Wing Jones(35)

“It was nice,” I say. “I just … didn’t know what you were doing.”

His laugh buzzes again. “Next time I’ll explain better.”

I’m glad there is going to be a next time.

“Aaron?” I ask one Wednesday night when we’re on our cool-down lap. He hasn’t ninja-sneak-attack-massage-pummeled my calves tonight, but he has shown me how to lengthen my stride, how to kick it in at the end of the lap and find that last burst of energy to push myself over the finish line.

He glances up at me, eyes bright and focused. “You all right? Something hurt? We go too hard?”

I shake my head. I’m sore, but it feels good, it feels right.

“Um. Do I look weird when I run?” I feel like I’m flying but I’m starting to wonder what I look like.

Aaron doesn’t answer immediately, which makes me want to take off running as fast as I can and go far, far, far away. Although I’d probably have to blindfold him first so he couldn’t watch me. Because clearly I look like some kind of freak.

“Not weird,” he says, but his tone doesn’t match the words.

“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “It isn’t like anyone is going to see me anyway.”

Aaron stops suddenly and reaches out to grab my arm and slow me down. “Wing! Everyone is going to see you. That’s why we’re doing this, why we’re out running every night. Making you better. Making you the best!”

“You” – I narrow my eyes at him – “aren’t making me anything. I was running just fine before you decided you needed to swoop in and improve me. Fix me.”

“Wing.” My name comes out all in one breath. “I want to help you. Support you. That’s all I’m trying to do.” He cocks his head to one side like a pigeon. “You don’t run weird, but you don’t run exactly normal either. You run … like no one else. You look a little different, that’s for sure. But, Wing, it ain’t anything to be embarrassed about. I love how you run. You look…” I tense, waiting for it. “You look beautiful.”

Then he smiles at me and it’s like I’ve been living in darkness and now there is light. I think I hear a growl behind me, I think I see a dragon wing in the sky, but I ignore them, because right now, all I want is to just be with Aaron.

They’re waiting for me, both of them, under the porch, when he drops me off. I climb up the steps, knowing to step over the second one because it creaks, and suddenly my lioness is in front of me, blocking the front door, teeth bared slightly, a low growl rumbling in her throat.

“Move!” I whisper, but she doesn’t, just keeps staring at me, her tail swishing back and forth like a switch. My dragon is perched on the porch fence, her eyes glowing.

“What?” I say. “You should be glad I’m running with Aaron. I’m getting faster. I know you see me. I know you know. We’re helping each other, all right? He’s hurting too. It’s good for us, both of us.”

My lioness stops moving her tail and she steps aside, pushing her head against me as she does, her growl gone. I rub the back of her ears as I unlock the front door and creep into the kitchen.

My dragon and my lioness stay in my room a long time that night. I fall asleep to the sound of their breathing.





CHAPTER 21


It’s getting colder. I’m still running at night, but I’ve started wearing long-sleeved shirts and bringing a sweatshirt. I wonder if Marcus feels the temperature changing. Can he feel anything at all?

Every time we visit him, he hasn’t changed or moved. His hair is growing out, which is weird. He gets stubble on his cheeks and jaw. The nurses shave it. They asked my mom if she wanted to, but she burst into tears and said she wouldn’t know how.

Monica comes with us now. Sometimes she goes on her own – my mom got special permission for her and Aaron to visit him without us. Monica visits a lot. More than I do. I can’t just sit there and stare at him. It makes me angry. I feel like if he just tried a little harder he could wake up… I take out my frustration toward him on the track. You’d think it would make it harder, wearing his guilt when I run, but something funny happens when I start to pick up speed. All my frustration slips off like a coat that’s too big, and I’m lighter than I was before.

Aaron is late tonight. I’ve been standing out on the sidewalk talking to the moon for the past ten minutes and I’m starting to get cold. I hug myself and wonder if he’s forgotten or if something came up. Should I go back inside? But if he does come, I don’t want him to think I’ve forgotten.

I’d never forget.

Finally I see his little silver car crawling toward me. I jog in place to warm up, waving as the car sidles up next to me.

“Hey,” I say, settling into the front seat, the seat I’m starting to think of as mine.

“Hey,” says Aaron, tapping his hands on the steering wheel. He’s got music on tonight, something low in the background, with a pulsing beat.

“I thought maybe you weren’t coming,” I say. I click my seat belt in. I never used to be all that bothered about seat belts. Ever since the accident, though, I always, always wear one.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding distracted and far away. Like a prerecorded message. “Sorry.”