A.N.: For nygirl4eva, because your review was so ecstatic! I promised I'd update, didn't I! I hope you like it!

Rose Amongst Thorns

Chapter Ten

Running Up That Hill

At exactly eight a.m., Rose was standing outside Baker High with Miss Smith, Pearl, Jake and a couple of the others on the cross-country team. They were waiting for Hailey and Aimee and a couple others. Rose wore a lightweight zipper jacket on top of her running shorts and sports bra, had switched up her mom's Hermés watch for a sports watch to time herself, and was listening to Miss Smith's plan for their run. They were going to cut through the woods behind the school, crossing the brook, and run through the fields and woods beyond. Rose couldn't wait. She and Pearl started stretching and warming up, chatting idly about nothing much at all, checking the street for any sign of Aimee's car.

Rose took the opportunity to talk to Miss Smith about meets and a training schedule she would suggest for Rose outside of practices. Miss Smith just suggested adding five more miles to the long two-hour runs she did three times a week, and keep running in the mornings if she could, every day, not for distance but time. As soon as Hailey and Aimee showed up, Miss Smith joined their warm-up run around the field, and then they started for real. They were to run for ninety minutes. They all started off on the same line; the faster runners quickly tore ahead, setting the pace when they fell into 'race pace' and Rose, Jake and Hailey were the three lead runners. Whilst she and Jake kept switching for first, Hailey kept behind Rose, cowing her, but Rose could hear her breath blistering in her throat even as she tried to trip up Rose's heels.

Hailey's dogged pursuit of her only served to heighten the challenge. Rose found herself being pushed, and she rose to the challenge, as she had done all week; if Hailey wasn't careful, she'd only improve Rose's running, not incapacitate her with injuries that could get Hailey disqualified in actual meets.

Ninety minutes of running; in Rose's mind, complete bliss. It was made even more beautiful by running through lush woods and gurgling streams and the odd field filled with late-summer wildflowers. The cool morning gave way to a warm, moist heat and burning sunshine; she snapped her sports sunglasses on halfway through the run, and continued without breaking stride for a second. Occasionally they came onto a road, but not for long; they ran up hills and down into brooks and through woods, across fields, dodging all of the obstacles of nature and people walking their dogs, cars, strollers; Rose recognised the home-stretch and pushed herself further as they neared the football-field of Baker High. The last lap was around the fenced-off football-field, in which the football team was having a morning practice before their first game of the year, up the bleachers steps, to the water-fountain. Rose smacked her palm against the ticket-booth wall and felt her knees knocking together as Jake came up behind her and sneakers clattered on the metal bleachers. The warm-down run was just around the unkempt field, and, when they were done, they got water at the fountain and Miss Smith met with each of them to tell them what they needed to work on.

"Slow down!" Miss Smith laughed. "You set a very fast pace, Rosie! Some of us couldn't keep up." Pearl had been forced to duck into the girls' bathrooms; Aimee was tending to her while the sounds of her retching escaped the vents in the wall. "I'm just kidding. You know your best pace. The best advice I can give is stick to it; push yourself. Add another few minutes to your run every day. Go for distance, not speed."

"Yes ma'am," Rose panted, nodding, and ran her arm across her lips to get rid of the sweat.

"Alright; locker-rooms are open for showers if you don't wanna wait," Miss Smith called. "Otherwise, I'll see you on Monday. Good job, everyone. How's Pearl?"

"She'll be okay," Aimee said, striding out of the bathrooms, looking flush-faced but pretty, and her eyes were sparkling. "She didn't train much over the summer."

"Well, she's feeling it now," Miss Smith said; Aimee smiled at Rose.

"You heading off home?"

"Yeah. Regina wants to go to the Farmer's Market," Rose said, panting; her adrenaline was giving her the most gorgeous high.

