’s eye, who slows down, giving time for Yellow to catch up with him so he can watch her too.

I wade over to the boy standing in the water.

“What’s up buddy?”

“I can’t swim,” he mumbles.

“That’s alright. We can do it together.”

“No, I can’t do it. This is stupid. I didn’t even want to come.” He starts backing out of the water.

I reach out and take his hand. “You can do it.”

“No, I can’t. I have leukemia.”

I nod. “I know. I’m sorry. That sucks a lot. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. You know that, right?”

I catch a man with identical black hair nearing the water’s edge. His father. With a raise of his eyebrow, he asks me if I’ve got this. I nod back, I do. I’ve got it.

“I bet you’re actually a really good swimmer, huh?” I doubt his parents would let him run out here without a life vest on if he didn’t have the skills.

He smiles, “Yeah. I love it.”

“Can you show me? I haven’t had a swim lesson in a long time.” I splash backwards, in a forced feeble backstroke, making a fool of myself. “I could use some pointers.”

“You’re doing it all wrong!”

“Oh? Then show me. Please?”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on.” His eyebrows furrow. “But don’t do the backstroke. No one does that in a real race. Not if you want to win.”

“I do. I want to win.”

“Then come on.” He huffs as he plunges forward into the water, easily gliding into a forward dog-paddle. I join him, letting him instruct me down the course. As he pulls past other pairs of volunteers and kids, his smile grows. How long has he been letting his diagnosis stop him from having fun? I glance at his parents on the beach. It’s a new diagnosis. You can see it in their creased brow. But their faces relax as the boy’s smile grows in joy.

We reach the end of the swimming track and run together out of the water, up the beach to the bike line.

I give the boy a high five as he hops on his bike. “You rock! Ride on!” He pushes his pedal forward, a brilliant smile plastered to his face.

A familiar tug and flash of yellow greets me. “You said you’d be my bike.”

“You don’t have one?”

“Nope.”

“Okay,” I say through slightly labored breath. “How can I be your bike?”

“Bend down.”

I do and she climbs on my back. Right, a piggy back ride.

“Go!” She yells as she points forward with a squeal.

I dash forward as I zigzag through the biking course. Dodging big wheels, parent-pulled wagons, and tricycles while making sure to stay out of the way of kids zooming by on real bikes. Pure joy and determination radiate off everyone’s face. I know it’s plastered to mine too. I haven’t felt this great, ever. Not even the high of a basketball game competes with this feeling. Well, maybe holding Justin’s hand does.

We round the final corner, “Ready?” I shout up to little Yellow.

“GO!!!”

I sprint, throwing my legs into long strides, bending forward with Yellow’s light weight on my back. Justin pulls the ribbon across the finish line as they see us approach. Every kid gets the victory of breaking through the ribbon. I reach up and swing Yellow off my shoulders, determined to let her feel the rush of breaking her own ribbon. She gets it, leaping forward over the line, breaking through the loose red ribbon.

Victory!

She runs into her parents’ arms and it takes everything in me not to cry. Kate nears her and swoops her into the perfect grandma-like hug, handing her the blue triathlon t-shirt and a home-printed certificate.

This is beautiful. This I love.

I step to the side, letting a boy on a bike fly through the ribbon that Justin had immediately reassembled. I duck under the course’s rope as I cheer the boy on. I’ll never be able to get enough of this.

Justin nudges me with his elbow, “Beat ya.” He hands me the ribbon, as he slides the little guy off his back. I take up his post, re-tying the ribbon loosely and dragging it across for the next champions, while Justin brings the child back to his parents. The boy takes a few weak steps into his mother’s arms before she lifts him with a hug and places him in his wheelchair.

Justin gives the kid a high five and that’s when it hits me. I’m a total goner. I’m head over heels in love with Justin Marshall, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I glance away as he walks back toward me. That smile. God. Those eyes. Kill me. How will I ever survive this?

He places his hand on my back as he reaches over to untie a flag that got caught up on a pole. His touch melts me and there’s nothing I can do. His palm heats through my shirt, radiating warmth over my back. My spine tingles with pleasure. Holy crap.

“So,” he says with his hand still on my back, “What do you think?”

I cheer as two kids cross the finish line. “I think this is pretty amazing.”

He leans in toward me. “Not as amazing as you,” he says as he removes his hand from my back. He turns back toward the finish line, retying the ribbon and stringing it across.

The breeze stops with my heart. Everything slows. His dark hair’s fallen into a loose curl, striking against his green eyes. Did he really just say that?

