None of the Above(24)

“You good now, Aunt Carla?” I asked. “I’d love to go for my run before dinner.”

She sniffed. “You and your runs. Would it kill you to skip one?”

I had an answer to that. It was Coach Auerbach’s favorite (and only) Bible quote. “First Corinthians: ‘Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it.’”

The late-afternoon sun cast my shadow far ahead of me, and I chased it to Vee’s house, trying to ignore the fear that bubbled up to the surface again. The flood lamps were already on at the Richardsons’ house when I got there, and when I walked up to the front porch I felt as if I were in the spotlight. Before I rang the doorbell I made sure to wipe the sweat off my face and redo my ponytail. Vee’s father answered the door, his BlackBerry at his ear.

“Hello, Kristin,” he said, looking irritated.

“Hi, Mr. Richardson. Is Vee here?”

“Hold on for five seconds,” he said into the phone, putting it on mute. Mr. Richardson turned to me. “I’m sorry, but Vanessa went to the Carousel Mall with her mother in an effort to decimate my last paycheck. I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

“Could you tell her that my cell phone isn’t working? She can come to my house.”

“Of course,” he said, pressing the Unmute button. The door wasn’t even closed before he resumed his conversation.

I sprinted home, trying to console myself with the fact that Vee’s father hadn’t reacted to me with more than his usual polite distance, so he couldn’t have heard anything. I also figured that if Vee had wanted to spend the day spreading rumors about me, she wouldn’t be driving to Syracuse to go shopping with her mom. She’d be holed up in her room going down her speed-dial list, subtweeting and vaguebooking, like she did the Sunday after junior prom.

The next morning, I felt more like myself and went out for an early run so I could catch Faith before church. The fear from the night before had died down, replaced by an anxious curiosity. Of all the people I knew, Faith was the one who could keep a secret the best; her family had kept her brother’s mental illness hidden for years.

The Wus lived in the opposite part of town from the Richardsons, in a development where the houses were a little closer together, but not so close that people had to build fences like they did in my neighborhood. The light frost on the Wus’ immaculately landscaped lawn was just beginning to melt when I walked up the path to their front door. Angie, Faith’s younger sister, answered and yelled up the stairs to announce me.

“I saw some pictures of you in your dress,” she said shyly. “You guys all looked so beautiful.”

“Well,” I said, feeling self-conscious in my faded green tracksuit, “your sister really works magic with that makeup.”

“Krissy, that you?” Faith called from the top of the stairs. “I’m getting ready. Come up to my room?”

I took off my shoes and walked up to Faith’s room, bracing myself as always for the onslaught of pastels. Except for a set of gorgeous brush paintings she’d gotten on their last family trip to China, Faith’s room looked like it’d come out of a special edition Pottery Barn catalog.

Faith shut her door and started putting on some mascara.

“Krissy, I’m so glad you came. I tried to call you all day yesterday.”

“My dad took my cell phone. Grounded.”

“What a drag!”

“No kidding. I can only stay a few minutes because he’s expecting me back soon.”

She turned to me, lipstick in hand. “Okay, then. Before you leave, you have to tell me what happened Friday night. Pretty much all I remember is lying on some bathroom floor.”

“You don’t remember anything?” I hesitated. “Have you talked to Vee yet?”

“She was shopping all day yesterday.” She frowned, her forehead creasing. “Why, did I do something totally embarrassing?”

“No.” I sat down on her bed, and looked around her room. On the back of the door hung a wooden sign saying I CHOOSE TO BE HEALTHY, HAPPY, AND FULL OF LOVE, a sixteenth-birthday present from her mom. There was a section of her bookshelf dedicated to Chicken Soup for the Soul books. And taped to her vanity was a postcard that she’d picked up at the Mark Twain Museum when her family did a Mississippi River cruise the summer after eighth grade: ALWAYS DO RIGHT. This will gratify some people, and astonish the rest.

I made my decision. If I could trust anyone in the world, I could trust Faith. I took a deep breath.

“I need to tell you something,” I said. “You know how I’ve never gotten my period?”

“Yeah.” Faith had always been the one telling me how lucky I was that I didn’t have to deal with tampons. “It’s because of all the training you do, right?”

“Remember when I went to Vee’s OB? It . . . it turns out I don’t have a uterus.”

“Oh, honey.” She put her brush down and reached for my hand. “Does that mean you can’t have kids? How did this happen?”

I shook my head, tears forming in my eyes, and I was just about to spill the part about my chromosomes and testicles and my stupid syndrome, when her sister poked her head in. “We’re leaving in five, Faith. Mom needs to pick up some fruit for the meet and greet. Can you do my hair now?” She waved a bag of hair ties and bobby pins, oblivious to the horror on her sister’s face. And the shame on mine.