A.N.: I'm morally opposed to physical exertion, so you'll just have to accept that my knowledge of cross-country running comes from Wikipedia and that scene in Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants where Bridget runs along the beach with that guy.
Rose Amongst Thorns
Chapter Five
Miller, and Satan's Mistress
Lunchtime was a low point. She had thought nothing could compare to the embarrassment caused by Finn having had to carry her to the nurse's office. But at least nobody else had seen her out cold. She had him to thank for that.
But a new kid was the most conspicuous in the cafeteria. Before she had even reached the end of the lunch-line, Rose was thinking about where she could sit. People had introduced themselves to her in her classes, yes, but nobody had struck up enough conversation to warrant crashing their lunch tables. And she certainly wasn't going to rely solely on Evan or Finn or Miller—certainly not Doug.
She picked out a natural yoghurt, a big bowl of Waldorf chicken salad, an apple and a bottle of water, paid the woman with the fluorescent talons at the end of the line, and then bit her lip, glancing around, feeling her cheeks flush warmly as she looked around and several people caught her eye as she tried to find somewhere to sit. She wasn't going to do a Cady and eat in the bathroom! The cafeteria was a big hall, with one wall dedicated to windows and double-doors overlooking a big courtyard, which was filled with old picnic tables and wobbly benches, and drenched in midday sunshine. Better still, it was almost deserted.
A little voice inside her head—which sounded very much like Pogue—urged her to turn around and go and sit with Pearl or Finn, anyone, but Rose ignored it. It was her first day at a new school; she was allowed to be shy and nervous. She made her way over to one of the doors out, and heat drenched her as she stepped outside. At home in North Carolina, the humidity and heat had meant that she was used to having the air-conditioning on even while she slept, and going outside at noon was almost dangerous. There were only a few weeks of the year in N.C. when the weather was like it was now, hot but pleasantly so, so stepping out of the house didn't mean buckets of sweat and clothes clinging to her. She liked the heat, and dropped down at one of the far picnic tables that sat just under a shady tree, with her back to the sun. Shoulders slumped, brain tired, body aching, Rose sat down and opened the salad dish, unwrapping her spork and taking the lid of the bleu-cheese dressing.
She only had two more classes. AP English and Algebra II. English would be easy; having spent so much of her life reading, Rose had developed a very adult writing style, and she was very good at essays and such; she was just lazy and waited until the last minute to do them. She worked best under pressure, which made her a good athlete. As soon as she survived an hour of Algebra II, she would go and change into her clean gym kit and hopefully make it onto the cross-country team. Rose didn't want to contemplate math. It was her worst subject by far—even including last year's chemistry mishaps that had singed Pogue's eyebrows off.
So she picked out The Blue Lagoon from her bag and turned to the page she had gotten to during break—Chapter XI, The Island, and was halfway through the chapter when the doors swung open behind her, allowing another person into the courtyard. Glancing up, she saw Miller walk out, and plucked her earphones out. Miller's eyes were riveted on the ground, and he made a beeline for the table at the back-right corner of the courtyard, placed his tray down, and sat. He pulled a portable radio out of is black backpack and slipped the headphones over his ears. For an instant, he glanced up and saw Rose looking at him.
"Hi, Miller," Rose said quietly. He heard her.
"The Yankees are playing their hundred and thirty-fifth game of the season," he replied. Rose smiled.
"Let me know who wins?" she said, and Miller almost nodded as he glanced down at his tray and flicked the switch of his radio; she could hear the tinny voice of an announcer come to life. Miller set the radio on the table and went about seasoning his bowl of soup with the plastic salt and pepper shakers on the table; just as the shampoo bottles in the bathroom and the coffee canister in the kitchen, the items on Miller's tray were organised in height-order; soda-can, juice-bottle, snack-pack.
Rose's cell-phone started vibrating in her bag (she had turned the ring tone off before her first lesson) and she plucked it out, smiling with relief when she saw whose name it was illuminated on the screen.
"Hey, Pogue," she smiled, setting her book aside, uncapping her water. It was weird not to have Pogue around. Stranger still to need her phone to talk to him during school hours. He was having lunch with their friends—who were all shouting greetings and messages to her, sometimes actually stealing Pogue's cell-phone to have a chat—and sounded morose. Rose told him what had happened earlier in the morning, and everyone in their group of friends was howling with laughter over the tampons, the climbing-tree, the bra, and the bloody nose. Telling Pogue, who could laugh at anything, made her feel better about the whole situation, and she was laughing as well by the time the bell rang for the end of lunch, and she had to say goodbye.