Justin waves another volunteer over, handing him the end of the ribbon with a quick exchange. He waves to the table of volunteers as he returns to my side. “I’ve got something to show you.” His hand finds that place again on my back and for a brief moment it leads me the direction he wants us to walk. The beach.

“Alright,” I say as casually as I can. I’d follow him anywhere. I know better now than to ask what he wants to show me. There’s no end to Justin’s depth and I’m loving each surprise.

He holds up the beach boundary rope for me to duck under. We make our way away from the celebrating triathlon champions, down to the water’s edge. He sits on the beach, feet in the water. Patting the ground beside him. I join him, dipping my toes in the shallow water, still warm in the dusk’s sun.

“Thank you,” I say before he can show me anything. “I had so much fun.”

“Good. I hoped you’d like it. It’s one of my favorite days of the year.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “This is what I wanted to show you.” He opens the wallet, handing me a photo.

A younger version of Justin, but with blue eyes, smiles back at me.

“Jackson?” I ask.

“That was taken a few days before he was diagnosed.”

“He looks just like you.”

“Yeah. I used to love that about him. He was older enough for me to admire the crap out of him. Seriously, he could do anything. Best baseball player, best climber, best runner. Best brother.” He smiles as he takes the picture back and secures it again in his wallet.

“He sounds wonderful.”

“He was. I’m sorry he’s gone. He would have loved this,” he said with a nod back toward the triathlon.

“I’m sure he would’ve.” My eyes are damp, but I don’t care. It’s right.

Justin opened the other part of his wallet, pulling out another piece of paper and handing it to me. “I got this from school today.”

I unfold the paper, immediately recognizing the headline Freshman leads Varsity to Victory. Under the headline, there’s a photo of me, hair in a sweaty ponytail, head between my hands, studying the floor, after the final winning shot for the state championships. My shot.

“What happened, Lucy? Why did you stop? You were great. I remember that game.” He leans into me, his shoulder brushing against mine. “I remember you.”

My heart pounds. “How long did it take you to recognize me?”

His lips spread into a smile. “I’ve always known who you were. You could never hide that behind Marissa.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And blow the cover you worked so hard to keep?”

“It wasn’t a cover. It was more a new life. Life on that basketball team was hell.”

“Why?”

“Think about it, Justin. What do you remember about that year and the freshman girl on the team?”

Justin gazes out for a moment at the water. Then a crease in his forehead appears. “Wait, those stories were true?”

“Probably.”

“The beatings? The bullying? All because you took that brat’s position? I thought people were exaggerating.”

I nod. “They made it impossible to endure. As the season ended, there was nothing left of me. After the season, it actually got worse. I was their sick form of daily entertainment.”

Justin’s hand finds mine and he gives it a squeeze. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Coach knew. As long as he won, he kept looking the other way. I couldn’t tell my parents. I didn’t know how my mom would handle it. I couldn’t risk her getting too upset. I wanted to keep her stable, well.”

“I wish you would have told me.”

“Well, we weren’t exactly friends then, huh?” I ask as Justin releases my hands.

“No. But we are now. So,” he smiles, “are you going to play ball again?”

The cheers from the triathlon champions carry over the water.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I always needed basketball before. Yes, I loved it, but this last year gave me a complete break. And after Marissa, I’m wary to let anything define me anymore. It’s nice not to need anything to be myself.”

“So, maybe?”

“Yeah. Actually,” I nod back toward the kids. “This makes me want to coach. I think I’d love that.”

“Good. Do what makes you happy. Whatever you decide. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks. These kids make me happy. That event made me happy.”

“Yeah. That was obvious, your smile … Wow.”

I beam back at him. No one’s ever made me feel so great before.

“See,” he says with a wink and I think I’m going to die. The most lovely form of torture on earth. “You seemed at ease out there.”

“Yeah, it’s easy to be myself here.” I shrug. “Around you, too.”

Justin laughs. “Yeah, I know. I swear, no one believes me when I tell them about the spunk in your soul.”

He tells people about me?

Justin stands up, brushing off the sand from his shorts. I follow quickly, not giving him the chance to reach down and pull me up. Too dangerous. My hand may weld itself to his if our palms touch again.

He reaches down and catches my hand anyway, pulling me up but suddenly using his weight to throw me into the water. I grasp his other arm, pulling him in after me. He falls, pinning me under him in the foot of water. I’m totally lost. I can’t look away from his green eyes, somehow darker as he gazes back down at me. I know I’m crossing the friendship line, but I can’t help it. I’m not going to live my life missing moments like these.

