“Gooooo, Charlotte!” I hear her call, waving the banner back and forth and grinning. India and Alice wave at me from the stands. The support from my friends calms the butterflies in my stomach.
My event isn’t for half an hour, so I put on my headphones and crank up my inspirational playlist, finding a place in the shade to watch the events. The girls’ 4x100 relay is up first, followed by the boys’. Then the girls’ 1600 meter, and so on, down the list.
I take off my headphones to cheer for both Georgie’s and Flossie’s races. Georgie runs well, coming in third, while Flossie places second. I think I know them well enough by now to guess that Georgie will be thrilled, while Flossie will be gutted.
Finally, it’s my event.
I take my position on the track, the din of the crowd fading into the background as I concentrate.
Run your own race, Charlotte, I tell myself. It’s just you and the track. Nothing else matters.
I’m in the fourth lane, in between a tall brunette runner from Marlborough and a Sussex Park first-year. I take my mark. The starting gun blows and I push off, giving it everything I’ve got.
I pump my arms and legs as fast as I can, keeping my head down so that the only thing I see is the track. The race is a blur. I’m neck and neck with the brunette from Marlborough. Every time I think I’ve outrun her, I catch the faintest glimpse of her in the corner of my eye. My feet start tingling as they slap against the pavement in rapid succession, and my lungs are burning. As the finish line looms, I dig deep inside myself, trying to unfurl whatever secret reserves of strength I might have. I can do this. I have to.
I cross the line, my chest thrust out, only slowing down once I’m well beyond the finish.
The first thing I see is Libby jumping up and down, looking ecstatic. I bend over and lean my hands on my knees to catch my breath, looking up at the scoreboard: I’ve broken the school record by point two seconds.
“Atta girl!” says Wilkinson, jogging over to the finish. She slaps me on the back so hard I feel like my teeth might fly out. “You see? I knew you could do it. The only person you were competing against was yourself.” She gives my back another few thrusting pats of encouragement and then rushes away to oversee the last couple of races.
Libby hops down from the stands, engulfing me in a hug. Edward waits off to the side. India, Alice, Oliver, Tarquin, and David are across the field, consoling Flossie and hugging an elated-looking Georgie. Tarquin throws his arm around Flossie, but she shrugs it off. Only India can get through to her, it seems. India puts her hands on either side of Flossie’s face and says something. Flossie seems to visibly relax.
“I’m so proud of you!” Libby says to me. “You were like a blur!”
“Thank you.” I beam, wiping the sweat away from my forehead. “I feel amazing. I’m having a total runner’s high right now. Where should we celebrate? Dinner at Maharajah, then maybe drinks at the White Horse?”
Libby’s face falls. “I can’t tonight. We have plans with Edward’s cousin Isla. We have a car coming in an hour. We simply can’t cancel on her.”
“Oh. Of course. That’s okay.” How many bloody cousins does Edward socialize with?
“I’m so sorry, Charlotte.”
“No, I get it. It’s totally cool.”
I turn away so that Libby won’t see the disappointment on my face.
She puts her hand back on my arm. “Wait.”
As I look back, Libby trots over to Edward. I watch them carefully, Edward nodding as Libby waves her arms animatedly to explain something. She has so much more energy than she used to have—even with the stresses Edward’s position brings to her life, it’s as if he’s her battery-charging station.
She throws her arms around Edward. When she pulls away, he leans down and gives her a series of cute little kisses all over her face, like he’s a puppy dog.
“Edward said it was cool if we rescheduled with his cousin!” Libby says, returning triumphantly.
“He did? That’s brilliant! We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”
“What time should we meet you?” she asks.
“We?”
“Well, yeah. Me and Edward.”
“Oh. Right.” For some reason, the realization that Edward is coming along takes some of the fun out of it. Even though tonight was supposed to be a group outing, I’d hoped to have Libby there without Edward. Just the two of us—like it used to be. I hurry to cover up my disappointment, so I don’t hurt Libby’s feelings. “Let me talk to Georgie and Flossie, but maybe seven?”
“Okay, cool!” Her face is shining with excitement. “I’m so proud of you, Lotte. We have a lot to celebrate tonight.” She gives me a big hug and then practically skips back over to Edward, the two walking off down the lawn hand in hand. They’re even wearing similar outfits—jeans and powder-blue jumpers. From behind, they look like an old married couple.
I feel a twinge of jealousy in the pit of my stomach watching them go. It has nothing to do with Edward—I’ve long since realized that he and I were completely incompatible. Rather, all my complicated emotions are focused on Libby: this messy coil of envy and sadness and irritation, layered with a nobler mix of pride and satisfaction and approval.
I’m so happy for Libby that she’s found a great boyfriend. Edward seems to calm her insecurities. He bolsters her confidence and channels her nurturing side. He understands her—or, at least, it seems like he does.
I just miss her. I know things between the two of us will never be the same. Even if she and Edward break up—which, let’s face it, will probably happen at some point—this little magical moment in time will soon be gone forever. Libby graduates in a few weeks, and then in a year she’ll be off to university. Time has a way of slipping away, and before I know it, we’ll be adults with jobs and kids and mortgages and horrible taste in music.
Sometimes I wish we could go back in time to when we were little: the two of us together 24/7 in our tiny little house in Guildford, sharing a bedroom and staying up late into the night swapping stories. But we’re not little anymore: we’re all grown up now.
It’s like that cheesy meme that everybody was sharing on Instagram a while back: The days go slowly. It’s the years that go fast.
twenty-three
After showering and changing into party clothes, I’m too exhausted to do anything more than slap on a coat of mascara and some red lipstick and call it a day. When I show up at the front gates, Georgie is already waiting, along with a couple of other girls from the team, Corrie and Kate.
“Hiya!” I say. “Where’s Flossie?”
Georgie raises an eyebrow. “Is she actually coming?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. She seemed like she could use cheering up.”
“Today and every other day of the year.”
I pull out my phone to text her only to find a message from Flossie waiting.
FLOSSIE: Can’t muster up the energy. Going to drown my sorrows in mint choc. Have fun.
“She’s not coming,” I say.
Georgie has no such qualms. “Praise the Lord. I can’t with her acting like second place is something to cry about.”