She had only two more hours, and then she could be running.
AP English turned out to be a doss, to use the favourite word of her daddy's Scots friend; it turned out she had already studied A Midsummer Night's Dream, Pride and Prejudice and The Great Gatsby. But since they were all her favourite books (and since she had watched the 1995 BBC/A&E production of Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth since she was a baby, she was word-perfect) she wasn't going to complain, and wondered whether Regina would think it immoral to just hand in the essays she had done on them last year, which she still had saved on the back-up drive for her laptop. Finn was in her English class, too, which was fun. Like Art, English seemed to be one of those inherently fun classes; the teacher was young and friendly and liked to laugh, and instead of reading or writing something about themselves, they went down to the baseball field with a bat and some balls and took advantage of the sunshine, playing an ice-breaker game. Rose stole five bases and scored three home-runs, which endeared her to the boys she recognised from her gym class, who all wanted her to be on their team for the baseball unit in gym.
Math, Rose's worst subject, was just what it ought to be; torturous. The teacher, Mr Jones, a good-natured man in his mid-thirties, had given them an alphabetical seating arrangement, and Rose's seat was just under the south-facing window, which was blanched with sunlight. It was warm and bright where she sat, and it didn't help her at all when Mr Jones dived straight into the first Algebra II lesson of the day with a PowerPoint presentation, demanding they write detailed notes for help on their homework. Books were assigned at the end of the lesson as well as homework, and Rose was in that hot, drowsy place between sleep and awake, and the idea of cross-country try-outs didn't sound nearly as good as they had an hour earlier.
But, having told Finn not to wait for her when he walked home with friends, instead she would be going home with Evan, who had sports practice of his own, Rose made her way to the locker-rooms again, changed into her gym kit and running sneakers, pulled her loose hair into a loose ponytail, and met Miss Smith as she was leaving her office.
Basketball, track, all other sports Rose could set aside, just to run. Cross-country was just that; running, and that was why she loved it, and why she was good at it. Miss Smith had the whole team and any newcomers do warm-ups, led by a tall, tan girl with broad shoulders, a lean waist and long legs. She was easily a head taller than Rose, and, as with Monsieur Gilliard earlier in the day, Rose got the distinct impression she wasn't liked. The girl's stare was cool and it seemed to Rose like she was trying to find a chink in Rose's armour. She was blonde, like Rose, but it was almost champagne-blonde, and had been highlighted and was pulled into a thick ponytail. She wore a little too much makeup, and looked like Regina George; fierce, and beautiful.
Try-outs were really just very long races. Rose knew how to pace herself, and how to surprise her opponents; 'Though she be but little, she is fierce,' so Helena says, and so it was true for Rose; though she was petite, she was stronger than she looked. She raced against some of the best runners on the team, and when she beat them she got slaps on the back and high-fives from some of the team-members; Pearl grinned, not in the least annoyed when Rose outstripped her; then Rose was set against the tough Barbie-doll Pogue would have loved to have wrapped around his waist.
She didn't mess around; whoever the G.I. Jane was, she was tough. Rose had only ever competed against one runner who was better, and this girl was definitely going to take their place. She won, and Rose smiled and offered her hand for a high-five; the girl looked at it like it was covered with ticks, and sauntered off toward Miss Smith.
The next bit was what Rose was looking forward to. Running. Not races, or warm-ups, but running, full-out, pelting. They were to run three miles around the field. Rose stretched her legs again and tucked her t-shirt up so her midriff was bared, allowing for the breeze, and tucked the sleeves into her shoulders; they all lined up, and Miss Smith blew her whistle.
This was what Rose had waited for all week; the chance to run. She began at the back, but quickly stopped worrying and just ran, and in this way she overtook and set a new pace, competing with the three seniors. Her legs burned as her muscles stretched and contracted, screaming with jubilation and a little bit of pain; her breath blistered in her throat, and sweat slicked her skin, which was burned hot by the sun. All she had to do was move. One foot in front of the other. And everything dissolved away. She saw only flashes of colour and indiscriminate shapes and objects, only felt the sun blistering on her skin and the gentle caress of the cool breeze, the burn of her muscles, only tasted the salt of her sweat, only heard the ragged inhalations of her own breath, her footfalls, and all she could think of was putting one foot in front of the other, and pacing herself, making sure every few hundred yards she quickened her pace in spurts, putting herself ahead, then going into her 'race-pace,' and counting the number of laps, counting up to how many Miss Smith had dictated.