"Cool, cool," Aimee smiled. When Pearl stumbled out of the bathrooms, she, Rose and Aimee made their way to the parking-lot;

"Well, I guess I'll see you Monday," Aimee smiled, as she and Pearl got into their respective cars; Rose said goodbye, climbed into her truck, and drove back to the McGowans'. Regina was waiting in the kitchen after Rose had showered and done her hair and makeup, and in the hopes of procuring a bookcase for Rose's room, they took her truck downtown, parked on Second Street, and made their way to West Angela Street for the Farmer's Market, which filled the wide street with gazebos and stalls selling everything from beads to kettle-corn to crockery, from antiques to fresh vegetables and fruit, from cured meats to second-hand books, jewellery to kids toys, clothes to crafts, to organic lotions and cosmetics, from puppies to careers in the Fire Department, to Girl Scout sign-ups, from homemade jams and preserves to gourmet cheese and olives, from wine to face-painting to fresh homemade apple cider. Food services were scattered along the wide, long street, which ended on one side with a long stretch of lawn devoted to the arrangements of used furniture on one half and rescue animals in the other. The air was rich with the spices and scents of the many food services, the chatter of the dozens of people milling around checking out the sellers' wares, the sound of the dogs barking joyously in the park and children gurgling with laughter; it was hot and humid but Rose found it much pleasanter than North Carolina in midday heat; there was a gentle breeze that cooled the guys popping the kettle-corn.

Rose could tell Regina had rarely been at her leisure to explore what the Farmer's Market had to offer, and while they browsed the stalls, she knew Regina was forever thinking of her family; she picked out books for Sean at the second-hand book stall, bought some Asian pears that Caleb would enjoy, looked into paints and canvases for Finn at the art supplies stall, even bought sheet music for John—the owner of the beautiful grand-piano in the living-room—and some used CDs Rose helped her pick out for Doug, bought a few old baseball cards for Miller and a new baseball mitt for Ian. She realised that Regina's entire adult life had been about her husband and her children. It was no wonder she had seemed so stressful when she had arrived in North Carolina.

But Rose thought that her being with Regina made her a little more relaxed; they took the Farmer's Market at their leisure; Rose bought a very pretty beaded bracelet from a jewellery stall, picked out almost two dozen used books at a dollar apiece including Jane Austen's Sewing Box, which would give her some projects to work on—glad she had parked the truck so close so she and Regina could dump their purchases in the back to return to the market when things got too heavy—helped Regina vaguely plan the week's meals with the gorgeous fresh fruit and vegetables they bought from the greengrocer; Rose had mentioned to Regina that she knitted as a hobby and they looked out some gorgeous yarns at the craft stall; Regina bought a bottle of lotion that smelled absolutely gorgeous, homemade from figs and honey; they bought jars of the honey Rose had liked, some jams and chutneys, bought burritos at the Mexican food stall and a huge bag of freshly popped kettle-corn for lunch, tried the homemade apple cider and the cheese samples, and Rose had to stop Regina from acting on impulse and adopting the most adorable chocolate-brown Labrador puppy called Poppy.

They found a sturdy bookcase amongst the furniture set out in the John Belucchi Memorial Park that would go well with the other furniture in Rose's bedroom, and Rose had to retrieve her truck because they couldn't carry it and their new bags full of fruit and vegetables; while Regina directed two guys in putting the bookcase (which they had acquired for ten dollars; a bargain) Rose slipped back down the West Angela Street to the flower stall. She picked out a small but tall posy of gladioli, freesias, tuberoses, lilies and three late-summer peonies, filled it out with fresh flowering mint, and met Regina back where she had parked the truck.

"These are for you," she said softly, handing over the bouquet to Regina. The look that came over Regina's face at the sight of the pretty posy made anything Rose had suffered this last week worthwhile. She wondered if any of the McGowan boys had ever treated their mom to a posy of flowers, or even offered to do some ironing or help cook dinner. She doubted it.

"Rosie, thank you!" Regina beamed, her eyes glittering even behind her stylish designer sunglasses. "I can't remember the last time anybody bought me flowers! They're gorgeous! Are these freesias? They're my favourites, and such a gorgeous colour, too."

The boys were playing another game of ultimate Frisbee in the front lawn when Rose pulled into the property in her truck; the windows had been scrolled down and she and Regina had been chatting without the music on; they heard Ian and Caleb shouting and laughing, saw Sean dive to grab Finn by the ankle, grabbed hold of the hem of his jeans and Finn fell spectacularly, just as he collided with John.

Rose knew she was avoiding the boys, but she had had such a pleasant day, first with the cross-country team, and then with Regina, she didn't want to spoil it with any of Doug's condescending looks or awkward silences. She offered to make dinner, and while Regina enjoyed an unheard-of Saturday afternoon with nothing to do but paint her toenails in the living-room, watching a soap, Rose set about using the vegetables she and Regina had bought at the market, in particular the gorgeous black-purple eggplants.