He smiles, brushing the hair from my face. His Adam’s apple gulps before he rolls off of me, letting go of my palm. Disappointment washes itself over me with a wave. I welcome the water, giving me a moment to recover from his rejection. He knew, in that second, he knew that I wanted to be his. He had to.

When I’ve got control, I use the rejected energy to bolt from the water, making sure to splash in his face on my way out. I’m totally cool. Nothing happened. Just having fun. Friendly fun. I dash up the beach.

He doesn’t miss a beat, sprinting past me. “Race you to the truck!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The best part of every day is my time with Justin. I thrive on his laughter. My heart aches when I crawl out of his truck in the evenings, hurting worse every day. He is my last thought of the day and my first every morning. After that moment on the beach, I have raw determination to stop thinking about him. But the more I try, the more Justin consumes my thoughts. Thankfully, or crappily, the constant flow of texts he receives from girls helps remind me just where we stand. I now love that chime of his phone. It keeps me grounded in reality.

As we pull into my driveway after a miserable, humid week of painting, Justin’s phone chimes four times.

“Your following beckons,” I say, handing him the phone from the console.

Justin sighs. “All in a day’s work, right?” He checks the messages.

I fold my hands in my lap, remembering the way his hand grasped mine at the race. My back warms, still radiating from the heat of that touch. He hasn’t touched me since. I squeeze my hands together, restraining myself from throwing the phone into the pile of fertilizer Mom has dumped on the driveway.

“It’s from Jen. She’s grilling out at Lake Nokomis. Want to come with me?”

My heart stops. Another evening with Justin? Yes!

Justin repeats himself, thinking I didn’t hear him.

“Sure, that sounds like fun.” My insides are reeling.

“Great.” His broad smile accentuates his right dimple. I smile back like a fool, opening the truck door and sliding out of the seat.

“How quick can you get ready? I’m starving and they already started the grill.”

“Twenty minutes?” It’ll be tight but I can make it work. It’s a lake so wet hair will be fine.

“Wow. You can be ready in twenty?” Justin whistles. “I can’t even do that. How about I’ll pick you up in forty?”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Sweet. See you soon.” The motor sputters and a cloud of white vapor goes poof in my face. He leans out his window, “Sorry about that.” I wave the cloud away, coughing.

“Sure you can make it home in that, Justin?” Dad’s voice calls from the garage. I spin around. I had no idea he’d been standing there.

“She’s never failed me yet, Mr. Zwindler.” He laughs as he slowly pulls the truck out of the driveway.

Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. “If that boy dares to pick you up tonight in that vehicle, I’m loaning you my car.”

I roll my eyes at him. “The truck’s fine, Dad.”

Dad shrugs. “It may be but it doesn’t matter. It’s the principal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A rule of thumb. Don’t pick up a girl for a date in a vehicle that makes her father doubt her survival.”

“It’s not a date.”

Dad laughs.

“No, really. We’re hanging out with friends.”

He lifts his right eyebrow at me.

“Jennifer will be there,” I add. I’d never felt the need to tell Mom and Dad that Justin and Jennifer’s relationship was over. The Jennifer card eliminated most awkward conversations whenever they brought up Justin.

Dad opens the door to the mud room. “Well, I stand corrected.”

It isn’t a date.

I can’t think of this as a date.

“You know Mom was dating someone else when we met?” He follows me through the kitchen. “I’m just saying, it can be a date.”

I spin around and glare at him. He responds with a toothy and teasing grin.

“Dad.” I scowl. I sound just like Mom.

Dad throws his hands up and walks away. “Okay, okay. It’s not a date.”

“Thank you.”

I bolt up the stairs and throw myself into the shower. Dad has stolen a few precious minutes from me. I multitask while scrubbing vigorously, choosing my outfit from memory. I’ll go with my new jean shorts and the purple and white polka dot tank that I bought with Laura a few days ago. I’m so thankful I went on that shopping trip.

I pull open my makeup drawer, swooshing on a light layer of foundation and some mascara. We’re going to the beach. I don’t need anything more.

My heart pounds as I play with my wet hair. Is this really a date? The butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in my stomach zoom around like they’re in the Daytona 500. I pull my hair to the side, braiding it down the edge of my neck. I wipe the steam off the mirror so I can see the final result. I look fresh and dewy. Perfect for a skin commercial but not exactly perfect for a date.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 425