In the last lap, G.I. Jane came up behind her, trying to get ahead; they relayed, her in front, Rose overtaking; her overtaking, Rose, until the final stretch, and Rose pelted ahead of her, thinking of nothing but the stopwatch, her time.
"Excellent, Rosalie!" Miss Smith called, laughing slightly, and glanced at her stopwatch as Rose kept jogging a little bit, then ran over to her, warming down.
"What was my time, Coach?" Rose asked. Miss Smith told her; Rose grinned, floating on the blissful wave that was an ocean's worth of endorphins crashing over her body, energising her and making her buzz, happier than she had been in a long time.
"Well, Rose, come and see me after you've showered, I wanna talk to you about joining the varsity team," Miss Smith said, smiling. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose saw G.I. Jane glowering, and muttering to one of the senior boys who had kept pace with Rose for most of the race.
"Yes ma'am," Rose smiled, giddy from running. Pearl came pelting over the imaginary finish-line, red-faced and panting, and almost collapsed at Rose's feet.
"Go get some water, Pearl," Miss Smith said, smiling. "Go on. Come back and get your time." Rose went with Pearl, whose wrists glittered with her beaded bracelets, and helped her when she staggered towards the water-fountain by the ticket-booth of the football-stadium, which sloped down a hill, at the bottom of which, past the Visitors bleachers, was the brook, which just now Rose really just wanted to dive into. Rose was walking back towards the group when G.I. Jane strode past, toward the water-fountain, and bulldozed into Rose so hard she went flying, and bit the dirt.
"What the hell was that for, Hailey?" someone shouted, as Rose spit dust out of her mouth and scrambled off the floor, wiping dirt from her sweat-slicked stomach. "I'm sorry—about her," the same voice said, and Rose blinked at the girl. She was tall and powerfully-built, and most of her shoulder-length blonde hair had fallen out if its ponytail; like Rose, she had tied her t-shirt under her bust and gotten rid of the sleeves; Rose just about remembered her face from the locker-room, and the field; she was one of the faster kids, who had kept on Rose's heels. "Nobody likes her."
"Not even them?" Rose, having glanced over her shoulder, noticed G.I. Jane was now chatting and laughing amicably with a cluster of guys in football practice gear, twirling the end of her ponytail in her fingers and flirting.
"She pays them," the girl joked. Pearl staggered back to Miss Smith in the centre of the field. "As her sister, I get to turn down the money and say what I really think—and it's usually colourful."
"You're her sister?" Rose asked, surprised, but glancing between the girl and G.I. Jane, she saw the family resemblance. This girl was prettier, only because her sweat-shining face was clean of makeup, and she was smiling.
"I know. I'm, like, so much prettier than her," the girl said, batting her eyelashes comically. "Anyway, I'm Aimee Farmer. Little sis to Hailey 'Queen Bitch' Farmer."
Rose smiled and offered her hand. "I'm Rosalie—well, sometimes I'm Rosalie. Usually I'm just Rose. Just Rose."
"Hi," Aimee laughed, shaking her hand. "So…Where'd you learn to run like that?"
"Like what—Oh! Um…well, I just moved from North Carolina. It's a lot hotter and more humid there, so it's nice to run in this weather," Rose shrugged.
"Aah," Aimee said slowly, a smile curling her lips again. She had faint lines at the corners of her mouth from where she smiled so often. "You're that Rose, then."
"Um…What Rose?"
"The one Pearl was talking about at lunch today," Aimee smiled. "The Rose who just moved in with the McGowans."
"Oh. Her. I mean—yes, that's me," Rose said, her cheeks flushing. Aimee laughed.
"I gotta tell you, you've made a lot of enemies already just by moving into that house with all those guys," Aimee chuckled.
"Would they prefer it's them?" Rose asked.
"Hell, yes!"
Rose chuckled. "I'd give them one morning with the McGowan boys before they'd be running away screaming."
