Patina (Track #2)

“Then wink at me, too.”

“Patty, please. Maddy already told me you got all the good luck you need,” she teased, flicking one of my beaded braids. “And don’t forget, if you win, you gotta strut off the track like Mary.” Cotton did a few power steps, MJB style.

“I got it, Pancake,” Ma interjected as I tried to push her. “You get over there to your team.”

“Ma, it’s grass and other stuff over there. I’ll push you.”

“Patty, go. We here to support you. Not for you to worry about us. I got Skunky here if I need help. Ain’t that right?”

“Yeah, I got her, Patty.” Skunk hit the alarm on his car. Bloop-bloop!

“So give me a hug.” Ma spread her arms out. I leaned into her, pressed my lips to her cheek again. She whispered, “Remember, you ain’t no junk.” She grabbed my hands and it was like she whispered electricity into me, my insides fluttering in a weird way. I couldn’t help but cheese. I couldn’t help but stand up straighter, roll my shoulders back like Momly always be saying, and if she was here, she would’ve said it again. To walk like there’s nothing on my back. No weight. And today, that’s what I felt like. Then, and I didn’t see this coming, Ma glanced down at my fingers. And then the glance became a stare. My nails! Uh-oh. And I snatched my hands from her with the quickness and tried to get going.

“Let’s go, y’all,” I said, scurrying and rallying Cotton and Maddy, taking my bag back from her. And as the three of us headed toward the park, Ma called out to me.

“Patina!” No. No. Please, not right now. Not today. Not here. Not before the race. I turned around, because if I didn’t, it was only going to be worse. “I like your nails.” She smiled wide, still rolled her eyes just a little, and wiggled her fingers in the air.

I threw my duffel back over my shoulder and we headed toward all the action, my face feeling like a bright star.



“Okay, Defenders, here we are, back on the battleground—” Coach was starting strong on his windup speech, when he glanced at me. I was sitting on my butt doing butterfly stretches with the rest of the team. “Nice hair, Patty. Different,” he said, which of course caused a few giggles, the loudest coming from corny Curron. Whatever. “The lineup will be the same as it was last week, which means relays are up first.” First? We were up first? My mind flashed to last week’s meet. Not just the whole second-place thing, but also the fact that during the girls’ 4x800 relay, one team dropped the baton. Yikes.

After stretching, we went over to the benches, got our last-minute jitters out by adjusting our jerseys and tightening the drawstrings on our shorts. I checked my nails. No chips yet even after fooling with that wheelchair. Flo Jo perfect.

Mrs. Margo, Coach’s wife, started handing out Gatorades. Lu’s mom, who’d been talking to my mom, was now bopping over with a Tupperware full of orange slices. “Hey, everybody!” she sang out. She been doing this—the oranges—since me and Lu ran for the Sparks. Then she was holding the container out toward me. “Hey, Patty-Patty.” Her voice only got scary-sounding when she was cheering for Lu. “Lu told me your auntie was in the hospital. Just talked to your mom about it. You know you can always come see me if you need to. I know you don’t live as close anymore, but I’m still Mrs. Richardson. You and Cotton still my girls.”

I nodded thanks and waved off the oranges. I can’t eat oranges before a race. Too nervous.

But at least I wasn’t first first. Boys’ 4x800 was. Curron, Mikey, Eric, and Freddy took the track and the rest of us erupted in cheers. They huddled together for a quick talk, and then Freddy headed to the starting line. The other guys stood by the side of the track until their leg was up. I watched closely, my heart kicking as if I was already out there. Freddy stretched his arms over his head, did a few jumps, readying himself. The other runners around him were doing the same. Then . . .

On your mark, get set . . . Bang!

They were off, Freddy keeping pace with the pack. No one broke out on the first lap, but on the second, Freddy and a kid from another team started to lead out. Mikey took his position on the starting line as Freddy rounded the final bend of the second lap and was about to take the straightaway. He was still neck and neck with the other kid. I glanced over at Coach, who had one finger in his mouth, gnawing on a nail. The red zone was coming up. The handoff.

Now people began shouting at the top of their lungs as Freddy came charging into the handoff zone and Mikey broke out. We couldn’t hear him call “Stick!” but he must have because Mikey threw his arm back and two seconds later had the baton. The other teams did it the regular way, sort of, sidestepping and waiting for the runner to hand them the stick before taking off. Our coaches were right. This blind handoff would be the game changer.

By the time the other second legs got their batons, Mikey had taken the lead. And his handoff to Eric was just as smooth, as was Eric’s to Curron, too. The other teams didn’t stand a chance; our boys smoked everyone. After we all finished screaming and cheering, I looked down the line at Coach. His finger was out of his mouth, and he was nodding. He caught my eye. You ready? he mouthed. Then he waved me and the other three girls over.

“Next up, the girls’ 4x800 meter relay,” the announcer said over the loudspeaker.

“Y’all ready?” Coach this time asking all four of us. Whit, beside him, her hands behind her back, had a serious mug on her face. “This is rhythm, connection, and timing. Just like we practiced,” she reminded us. “This is nothing but the waltz.”

“Be there for each other,” Coach added the last word, eye-lasering us.

We hit the track. The bleachers started stomping and cheering, each section for a different team or a different person. Me, Krystal, Brit-Brat, and Deja huddled up. “Let’s show ’em how we dance, y’all,” Krystal said, fierce. She looked at me and grinned. “Leave our legs on the track.” Oh yeah.

“Wipe the floor with ’em. Together,” I snarled.

Deja was up first. She didn’t do any extra stretches. Just went out there, looked every other runner up and down, then took her place in lane three. She ran her tongue over her teeth like a wolf ready to feast. Slapped the baton against her leg a few times, then got set. And . . .

Bang!

Deja jumped out in front of everyone. Zipped from the third lane to the first in a matter of seconds.

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