“Nah, I think he’s divorced again. Who can keep up?”
“Not Liam Hemsworth?” asks Edward, laughing and twisting as Libby tries to tickle him under the covers.
“Hollywood is out. Tech is where it’s at,” I say.
Libby looks over at me, grinning. My heart explodes. She deserves every second of happiness.
And, honestly, so do I.
twenty-two
It’s been a long, hard spring. We’ve been blanketed with months of gray, rainy weather that make me want to curl into a ball and never leave my dorm room.
But not long after Edward visits our house and meets our parents, the clouds that have become a permanent fixture the past five months are suddenly gone. The damp starts to dry out. The sun makes fleeting appearances. Warmer days are finally around the corner.
As the big track meet approaches, I throw myself into my sprints with an intensity I’ve been lacking all year. My time on the track has increased—not substantially. Just by a few tenths of a second.
But sometimes, a tenth of a second is all it takes for everything to change.
Six intense weeks of juggling schoolwork, track practice, and app paperwork have left me feeling physically exhausted—but emotionally, I’ve never felt more energized. Selfsy is now in beta mode. Bill and I have gone from once-weekly phone calls to daily Skype sessions. There’s still a snag with the Facebook login, and we’re getting close to missing our proposed May 15 deadline to submit it to the app store—but I have faith. I know we’re going to crush it.
My friends can’t believe it.
“So, you’re going to be like an app mogul?” asks Flossie one night in May over wine in India’s room, looking impressed.
“I don’t know about mogul, but we’ll see,” I say. “If all goes well with Apple and they approve it when we submit on the thirtieth—assuming we make our deadline—it should go live in mid June. Then it’s all about marketing and publicity—getting the word out and hopefully getting downloads. According to Bill, that’s the hardest part. But if we get enough active users, then we release the Android version, and then web. And then maybe we’ll localize it—you know, release it in other languages.”
“And how do you plan to do all that?” India asks.
“I mean, obviously it would be nice if you all shared and ’grammed it to help get the word out.”
“Of course,” Flossie says. “We wouldn’t dream of not supporting.” She smiles at me.
“Thanks, Floss. Every little bit helps. Bill has some marketing team who he uses for all his launches. I guess he wants to do a big social-media campaign and was thinking of running Facebook ads and doing something through Pinterest. He said after we get fifty thousand downloads—if we get fifty thousand—we can talk about hiring a PR firm.”
“I am super impressed,” says India. “This is beyond legit, Charlotte.”
“Let’s hope.”
“I can’t believe how fast it all happened,” Georgie says. “Where’s my fairy godmother?”
“Has your mum turned your credit cards back on?” Alice asks me.
“I’ve been so busy with the app that I forgot to ask. I’m sure she will soon enough. And if not, maybe soon enough I won’t need their cards anyway.”
“Your parents must be really proud,” says India.
“I hope so. I think so.”
“Whatever,” says Flossie. “Parents are easier to please than you think. What’s important is whether you’re proud of yourself.” She holds out a bottle. “More wine?”
The following week, it’s the day of the big meet. We’re running against the girls at Marlborough, and I’m determined to prove to Coach Wilkinson—and myself—that I have what it takes.
I feel like I’ve really whipped my life into shape. The app’s beta is in great condition and we’re on track to be approved. Libby and I have a standing lunch date. I’ve been heading to the library a few nights a week to get my grades back up. I’ve put in good time at the gym working out, trying to get my strength up. I even find time for an extra half-hour run every morning, making sure my speed is up to snuff. I’ve shaved that extra tenth of a second back down—but now I want to push myself further.
Coach Wilkinson thinks I have a chance of breaking the school’s 200-meter record—but I don’t want to jinx it. I carbo-load the day before the match and promise myself that I won’t be disappointed, no matter the outcome. After all, it’s not about how fast you run—it’s whether you muster the courage to run, period.
Clearly, Coach Wilkinson’s mumbo-jumbo affirmations have been rubbing off on me.
In the locker room before the game, I tape my bad knee, rubbing my wrists anxiously.
“You okay there?” Flossie asks at her locker.
“All good. Excited.”
“Excited enough to break the record?” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“I won’t,” I say. “There’s no way.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’ve seen you running the past couple of weeks. You’re not looking bad out there.”
My stomach is a mass of butterflies. “What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. “You’re doing the sixteen-hundred meter, right?”
She nods, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Flossie is a yoga devotee, something clearly visible in her long, sinewy limbs. There’s a fluidity to her movements I don’t think I’ll ever possess. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of who she is—there must be a certain security in knowing the world will always open its arms to you, no matter how you act or what you do.
“I’m so impressed by distance running,” I say. “I don’t have it in me.”
“Sure you do. It’s all about maintaining your pace, but keeping a little something in your back pocket for the last minute. You reserve it, bide your time, and then just when your opponent thinks they’ve won—bam. You unleash it. Strategy,” she says, smiling.
I slap her a high five. “Well, good luck,” I say. “We’ll celebrate after the meet either way.” I’m happy that Flossie and I are now on decent terms. I don’t think the two of us will ever be BFFs, so our recent détente is probably the best I can hope for.
We head out onto the field. The weather is hot by May standards. The afternoon sun beats down, hard and unyielding.
I grab a paper cup from the water cooler by the track and pour myself a cup of Powerade, chugging it. I already feel warm. I’ll have to make sure I don’t get dehydrated out there today.
The stands are packed on both sides, with a few Marlborough fans sprinkled among the Sussex Park supporters. Our friends are all there to lend support. Georgie’s running the 400 meter and hopes that she might place. Libby jumps up and down, holding a Sussex Park banner and brandishing it enthusiastically. Next to her, Edward gives me the thumbs-up.