"Aw, come on, I bet it's not that bad being the only girl there," Aimee laughed. So Rose told her about her morning. By the time they were dismissed by Miss Smith and reached the locker-rooms, Aimee was gasping for breath, her body wracked with laughter as tears streamed down her face, as Rose told her about Finn having to carry her to the nurse's office.
After a cool shower, which got rid of the sweat and makeup and any remnants of gym class's blood she had missed in the nurse's office, Rose changed back into her denim shorts and cotton-lawn shirt, plucked the band out of her hair so it fell around her shoulders, and put on some of her Estee Lauder 'DayWear Plus SPF' cream, some of her sugar chap-stick and her perfume and grabbed her math textbook, her bloodied gym t-shirt, and went to find Miss Smith.
"Hey, Rosie, come in," Miss Smith smiled, so Rose went to sit at the chair in front of Miss Smith's cluttered desk. "Did you get a drink yet?"
"Not yet," Rose smiled; she had a dollar for the vending machine.
"Okay, so, let's get to it," Miss Smith smiled. "You've got some obvious talent—I don't need to tell you that! Most of my runners left last year, and I have only three varsity runners. With what I saw earlier, I think you'd be an asset to my varsity team. We need to set a better pace and push the better runners. Where'd you run like that?" Rose told her about North Carolina; Miss Smith had been there on vacation once in mid-July, and so understood.
"Well, what do you say, join my varsity cross-country team?" Miss Smith smiled. "You'd definitely be a great secret weapon at meets."
"I'd love to," Rose smiled. She had hoped to get onto the varsity team at her school in North Carolina.
"Excellent. Then I'll see you tomorrow afternoon! If you can bring some money for the uniform," Miss Smith smiled, and Rose nodded.
"I promise not to get blood all over this one," she mumbled, and Miss Smith laughed.
"Alright, well, I'm sure you're ride's waiting," Miss Smith said, and dismissed her; Rose bought a bottle of ice-cold water from the vending-machine outside her office and met Pearl and Aimee, who had both been leaning against the lobby wall, looking tired but happy, examining new bracelets packed on Pearl's wrists.
"So what'd she say?" Aimee asked, her grin almost blinding.
"Miss Smith asked if I wanted to join the varsity team," Rose said, trying not to smile too widely. But when Pearl and Aimee both whooped, she couldn't help it, and grinned.
"Depose my sister as the best runner, please!" Aimee begged. "I'll love you forever!" Rose laughed softly and chatted with Pearl and Aimee back to the front of the school, which was in glorious gentle shade.
"Hey, you need a ride home?" Aimee asked.
"Um—thank you, but I'm supposed to be meeting…Evan…" Rendered speechless, Rose simply stared, and so did Pearl and Aimee. Evan's rusty old Saab was parked at the curb of the school's drop-off loop, and Evan himself was leaning back against it, looking out across the plush, shady front lawn. His legs were crossed at the ankle and his arms crossed over his chest, and his blonde hair shone in the sunlight.
"He makes it so difficult for us," Aimee moaned softly, and Rose blinked just as Evan glanced around and spotted her; he smiled.
"Hey, babe!" Pearl made a tiny noise that might have been a swoon and actually did sigh, but clattering footsteps echoed on the steps and someone—Hailey, Rose recognised her as—jogged down the steps past them, nearly knocking Aimee over as she barrelled down, along the tree-lined pathway, and into Evan's arms.
Rose's world stopped still. No!
It couldn't be.
"How can Evan be dating her?" Was that a whine? She stared as Evan lifted Hailey off the floor by the waist and mauled her with an almost-pornographic kiss. She felt like gagging; indeed, Aimee made a retching noise and pretended to vomit over the side of the steps.
"I know, right," Aimee said contemptuously, wrinkling her nose at Evan and Hailey. "My sister, the PDA slut. My family is just so proud of her."
"Get a room!" one of Hailey's friends called, earning a round of laughter from several of the teenagers who were scattered about on the lawn after team practices and try-outs and clubs. Hailey detached herself from Evan's face and shot them all a self-satisfied smirk. She took Evan's hand and pulled him away from the car so she could get in. Evan opened the door for her and the moment Hailey's bottom hit the seat, she flipped down the visor to check her makeup in the little mirror.
