Chapter 6 Just This One - Outrun the Quarterback

Riley's POV

The girl took her hand off the hurdle.

"Just this one?"

"Yeah. You don't need to put the others back."

She glanced toward the students collecting markers farther down the track, then returned to me. "Do you want it moved?"

"It's fine there. As long as you come at it straight. You had your marker too far over before, so you were starting at an angle."

"Right."

"And leave room after it. You don't want to finish a drill and walk straight into somebody waiting."

She looked at the empty lane beyond the hurdle.

"There's nobody there."

"I know. For later."

"Okay."

She stepped aside.

I had given her instructions for an exercise she wasn't doing. Excellent use of everybody's time.

My folder was already on the concrete. I nudged it farther from the edge with my shoe, then crouched to check my laces. One loop was longer than the other. I untied it and started again.

The girl gathered two yellow markers and fitted them together. She didn't ask what was taking so long.

I stood, shifted my weight, and took a few easy steps along the lane. My clothes were fine for walking. My shoes were tied. I wasn't being timed.

I turned back toward the hurdle.

I walked backward, measuring out space I hadn't meant to need. A few steps would be enough. Then I took another, because the distance looked wrong, and another because now I was thinking about which foot would reach the hurdle first. I could have stayed there all afternoon finding things to adjust.

There was a pale scrape across the top of the bar. My eyes kept finding it instead of the space beyond.

I started forward.

Not fast. Barely more than a few gathering steps, but for a moment I had a rhythm to follow. Then the hurdle was closer, and I shortened one step, then the next.

I stopped.

Both feet on the track. The bar still in front of me.

The girl lowered her stack of markers.

"Should I move it?"

"No. It's fine."

She waited.

I looked down at my shoes. Nothing had happened. I hadn't hit anything. I wasn't on the ground. I was standing in front of a low practice hurdle after making somebody leave it out for me, and I still couldn't finish the approach.

On the field, a coach called for the players to move into their next drill.

I stayed where I was.

"We're putting these away," she said after a moment. "Do you still want that one?"

"Another minute?"

"Sure."

"And this isn't the demonstration. You don't have to watch what I do."

"I wasn't going to copy you."

She said it so plainly that I looked at her.

"Good. The standing still part needs work."

She smiled a little, then bent to retrieve a marker she'd missed.

I could walk around the hurdle. Help her carry it off, pick up my folder, leave. Nobody had asked me to do any of this.

Cole hadn't even stayed.

I looked toward the field before I could stop myself, then turned back without looking harder.

I moved closer to the hurdle. Not back to where I'd started—right up to it. The bar was low. I could step over it without fitting the movement into a rhythm I hadn't used in two years.

I set one foot where I wanted it and left it there.

Then I lifted my leg, slowly enough that I could stop if I wanted.

My shoe passed above the bar. I put it down on the other side, shifted my weight, and brought the other leg across.

Both shoes on the same side again.

I took another step before turning. The hurdle hadn't moved.

"Again?" she asked.

I looked past it to the place where I'd stopped.

I could start there. Take a few quicker steps this time, make it look like something I'd meant to do. She was still here. There was still room.

My foot turned toward the start. Then I planted it beside the other one.

"No. That's it."

"You sure? I can leave it."

"I'm sure."

She came over, setting the markers beside the fence. I reached for one end of the hurdle. We carried it off the lane together, and she guided her end into the space beside the rest of the equipment.

"Here?"

"Yeah."

We set it down. I kept my hand on the frame a moment longer than I needed to. It would have been easy to pick it up again.

The girl crouched to collect her markers.

I let go.

"So you're still not doing the demo?"

I straightened. "Still not."

"Oh. I thought maybe that was why you wanted it."

"No. That was just me."

She nodded and shifted the stack into one hand.

I waited for a follow-up. Whether I was coming back, whether she'd seen what she thought she'd seen.

"Can you pass me that one?"

A yellow marker lay beside my shoe. I picked it up and handed it over.

"Thanks."

She headed toward the other students without another word.

I went to get my folder. The station list had slipped partly out from under the map. I lined up the pages, then looked out at the actual field.

Cole stood with the other players, listening to a coach. Someone beside him pointed across the grass. He followed the gesture, then moved with the group.

I couldn't tell whether he'd looked over earlier. I tried to work out what he might have seen from there—the stop would have been easier to notice than the step, unless he'd been doing exactly what he was doing now, which was attending his own practice.

I put the map underneath the list. Tomorrow, if he asked, I could say I'd tried a hurdle. It would be true. He could supply the speed himself.

I slid the pages into the folder before I could rehearse it.

Across the track, the girl lifted her stack of markers toward the equipment area. I raised a hand when she looked back. She did the same, then turned to answer her coach.

I checked the time. My bag was still inside the school, and I had homework waiting in it. Standing here wasn't going to improve either situation.

I walked toward the gate, passing the place where I'd first backed up. Without the hurdle, it was just another stretch of track. I recognized it anyway.

At the opening, I paused. The equipment was still close enough to reach. I could ask for the hurdle back before they finished putting everything away.

I adjusted my grip on the papers and went through the gate.