She filled two large lasagne dishes with lamb moussaka, sprinkled them with cheese and put them in the oven. After she had washed the dishes she had used to prep for the assembly of the meal, she found a big salad bowl and started cutting up red onion, peppers, cucumber, black olives, feta cheese and fresh garden-grown tomatoes for a Greek salad, mixing her dad's special salad dressing—and a bowl of plain lettuce for the kids. She set the table, tidied the kitchen, and by the time the boys came in from their game, she had pitchers of ice-water ready and the moussaka was cooled enough to be eaten and enjoyed, warm enough to savour all the flavours.

After showers—or a hosing-down in the backyard courtesy of John and the hosepipe, as was the case with Ian and Caleb, who'd gotten thoroughly overexcited about the possibility of a water-fight and were sorely disappointed—the guys, including John, filed into the kitchen, grumbling about being hungry; Regina took her place at the head of the table next to John and the guys filed into their assigned seats. Regina handed over serving duties to Rose, as she had cooked, and Rose served the moussaka up.

Sean put his book down to eat, which was a first. Usually he sat reading and absently shovelling food into his mouth; Caleb said he liked eggplant now; John was in ecstasy over the meal because it was such a novelty recipe, Regina hardly even less so because she hadn't had to cook it; Doug choked and pretended to retch when Regina told them all the meal was Rose's working; Finn had already cleared his plate by that time and helping himself to seconds, and stared at Rose until she blushed.

"You can cook?"

"Yes." She flushed again and nodded, taking another helping of the Greek salad, and a small square of moussaka because it was one of the best she had ever made—which said something. Moussaka was her specialty.

"And she bought me flowers," Regina said, pointing towards the living-room, where Rose knew she had spent half an hour arranging the posy Rose had bought her into one a dusty vase she had found hidden deep at the back of a utility closet.

"You're making us all look bad," Evan remarked, with a twinkly smile.

"You have no idea," Regina said reprovingly, eyeing her husband, who had craned his neck to observe the flowers on the coffee-table in the best-room.

After dinner, Rose sat back and played cards at the table with Regina and John while the boys, for once, worked together to clean up the kitchen. They were quiet, too. Usually Doug started an argument and John had to get involved with smacking his sons around the backs of their heads or sending one of them out of the room or leaving the dishes for Regina or poor Miller to do instead because the others were making such a fuss.

Sunday was Rose's rest day. She went for a light jog early in the morning, and since the morning was so fine, She tugged on a pair of tight dark jeggings, a white baby-tee and her dad's oldest, most broken-in Tar Heels baseball cap, got a glass of cloudy lemonade, turned on some classical music—Tchaikovsky, her favourite 'smart music' to work to—and did her homework out on the patio, in the shade, with sunlight bathed around her, sparkling through the leaves of the climbing-tree. It was so pleasant not to be sweating buckets and swatting mosquitoes just stepping out of the back-door; in North Carolina it was way too hot to sit outside and do her homework, but here in Boston the summer was dwindling idly away. A few of the trees around town had already begun to turn, just delicately, not too noticeably, but definitely changing, hinting the arrival of fall. After finishing her math homework without any major mental breakdowns at her own lack of math skills, making the assigned notes for History and reading the next scent of A Midsummer Night's Dream, Rose did some studying on Asperger's Syndrome and thought it might be the right time to try and implement some of the stuff she had learned.

Dropping downstairs into the hallway after putting her books away, she realised at once why the house was so quiet; everyone save Miller and Regina was sitting in the living-room—utilising the enormous flat-screen TV for the Yankees-Red Sox baseball game. Everyone wore battered Red Sox baseball caps, t-shirts or jerseys, and the coffee-table was loaded with everything from mini pretzels to cream sodas and candy. Caleb, sucking his thumb, sat in his father's lap wearing an oversize baseball jersey and cap, and his eyes twinkled when he noticed her, and he smiled and waved slightly using the hand clamped to his mouth. Everyone else was riveted. Rose waited until the Yankees' manager came out to retire his pitcher.

"Do you know where Miller is?" Rose asked, glancing around the room, and wondering why, during a Yankees-Red Sox game, Miller was absent.

"Basement," John said, barely glancing away from the screen.

"He's not allowed to watch the Yankees-Red Sox games with us," Evan explained. "Because you know, Dad would kill him."