"Hey, Rosie, you coming?" Evan called, and Rose jumped a little bit. Hailey's head snapped up and she glared out of the window.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Rose said to Aimee, who smiled. Rose waved to Pearl, who smiled behind her shades.
"Hey, you got a cell-phone?" Aimee asked, and Rose turned and smiled as Aimee pulled out her phone; Rose gave Aimee her cell-phone number.
"And Finn added me on Facebook last week," Rose said, smiling, when Aimee called her phone to give Rose her number; Pearl had lost her cell-phone, and had to wait for her parents to buy her another one if they couldn't find it; they had just moved house. Rose could relate. Pulling her own sunglasses down over her eyes, Rose made her way down the path to Evan's car.
He opened the door for her, shot her a smile, and Rose dropped into the back seat.
"So, how was your first day?" Evan asked, glancing in the rear-view mirror as he pulled out of the drop-off loop.
"It was alright," Rose mumbled, just as Hailey replied, "Same old, same old."
Hailey twisted in her seat to glare at Rose. She ignored her.
"Actually, Hails, I was talking to Rosie," Evan said, reaching out and putting his hand over Hailey's. "We all know how your first day went." He and Hailey exchanged a knowing look and laughed. Suddenly, shivers went up and down her spine. This was Evan's car…and Hailey was his girlfriend…
"Evan?"
"Yah?" He smiled in the rear-view mirror, his sunglasses flashing.
"Are your seats stain-guarded?" Rose asked, and Evan choked out a laugh of surprise. Rose detected a slight flush in Hailey's cheeks under her makeup.
"Why d'you ask?"
"I just wanna know where it's safe to sit," Rose murmured, glancing down at the seat. Evan just laughed. Completely unashamed, just like this morning with his frog-patterned boxers.
"So how was your day?" Evan asked. "I heard about the basketball incident."
"Oh…Yeah…That," Rose said, blushing.
"He got you pretty good, huh, I heard," Evan laughed good-naturedly.
"Right on the nose," Rose pouted subtly.
"Well, you look great," Evan chuckled. "You can't tell."
"Good," Rose said, her cheeks flushing; Hailey's glower deepened.
"So, what happened at cross-country practice? Finn said you were thinking of trying out?"
"Coach think you're good enough?" Hailey asked spitefully. Rose flushed at her tone.
"Come on, Hails, Miss Smith wouldn't have taken her if she wasn't up to it," Evan said, and Rose felt a surge of gratitude towards him for sticking up for her in front of his girlfriend.
"I was All-State last year," Rose said, feeling Pogue's voice as her confident alter-ego pushing her to stick up for herself in front of this spiteful girl who didn't have any excuse to be rude to her.
"See, Hails!" Evan said happily. "So what'd Miss Smith think, Rose?"
"She asked if I wanted to join the varsity team," Rose said, directing her reply to Evan.
"That's awesome, Chibs," Evan grinned.
"Chibs? What's Chibs?" Hailey asked quickly.
"My nickname," Rose said breezily.
"It's pretty cool, as nicknames go," Evan remarked. "You'd better watch out Sean doesn't make you his old lady." Rose laughed at that.
"I don't think Sean is quite my type," Rose smiled to herself.
"Oh, really? Just what is your type? What kind of guy do you like?" Evan asked, chuckling.
"Chatty."
Evan threw his head back and roared until they reached the stop-light.
"I should probably tell you Sean's nickname is 'Super-dope'," Evan chuckled.
"That's not very nice."
"It's a nickname. It's not supposed to be nice. Just don't let him hear you calling him that. You'll end up with a black eye."
"Are you speaking from experience?" Rose asked, and Evan flashed her a grin in the rear-view mirror. Rose laughed softly.
"How was lacrosse practice?" Hailey asked Evan, drawing his attention back to her. Rose saw her expression, and knew they teetered on very thin ice. "Are you finally going to make All-State this year?"
"You know I don't care about that," Evan said, still holding onto Hailey's hand. "Lacrosse is for fun. As long as I make first-team hockey—"
"I know, I know; the schools will be coming after you," Hailey sighed.
Evan and Hailey chatted on, and Rose, sitting in the dubious stain-guarded backseat, found herself suffering from major third-wheel discomfort. Listening to the happy lover's chatter was horrible, and the way Evan held Hailey's hand reminded Rose of her parents.
A.N.: Please review!
