Dealing With Trouble

CHAPTER 15 ?

Sunlight falls through the slatted windows, coating the room in a pale shade of gold. I've gotten so used to these silky sheets that I don't want to move, but the clock on my nightstand reads five thirty a.m.-time for my morning run.

I've been checking my phone every day for messages from Dad, but there have been none for the last two weeks. I want to take it as a good sign, like he's finally getting the message, but I'm still a few texts away from Jamie. One says he misses me, and another is a picture of him and Tyler making heart symbols with their hands at me. I burst out laughing, overcome by an overwhelming sense of love. I was afraid that the distance would break us down, but we're stronger than ever.

As I put on my clothes, I'm sluggish. My body aches in ways I never imagined possible, but I already feel calmer and more in control than I did two weeks ago. The key is to distract myself, to focus on anything other than him; only then can I relax.

Jeremiah gives me advice on what foods to eat or what cardio to do, then has me jump rope or do tactical drills until I feel sick. Then we'll work on footwork and shadowboxing, with some basic combos thrown in for good measure. He says I can't work with an opponent yet, but if we only have six weeks, I should be sparring right now instead of doing cardio.

Still, the feeling I get while training is superior to the feeling I get while racing. I'm out of breath, hurting, and ready to give up, but there's a sense of relief beyond all of that. My chest isn't clenched with rage. I'm not about to lose control; in fact, the opposite is true.

For the next few minutes, I practice my one-two in front of the mirror. Even standing here gives me a sense of power.

Mom meets me at the bottom of the stairs, and we walk out onto the street just as the sun rises. We begin slowly, with a nice, easy jog that transitions into a steady run. Every slap of the sidewalk burns my feet, but it's a good kind of pain. I force myself to keep my breathing in sync with my movements.

"I've been missing this," Mom says. She used to accompany me on my morning runs back home. It was the one time she could leave Dad without him worrying about her whereabouts. "I'm not sure how you do it all while going to the gym. You're not high, are you?"

My watch vibrates with a message congratulating me on reaching my goal number of steps. I tap the screen. "I'm not doing drugs; I just want to keep busy."

It's quiet as we accelerate down a leafy suburban street. It's difficult to tell—my mother has always kept her emotions hidden—but I believe she's doing better than she was when we arrived. She's taken to puttingtering around the garden or swimming laps in the pool in between job searches, nothing life-changing, but a sign that it's different this time, that maybe if we keep ourselves busy enough, we'll forget we ever missed him.

"Have you decided which college offer you'll accept?" she inquires.

"It's between UST and NYU."

She frowns and stops running, forcing me to stop too. "I'm not going to tell you what choice to make," says, "that's up to you, but you need to do this for you, Megan, don't make a decision based on a boy. Where do you want to go?"

With a deep breath, I say the first thing that comes to my head. "UST."

She nods like she'd expected as much. "Then that's what your heart is telling you to choose. Jamie is a wonderful boyfriend-he'll understand."

We carry on jogging, and I feel lighter somehow. I've had this choice hanging over my head for weeks now, and finally knowing what I'm going to do lifts this weight off my chest.

I start preparing to accept my UST offer as soon as I get home. It's a lengthy process that entails establishing my Los Angeles residency status, filling out paperwork, and paying a deposit. The deadline isn't until Jane, but the sooner I start, the less time I'll have to second-guess my decision.

Layla asks Mom at breakfast if she can take some photos for her online nature blog. "You are welcome to use my camera," she says.

"I'd be delighted," Mom says. "I mean, they're probably not going to be any good..." I imagine Dad's words ricocheting in her head as her face falls. Don't you think playing with a camera is a waste of time? You don't want to spend time with your family, do you? There were times when he was your biggest fan, and times when he wasn't. When his words were like heavyweight chains around your ankles, and he'd pull them out from under you every time you tried to stand.

Layla dismissively waves her hand. "Don't be a fool. They'll be fantastic."

Taky stands on the patio, hands behind his head, staring up at the sky.

Layla looks at him, her brow furrowed with worry lines. "I despise seeing him like this."

"What's the matter with him?" I inquire.

"His last book was such a success that he's worried this one won't live up to it, so he's in a bit of a panic."

Hearing this astounds me. He's usually so upbeat, but the panic in his expression is palpable right now. The uncertainty. I suppose he's learned to fake it as well.

Before following the twins to the car, I kiss Mom on the cheek and wish her a good day. I'm not as worried about school anymore, mainly because Jane and Kylan go out of their way to make me feel included, but I still miss New York: I miss the changing weather and the track team. I miss Jamie, and I miss Dad, despite my best efforts.

That's why I spend the majority of the day anticipating my training. I don't think about home when I'm jumping rope or learning combos with Jeremiah. I don't think about Dad; instead, I concentrate on my goal. There is nothing else.

Jane is overjoyed when I tell her about my college decision over lunch. "That's only a five-hour drive from Stanford," she says, "and a five-hour drive from Santa Clara, where Kylan is going." It will make our long-distance friendship much easier."

The Fword surprises me, mostly because the last time I had a friend—a real friend—was in middle school. "You know, starting at a new high school would have sucked if it hadn't been for you," I say to Jane, remembering she's a words-of-affirmation kind of girl. So, once again, thank you."

As she pulls me into a side hug, her face lights up. "You are we."

We take our tRayans and walk out into the courtyard, where the twins are sitting near a picnic table under a tree. They're having a heated debate about MMA when Olly casually mentions that I've joined Jeremiah's boxing gym.

Dane's brow furrows. "Why? Isn't that going to make the coming months extremely stressful?"

"I just like having a goal," I explain, "and it's barely even boxing."

Olly gives me a sheepish look and apologizes. Jane extends her hand. "Wait. So you want to learn to box? Boxing that involves punching people?"

"Yes."

Jane appears both impressed and concerned, and I don't blame her. "Are you concerned about getting hurt?" Or did you break your nose or something? In Los Angeles, nose jobs are expensive. You're looking at a ten grand minimum."

I laugh and take a few of her fries. "I guess I'm a little worried, but it's for a good cause, so that helps." But the truth is that training is the only time when my thoughts stop. I don't consider how lonely Dad must be without us. I don't picture him curled up on the sofa by himself; I don't picture him at all.

Dane's mouth tightens into the tiniest frown. "Does that mean Jeremiah is the one preparing you for it?" However, it is not a question.

"Yeah."

The three of them are looking at me with varying degrees of concern. "Just be careful," Dane advises.

"It's just practice."

This appears to relax him slightly. I make them promise not to tell Mom or Layla, and Jane spends the rest of her lunch explaining everything she's learned from Rocky Balboa movies.

Across the courtyard, Jeremiah is sitting with his friends. Two girls join them, Larissa and Amara, and when Larissa leans forward to speak to Jeremiah, he smiles. It's one of those award-winning smiles he always gives out. The kind that can momentarily stun you. The kind that he never gives to me.