Now, let’s get back to the stairs. Wasn’t I on eight hundred and twelve? I quickly flex each of my calves and stretch out my quads again.
Here were go.
Lots of energy, Mallory, I say to myself. You just had a rest. You should be raring to go.
Eight hundred and thirteen. Eight hundred and fourteen. Eight hundred and fifteen.
I ease back into my groove.
It’s going to be okay.
See? I already helped Simone. I can totally do difficult things. I’m good enough. I can be in control. I’m in control. I’m not slipping, regardless of what my mother says. Listen, I needed to eat that half tuna sandwich; I blacked out in the shower after practice that day! And I made up for the calories on the elliptical.
I’m going to be accepted to Princeton.
They’ll take me, they have to. I’m the full package.
Nine hundred and nine, nine hundred and ten.
My calves burn with the sting of victory and I’m breathing hard. Sweat is pouring off me once again. This feels good. This feels right. I am the master of my own universe. This is all about me right now. I’m doing everything I can to ensure my own personal best, even if Liam isn’t.
Of course he blew off the stairs again today.
Of course he did.
Thing is? If Liam isn’t striving, if Liam decides to sit this one out, that’s his problem. I can’t have him hold me back. I’m not committed to him. I’m not married; I’m seventeen. I have to do what’s right for me.
I’m all about Team Mallory.
After all, winners never quit and quitters never pepperoni.
Um...
Quitters never pepperoni?
Wait...what?
I find myself stopping short again and this time I can’t control the momentum of my body pitching forward. I go down hard on my left knee, landing with a thud on the metal riser.
“You okay, Mal?” Owen asks, motioning like he’s going to get up. Pfft, like I’d take Dr. Feelgood’s help.
“I’m fine!” I say, holding up my leg. “See? Not even scraped.”
The pain in my left knee radiates all the way up to my hip and down to my foot. I keep my face very still so that I don’t wince as I shake the left side harder, trying to increase the blood flow. I bend my knee a few times and it seems to be operating normally.
So I’m golden. I am. As always, I play through the pain.
They resume what they’re doing, which is eating a freaking deep-dish pizza from Lou Malnati’s. I can smell it from here. Look at how those strings of mozzarella are stretching, like, a foot long. Simone takes an enormous bite, just crams it right on in, and a chunk of pineapple falls onto the riser, landing with a moist splat. Ugh.
Bringing a goddamned pizza to where people are working out?
Who does that?
What is wrong with them?
Why is my mouth suddenly watering?
Which step was I on before I fell?
Nine hundred and...?
The Metra train blows its horn as it chugs down the tracks behind the school and the sound makes me tense. Then again, that sound always makes me tense.
Okay, I need to focus.
I’m off my game today. I’m mad that Liam’s MIA again. Where does he even go? Unacceptable. Plus, Braden was acting seriously weird last night, like, lingering outside of my room when I was trying to finish my work after I’d shut my bedroom door. I was probably more dismissive with him than necessary, but I was looking at maybe getting two hours of sleep and I literally could not handle one more thing. Then earlier today in the hall outside of my Italian class? He was all, “Can we please talk?” and I told him I was late for a meeting with Mr. Gorton and that I’d circle back to him later.
I didn’t have a meeting; I was just avoiding the conversation. I mean, what does he even want to talk about?
I’m sure I don’t want to know.
Or maybe I do.
Shit.
Why is my relationship with Braden so confusing? I consider him my third brother, so why don’t I have the same kind of fraternal vibe toward him like I do with Holden and Theo? Feeling like this, if he were my actual brother, I would need all the therapy, you know?
I’ve been avoiding him ever since our conversation last week, not because he was wrong, but because I fear he was right. He’d invited himself into my room that night, sitting down at the end of my bed, taking off his hoodie and getting all comfy. One of the cats immediately hopped on his lap and curled up there. This was sort of funny because Liam is so desperate to win over the cats and they sort of hate him for making the effort. They think he’s a try-hard.
“You’re not happy,” Braden said.
“If you mean I’m not happy you’re bothering me, then you’re right,” I replied, but I said it with a smile. I swatted him with my notebook for emphasis.
He swallowed hard and I noticed his jaw was clenched, like he was biting down really hard. “No, Mal, I’m serious. Things aren’t right with you and Liam. You guys fight every time I see you lately and then Theo tells me you do nothing but complain about him when you’re apart. That’s not healthy. You’re miserable. Be with someone who lifts you up, not brings you down. Don’t waste your time on someone who makes you miserable. It’s bad for you and it’s hard on everyone around you.”
“What are you talking about?” I replied. My voice came out at a higher pitch than usual, making me sound screechy. Not cool. I cleared my throat and tried again. “What do you mean? I’m super content. I’m exultant. Jubilant. Blissful. In fact, I’m every SAT word for happy. And I promise you, no one around us is miserable.”
Except maybe...the crowd at the lunch table (mostly named Jasper) who wince when I get on Liam about running the stairs, or when he complains that my salad is basically water and human beings need more protein than rabbits do. And then there was the time he didn’t defend me when the JasHole’s skank du jour coughed “Pro-ana” into her napkin. That was shitty.
So maybe I’ve nagged him a little too much about working on his Common Application and then he tells me to stop being so bitchy and I get super frosty, saying I’m not a bitch and he’s all, I didn’t say you were a bitch, I said you were being bitchy, and the whole thing dissolves into an argument about semantics.
And maybe that’s happened more than once.
Or he tells me not to be so curt when randoms try to talk to me and I counter that he could maybe try being less friendly when his fangirls get all handsy whenever they find an excuse to be next to him.
Fine, we might have our moments, but misery-inducing?
No.
Braden gave me this look that made something stir in my stomach, but I tried to chalk it up to having only ingested two Vanilla Almond Quest bars all day. (Guess what Liam? Forty-two grams of protein, which is just shy of the RDA of forty-six for someone my age/size. Boom. How ya like me now?)
“You trying to convince me or yourself?” Braden said.
Through gritted teeth, I said, “I don’t need to convince anyone. If you can’t see that we’re perfect for each other, then that’s your problem, not mine.”