“Seriously?”
A few minutes later they were both in the car and headed down the driveway. Savannah glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t have, like, an eating disorder or anything, do you?”
Thomas shook his head. “We’re supposed to be dropping time in our relay. But the last three meets, we’ve actually gained.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, so? We nearly took the state title in the four-by-two-hundred relay last year. As sophomores. That’s a big deal.”
“I’m not saying it’s not. It’s just—train hard, do your best, you know? Starving yourself won’t help.”
“I’m not starving myself.” He’d stashed three protein bars in his backpack. He wasn’t not eating; he was just trying a different approach. He’d also run three miles and done fifty push-ups before Savannah had even gotten out of bed.
Traffic was slow enough for her to turn and face him, but Thomas kept his eyes on the dashboard clock, watching the minutes melt away.
“All right,” she said. “Just cut yourself some slack. You’ve been a little distracted.”
The sentiment hit with the swift punch of accusation. “Why does everyone keep blaming the stupid podcast? I’m not distracted. If anything, I’m working harder than ever.”
Nico and Pete had been all over him at practice last night. Get your head on! Focus! All of their complaints rained down on him, even though Ro had been slowest at the last meet. Only by two-one-hundredths of a second, but still.
At one point, Nico even yelled, “Hey, look, Thomas, your daddy’s at the finish line! Run!”
Stupid Nico.
He fought the sudden urge to tell Savannah to pull over and get out of the car. He didn’t care about being late, he cared about being trapped in one more discussion about something he didn’t know how to fix.
“And anyway,” he said, “what about you? How come nobody’s accusing you of being distracted?”
“Ha!” Savannah snorted. “Shows what you know. I have been distracted, just not about our biodad.”
She pulled to a stop at the last intersection before school. “Crap!” She sank down into her seat, trying desperately to melt below the windshield. “Is that Carrie Westlund in front of us?”
Thomas twisted, trying to get an angle on the driver ahead of them. “Maybe?” He rolled down his window, preparing to lean out for a better look.
Savannah slapped his arm. “Don’t! Don’t show her your face!” She slapped him again.
“Stop hitting me!” Now he had to lean out the window just to get out of her reach.
“Get in here!” She hit the automatic window button, propelling him back inside. The window rose, pinching his arm between the glass and the door frame.
“OW!” Now he was rubbing both arms. “What is with you?”
“Just—” Savannah pounded the steering wheel with her fist. “Put it this way—I basically became an Instagram meme last weekend. No more Zombie Baby. Now it’s my turn.”
“‘#SavannahSeesDeadPeople’?”
She flashed him a shocked glance as the traffic started to move. “You saw it?”
“Don’t worry, Van. Everybody knows Carrie Westlund is just in it for the attention. And Parker White has always been an ass.”
“He tagged me alongside about a gazillion ghost hunters.”
“Ghost hunters don’t use Instagram.”
“Everyone uses Instagram!” Savannah swung wide into the school parking lot, avoiding Carrie up ahead by opting for a spot in the farthest corner from the entrance.
They had one minute before the bell.
“Wow, thanks, Van. Now we’re definitely going to be on time.”
“Save your anger for the track, dummy.” She slammed her door and sprinted for school.
“Have a good day, sweetie!” Thomas called.
* * *
That afternoon, Coach pulled Thomas aside at practice. “I’m taking you off the four-by-two and swapping in Soltis. You’re a good sprinter, but I’ve got to give your relay the best chance of getting to State.” He lifted his chin, looking for confirmation.
Thomas felt a shock of panic up his spine. “I just had a few bad days, is all.” He’d been tired, but he would come back. He’d rest hard and train hard. Isn’t that what Coach was always telling him?
Coach shook his head. “I don’t know what’s happening, T. You always come out of the blocks strong, but you’re slowing down too much before handoff. Like you don’t know how to do it anymore. This week you dropped more batons than you handed off.”
“No problem!” If it was just the handoffs, Thomas could fix that. “I’ll run drills every practice. I’ll get over it, get my rhythm back.”
“Too late for that, bud. We’re deep into qualifiers.” Coach scuffed his toe along the rubber track surface. “You seem—off, lately. Anything going on at home you want to talk about?”
Thomas said no. Because there wasn’t. “I understand, Coach. You’ve got to do what’s right for the team.” The words came out easy but ran cold all the way to his toes.
“Keep coming to practice, though. Don’t quit working.”
“I dunno. Maybe.”
Coach’s face said he already knew Thomas wouldn’t be at practice Monday. “Think about it over the weekend.” He gave Thomas a soft punch to the shoulder, then turned and walked away.
Thomas didn’t take his eyes off him until he disappeared into the school. If he had, he would have been forced to admit that Nico, Pete and Ro had stood by and watched the whole thing.
Trigg:
Ok, you just need to settle down. [yoga pose emoji]
Trigg:
Some people actually think it’s cool you have powers. [angel emoji] [praying hands emoji]
Trigg:
Taylor Parks lost her grandma a few months ago and she says she’s going to visualize her every night before she goes to sleep until she shows up.
Savannah:
OMG I DON’T SEE DEAD PEOPLE!!!!!
Eight
Thomas
“Thomas?” He should have been sleeping, but he wasn’t. Neither was his sister. She knocked again. “I know you’re awake. I can see your light under the door.”