In the photo of Betty, her short blond hair curled to frame her face. Her grin glimmered off the page as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Helen smiled back at the image. She tried to forget the birthmark staining her forehead, her unruly hair, enormous feet, and clumsy limbs, but her smile slackened thinking of how her classmates taunted her with Helen the Huge and Smelly Hellie.
She sighed, folding the article so the picture of Betty disappeared from view. Helen could run fast—none of the boys at school would dispute that—but being someone like Betty Robinson felt about as achievable as becoming Queen of England. Still, she opened the newspaper again to view the article once more.
Could Betty really win?
Helen pulled the page with Betty’s story from the newspaper and tucked it under her bed, vowing to keep her eyes out for more updates. She needed to see what would happen next to this girl.
6.
August 1928
Amsterdam
ABOARD THE FERRY ON HER WAY TO CENTRAL STATION, Betty drummed her fingers along the window’s railing. Clouds scudded low overhead, the morning’s downpour having done little to rid the air of humidity. It was the day of the 100-meter finals and she was the only American woman left competing. She wrapped her arms around her belly to stop the flip-flopping sensation inside her. Deep inhalations would help, but who wanted to breathe in the putrid stench of the canal’s brackish water?
When Betty and her teammates arrived at the stadium, they exited the bus and stood on the sidewalk, shifting their weight from foot to foot, awed by the throngs of spectators bustling past and the honking from snarled traffic.
Caroline reached out and squeezed Betty’s hand. “Good luck. Knock ’em dead.”
Betty thanked her as the rest of the girls crowded round, rubbing her shoulders and slapping her back. Mrs. Allen brushed Betty’s hair off her forehead. “Go get changed and I’ll meet you in the locker room after settling the girls in some seats.”
Betty said goodbye to her friends. They strolled away giggling about something and Betty watched them, twisting the edge of her Peter Pan collar between her fingers. She squared her shoulders and entered the long corridor to the locker room. The thud of her heels striking the ground echoed with each step she took. A metallic-smelling mixture of rainwater and newly poured cement wafted over her.
She entered the locker room and found three Canadians gathered between a row of lockers, talking and laughing. In the next row, two Germans sat on the bench between the lockers, their expressions serious as they cleaned dirt from their running spikes. Betty passed them, found an empty row, dropped her bag on a bench, and slumped down next to it, gnawing on the cuticle of her index finger.
Never had she felt so alone.
If only Caroline or Elta was there with her. Even Dee would have been better than being alone. Her heel jiggled up and down, but she pressed on it to stop. I cannot be nervous anymore. I’ve got a job to do. She repeated these two sentences over and over. Each time she recited them, her mind cleared a little from the anxiety swirling inside it. She stood, shook out her legs, and hopped up and down a few times. Her shoulders dropped, the jitters in her belly settled. She closed her eyes, raised her hands above her head, and pictured herself leaning into the finish tape. Yes! Opening her eyes, she smiled, bent over her bag, and pulled out her white shorts and top, along with her navy-blue sweat suit.
Once she’d changed, she sat down to put on her track shoes. First, she slid her foot into her left shoe and laced it, listening to the guttural sound of the German athletes talking.
She started to slide her right foot into her other shoe, but her toe jammed inside.
Perplexed, she lifted the shoe for closer inspection. Her breath caught.
It was a second left shoe.
Two left shoes! How had this happened? Panic rose inside her. She spun toward her bag, rummaging through it to find a shoe for her right foot. Nothing. She blinked. Could she run barefoot? Even if officials allowed it, which she doubted, the sharp surface of the track would ruin her feet. Clutching the shoe to her chest, she ran, limping unevenly on one shoe, toward the door of the stadium. With each step, the roar of the crowd became louder and louder. As she lunged for the doorknob, it opened toward her. Mrs. Allen stepped into the locker room, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
“Heavens, Betty, you nearly gave me a fright.” She raised a hand to her chest. “Are you ready, dear?”
“I have two left shoes. I . . .” Betty stammered. “I own two pairs of track shoes and somehow I grabbed only the left ones this morning.” Saying the words out loud made her predicament real and she blinked back tears. “What am I going to do?”
“All right, all right, don’t panic. You stay here. I’ll hurry down and speak with Coach Sheppard to see what he thinks. You go back and sit down.”
“But what about my race? Doesn’t it start soon?”
Mrs. Allen inspected her wristwatch. “Yes, dear, it does. Sit tight. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Betty’s hands dropped to her sides and she returned to her bench and sat, her head falling into her hands. The Canadians passed by on their way to the doorway, looking curiously at her. Betty’s face burned. Somewhere nearby, a leaky faucet dripped, each drop echoing through the otherwise silent room. Her throat tightened and tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. This was not the time to fall apart.
From a distant corner of the locker room, a door slammed. Footsteps slapped along the floor, getting louder and louder. “Betty? Betty? Where are you?” Caroline rounded the corner and stopped, panting. “Whew, that was close. Here’s your shoe, but there’s no time to put it on now. Officials are checking racers into your event. Come on!” She thrust Betty’s right shoe at her.
Betty grabbed it and chased after Caroline. “How in the world did you get this so quickly?”
“You better forgive Dee for all her snoring. You know how she was planning to catch a later ferry?” Caroline pushed out of the locker room door and studied the track below. “It looks like the judges are taking a quick break—put on your shoes now, but hurry. Before she left our cabin, Dee noticed two right shoes and had the presence of mind to figure out what you had done and take one for you. She found us in the stadium and gave it to me. What a lucky break, huh?”
Crouched down, lacing up her shoes, Betty sucked in her breath, amazed. Around her, colorful flags waved and cigarette smoke clouded over the crowd. People sang and called out to the athletes in languages she couldn’t understand. The noise was deafening, so loud that it became meaningless. A background roar. She peered through the thicket of people surrounding her, knowing the track lay somewhere below. Within minutes, she would be racing and the outcome would be decided. She just needed to push forward.
“Let’s go,” urged Caroline, turning toward Betty, her eyes wide with worry.
An odd sense of calm descended over her. “I’m ready.”
BETTY TOOK HER position at the start, bent over, and dug into the cinder with a trowel the way Coach Price had shown her, to create two small indentations that would hold her feet in place when she assumed her crouched starting position. When the divots were in place, she sat back to survey her work; the spacing between the two appeared acceptable. She laid down her trowel, eyeing her competitors. The two German girls bobbed up and down in place to warm up. The three Canadians stretched their quads. All the women wore serious, grim expressions.