"Oh, I see," Rose smiled, flushing warmly. She made sure she wasn't blocking anyone's view, took a bag of tortilla chips and two sodas, and found her way down to the basement.

Sitting alone on a beanbag chair in his A-Rod t-shirt and Yankees cap was Miller, watching the same game his family was watching upstairs. Rose was struck at once by the loneliness of the whole thing, and wondered if John knew what it was like for Miller, to sit here alone when all his family was congregated upstairs.

"Hi, Miller," she said quietly, slipping down the last few steps.

"The Yankees are on," Miller said, not looking away from the screen despite it being a commercial break.

"Yeah, I heard," Rose said softly. "That's why I brought you these. I thought you might want a snack." She put the bag of tortilla chips and the sodas on the floor by him. "Do you mind if I watch with you?"

There was a long pause, and then, "Okay." Rose grabbed the other beanbag chair and sank into it next to Miller. She wasn't as good with baseball as basketball; truth be told, she only liked playing baseball; she loved watching basketball as well as playing it—well, playing it in the backyard with her daddy. Mostly because she and her dad would do what the McGowans were doing upstairs and get all kitted out with their team memorabilia and usually Pogue and his dad would come over, their moms would make snacks, and they'd either celebrate with a barbecue or nurse injuries with barbecue.

When another commercial break came on, Rose glanced at Miller, trying to organise the right words.

"So, Miller…I was hoping we could talk a little bit," she said softly. "I'd like to get to know you a little better." Miller swallowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Um…well, I know you like baseball, and I know you liked my moussaka last night," Rose smiled; Miller still didn't look at her, "but that's about all. And wouldn't you like to know me a little better?"

"I guess," Miller said.

"I'm glad. What would you like to know?" Rose asked. Miller rubbed his palms on the beanbag chair, looking down at the floor. He kept rubbing faster and faster until his face started to turn red. The articles Rose had read warned something like this might happen.

"Okay, that's okay; how about we try something else, yeah?" Rose said quietly, licking her lips. "I think I know how you can ask me anything you want." Miller turned his blotchy face away from her slightly, pausing his rubbing.

"How?"

"Okay, well, how about you tell me something about the Yankees, anything at all. You know a lot about them, don't you," Rose smiled.

"Yeah…"

"Good. So, tell me something about the Yankees, and then ask me a question about me right after," Rose said. "Do you think you can do that?"

"I can do it," Miller said quietly, but the tone of his voice sounded strongly of defiance.

"Good." Miller glanced at her for a split-second, then gazed at the floor again.

"The Yankees were the first team ever to win four World Series in a row. Why do you smell like that?" he asked.

That was the last thing Rose had expected; he surprised her so much she laughed out loud, which was the first time she'd laughed like that in weeks. Miller looked at her uncertainly, and then laughed too. His laugh was deeper than she would have expected, more like Finn's voice.

"Why do I smell like what?" Rose smiled.

"Like…Mom's favourite flowers," Miller said. "The flowers in the living-room, the little lilac-coloured ones."

"Oh. They're freesias. It's my perfume," Rose smiled, her cheeks flushing. "I don't believe you've noticed that. And they say most guys are clueless about that sort of thing." Miller smiled and nodded.

"Derek Jeter was the first captain of the Yankees since Thurman Munson," Miller said. "Are you gonna live with us forever?"

This time Miller looked up at her, right in the eye, for a good few seconds. Her stomach clenched with the expression in those clear, pale-blue eyes, and she blushed.

"I don't know… Maybe this year and next year… Why? Is it so terrible, me being here?" she teased softly, though her heart sank, recalling the hushed conversation in Evan's room on Thursday night. Miller shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV, which was coming back from the break.

"It's okay," he said, but he was smiling. "Game's back on." Smiling, Rose turned her attention back on the game.

The Yankees slaughtered the Red Sox, and Rose and Miller's cheers echoed in the otherwise empty room; upstairs, the boys and John were all howling with grief and indignation. After the game ended, Rose and Miller started up their fact-question tactic for a little while, until Regina called them upstairs for dinner.

She couldn't say she had had the best week in the world. Darnell Wilcox's party had been a high point. She enjoyed cross-country practices. And seeing how much effort Miller was willing to put into getting to know her made Rose feel a little more wanted in the house. Between him and Regina, Rose's weekend wasn't a bust.

A.N.: I think I have a crush on Miller. Review, please!