Nan looked like she wanted to say something, but a distant whoop from the cluster of coaches interrupted the thought and had us all on our feet, eyes glued to the trees as we waited for the first of the runners to emerge. We didn’t have to wait long. A boy with impossibly long legs, wearing a blue and white jersey, sprinted toward the finish line. Several moments passed before two more racers appeared, another boy in blue and the other in green, running almost neck and neck. Alex wasn’t among them.
Monica jumped up and stood on top of the bleachers, craning her neck and yelling, “Come on, Alex!” even though she couldn’t see him. The fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh racers came into view. The boy in blue crossed the line, taking first. Still no Alex. But then, all of a sudden, there he was—dashing through the trees and pounding across the field. By this time all the spectators, including me, were on their feet, yelling and cheering or, in Nan’s case, whistling.
Monica leapt off the bleachers and jogged toward the finish line clapping her hands and screaming, “Go, Alex, go!” as Alex, his face red and contorted, seemed to find another gear. Legs and arms pumping like pistons, he passed the seventh racer and then the sixth. The battle for fifth place was intense and the crowd was cheering on both boys as they sprinted toward the finish. If the course had been twenty yards longer, Alex might have pulled it off. As it was, he crossed the finish line three paces behind his competitor.
“Woot! Way to go!” Monica hollered, and hugged me when the race announcer gave out Alex’s time. “A personal record!”
The remaining racers were crossing the line so quickly and thickly now that the announcer couldn’t keep up. Monica jogged over to congratulate Alex, who was standing off to one side of the course, bent over and with his hands on his knees, shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
She bent down near him. “Did you see your time? It was amazing, Alex! Way to go!”
Beaming with pride, Monica patted Alex on the back. He didn’t say anything, just lifted his right arm and stretched it out, pushing her away.
“Hey,” she said, moving in closer, “I know you wanted to go to state, but you’ve improved so much this season. You’ll make it next year, Alex. You’ll see. Really, honey, you should be proud.”
With the last of his racers coming in, Bob was walking toward Alex, presumably to congratulate him. As he approached, Alex straightened up, glared at Monica, and said, “Shut up.”
Monica’s jaw slackened a little. I could see she was surprised, and hurt, but she reached out to put a hand on his shoulder anyway, saying, “Alex. It’s okay. I know you’re disappointed.”
“Shut up!” he snapped, shaking her off. “I’m not your honey and I don’t need your advice!”
“Hey!” Monica protested. “I was just trying to be supportive.”
“When I need your support, I’ll ask for it, okay? And if you’re so interested in supporting me, maybe start by showing up on time.”
Bob arrived on the scene.
“Alex! Knock it off! That’s no way to talk to your mom.”
Glowering and still red in the face, Alex turned on his coach. “She’s not my mom. Just because my dad was sleeping with her—” Alex shouted, except he didn’t say “sleeping with,” resorting instead to a more vulgar and wounding vernacular that brought tears to Monica’s eyes.
“Alex!” Bob boomed. “That’s enough! You are way, way out of line!”
I didn’t really know Bob, but I’d been under the impression that he was an affable, mild-mannered sort. So when his face contorted with fury and his voice thundered, I was taken by surprise.
Alex’s face turned even redder. It looked like he, too, was fighting back tears.
“But, Coach!”
Bob shook his head, raised his arm, and pointed toward the field.
“Take a lap, Alex. You need to cool down.”
By this time everyone was staring, including Alex’s teammates. Shamefaced, Alex swallowed hard but didn’t budge. Neither did Bob. He stabbed his finger toward the field a second time.
“I am serious, Alex. Take a lap. Now. Otherwise, you’re off this team—and I mean forever. It’ll be the end of your running career.”
Alex hesitated a moment longer, then dipped his head low, and finally jogged off toward the far edge of the field. When he was out of earshot, Bob placed his hand on Monica’s shoulder, seeking out her eyes.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just another day in the life of an Evil Stepmother,” she said, pretending to laugh as she swiped at her eyes.
“You sure?” Monica sniffled and nodded. “Don’t let this get to you, okay? Teenagers are idiots—big, colliding bags of hormones held together by skin and self-absorption. I ought to get hazard pay for the crap I put up with from these guys.”
Monica smiled a little.
“Listen,” he said gently. “I got this. After Alex finishes his lap and takes a shower, I’ll chew him out, buy him a hamburger, and drop him at the house. You go on back to work, okay?”
“Okay,” Monica said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Bob went off to check in with the rest of his runners. Nan and I walked Monica to her car. When we got to the parking lot, Nan said, “That’s a very nice friend you’ve got there, Monica.”
“He is,” Monica said. “He really is.”
Chapter 29
Nan
“You didn’t have to do this. I can still drive,” I said, looking at Malcolm, who was sitting in the driver’s seat of my car.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s no trouble. Besides, I need to pick up kibble and some better chew toys. Stuart shredded the last two.”
Malcolm backed into a tight spot directly in front of Pet Parade, managing the maneuver on the first try, then hopped out of the car and jogged around the car to open my door.
There were definitely some advantages
