Wrong.

I tried not to think of Emma as I started the mile, but of course I did. I couldn’t shake the vision of her small limbs sprawled on the sand, lifeless.

Normal. Yeah.

Anyway, I was a good runner. If I’d been normal, I bet I could have been a great one. I ran steadily, navigating around the few late-day beachgoers with umbrellas and chairs. The other runners lagged behind me; even with the headache from hell, I was on track for a record. I wasn’t even out of breath. A couple of hot girls in bikinis grinned at me. I’m not bad-looking; I’m tall, with thick black hair and an okay build, maybe not as good as Sphincter’s, but I always got looks from girls. After a minute or so, though, my charm wore off. I’d develop a tic or nervously go off in one direction or another, blowing it. This accounted for me being seventeen and never having gotten to second base with a girl. Even my first base was on account of an error; I’d been running on the boardwalk late one night, which I sometimes did to calm my mind, and when I stopped at the fountain to get a drink, a drunk girl must have thought I was her boyfriend because she grabbed me and kissed me.

Kissing soft lips, blond curls in my eyes

The image lit a fire under me. My pace quickened even more. It was the second time this afternoon that I’d had that memory. How could that be real? The picture was so strong I got lost in it. I forgot everything, even the simple rhythm of my legs pumping and my feet pounding on the boards. But when I passed the entrance for the Seventh Avenue beach, everything changed. I lost the rhythm. My lungs constricted and burned. The last image I saw was that of the little girl, lying dead on the sand.

You killed our Emma

Suddenly, I fell forward, onto my knees, so unexpectedly that I didn’t have time to put my hands out to stop the fall. I smashed my face against the boardwalk. Then I rolled off, onto the sand, gasping and choking.

Coach Garner was a guy who perpetually smelled like Bengay and probably clicked on his stopwatch buttons in his sleep. He’d never run, even if something with large teeth was chasing him. When he stood over me, his beer gut blocked out the sun. “Wow. Just wow.”

I hoped he was talking about how masterfully I’d run that first nine-tenths of a mile.

“That was the most pathetic fall I’ve ever seen.”

Eh. I rolled over and propped myself up on one elbow. Across the way, a bunch a girls giggled at me, but I wasn’t sure if they were part of the regular group of people who giggled at me, or new ones, because my vision was blurred. I looked down and saw blood soaking into my white tech shirt. My knees were dotted with blood and sand and little black splinters.

“So, um, does that mean I didn’t make the team?”

Coach Garner laughed long and loud, like Santa Claus with a sadistic streak, then turned and ambled away without bothering to help me up. I scrambled to my feet, still feeling woozy. Then I tilted my head back and shuffled over to a bench, squeezing my nose, which by this time was seriously gushing. I think bits of major organs were leaking out. Every runner in school was staring at me, and most were laughing their asses off.

“Good one, Crazy Cross,” Sphincter called across the fence to me, flashing me a thumbs-up. He was standing with The Sergeant, who was giving him the ol’ New School Record shoulder rub and watching me like I was a glob of gum in danger of getting on his son’s running shoe.

Rotting from the inside, I repeated to myself, over and over so that it drowned out the next You Will. Screw them.

Before I could sit down, someone came up beside me. At that moment, I knew who it was. My stomach lurched even before I heard her say, “That looks bad.”

I looked up for only a second. She was wearing the same exact expression she’d worn earlier today—a horrified kind of confusion. Was I doomed to always see her every time my head was exploding, or about to? Yeah, that totally explained why she would be kissing me. Maybe that wasn’t part of my future. I’d probably wanted it so bad that I’d just been hallucinating.

“Nah … too … bah,” I said, trying to act casual but feeling the blood course over my upper lip with every word.

She sat down on the bench beside me and handed me a crumpled tissue. I clamped it over my nose, but it was soaked in a matter of seconds.

“You should go to the hospital.”

I waved her away with my free hand. “Naw. I gef nofbleehs all de time.”

“Your knees are bleeding, too,” she pointed out. “And your forehead. And your elbows. Well, just one of them.”

I lowered my head slowly, still covering my nose, and inspected my knees as if that news didn’t completely freak me out. Sure enough, blood was running down my knees, pooling at the cuffs of my socks. Rocky had had it better after his fight with that Russian dude. I pointed to the lifeguard stand. “Well, in that caif, I gueff I’ll go and geh a few Band-Aids.”

She stood up. “I’ll go with you.”

I knew she would offer to come, and that I would protest. By that time, the pain in my joints was getting unbearable. Not wanting to look like a total wimp in front of her was the only thing keeping me from weeping. “Nof nefeffary.”

“Sure it is. You might have a concussion.”

“Naw, I’m fine.”

“That’s what my uncle said after he was rear-ended. And then two days later he nearly dropped dead.”

“Uh …” The last time I’d met her, I’d also told her to leave me alone so she wouldn’t have to witness my breakdown. The script had me accepting her offer and her holding on to my good arm as we limped down the beach. The script had me … Oh, hell. The script had me crying in front of her because it hurt so bad. That kiss had to have been a hallucination. There was no way she’d want to get with me voluntarily after this.

When we stood up, my nose had stopped bleeding, so I didn’t have to squeeze it shut. As we passed some girls, they stared after us. I thought they were just gawking at the dumbass who’d performed his own facial reconstruction, but then a short girl with a pixie haircut called out, “We’ll wait for you by the car if you’re not back by four, okay?”

The girl was looking right at us and there was no one else around, so I guessed they were her friends. She had cute friends, ones I had never seen before. She had to be a freshman, and considering the number of hot girls in that group, a popular one. But the weird thing was, instead of answering, she just kept on walking toward the lifeguard stand.

“Hey, Tar! We’ll wait for you! By the car! Okay?” Pixie called out, a little louder, her voice an octave higher with desperation.

The angel just swung her head back and called over her shoulder, “Fine!” then muttered under her breath, “Whatever.”

Okay. Didn’t know what the hell that was about. They seemed nice enough; some of the other kids nearby reenacted my trip as I walked past them, but one of her “friends,” a tall girl with crazy black hair, called after me, “Take care of yourself.” I really couldn’t think about it, though, because I was beginning to feel light-headed. I blinked a few times, hoping I didn’t lose consciousness from the blood loss.

“Don’t feel bad. I’m a little bit of a klutz myself,” the angel said brightly. I knew she was just saying that to be nice, since her every movement was done with the grace of a ballet dancer. Even when I’d pulled her out of the way of that truck, she’d looked good. I noticed some of my blood had gotten on her bare shoulder, but I felt awkward rubbing it off. In my half-assed state I probably would have grabbed her boob. Sadly enough, that would have been, like, the most action I’d ever gotten from a girl. “And who needs cross-country anyway?”

The script had me completely mute, trying to think of something to say. Finally, I put a sentence together. “You know, you don’t have to be nice to me.”