Run, Billy, Run Read online

  Billy looked around, and glanced at both sides of his visitor. “Hi, Seattle. Where are all the girls?”

  Seattle laughed. “Why? Want one of them?”

  “No.”

  “Then why’d you ask?”

  Billy shrugged. “’Cause you’re hardly around without one.”

  “I’ll get you one. I’ll fix you up. How about that?”

  “Forget it,” insisted Billy, and returned to his lunch. He had only a couple of bites left on a piece of pound cake his mother had baked, and a swallow or two from a pint of milk.

  Cody Jones came up and stood beside Seattle. “Well, if it isn’t the runner,” he quipped. His tone was condescending, tinged with sarcasm.

  Billy shrugged off the comment. He was in no mood to have words with Cody Jones. He finished the cake, washed it down with the rest of the milk, and lifted his long legs over the bench.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said.

  “Billy,” Cody cut in, “Seattle tells me he can lose you in his dust in a hundred-yard dash any day of the week. Bet I can too.”

  “Maybe you can,” said Billy, unimpressed.

  He paused abruptly as he found himself facing two girls. The red-haired one was Pearl McCarthy; the brunette, Wendy Thaler. Obviously they had heard the tail end of the conversation, and Cody’s challenging remark.

  Both looked at him intently, but their reactions to what they heard were different. Pearl seemed to have thought the remark was funny. Wendy’s eyes seemed to indicate she didn’t think it was.

  “A lot of legs, but no guts,” said Cody.

  Billy was looking directly into Wendy’s eyes when he heard the cutting remark, so she must have seen the flash of anger in his eyes. Embarrassment flushed his face. If he had ever felt like busting Cody’s nose, it was then.

  He pivoted on his heels and faced the dark-haired senior. “Okay. You want to race, I’ll race.”

  “Thataway, Billy!” Seattle smiled. “You just might take him, you know. With those long legs you should do the hundred in six strides.”

  Billy heard him, but his burning eyes were still centered on Cody.

  “Name it,” he said.

  Cody’s smile clearly indicated he hadn’t a doubt in the world who was going to win the race, no matter what distance they decided it to be.

  “Let’s run both. The hundred and the two-twenty,” he suggested.

  “Okay by me.”

  “Shake on it,” Seattle cut in. “Make it legit.”

  They shook on it.

  “May the better man win,” Seattle added.

  Billy released his grip on Cody’s hand, turned, and strode past the girls toward the cafeteria door. He felt their eyes on him, especially Wendy’s. For just an instant he had let his eyes meet hers as he brushed by her. He thought he saw something in them that suggested sadness, or sympathy. But at that moment he didn’t care what it was. She was one of Seattle’s friends, not his.

  The afternoon dragged. Billy’s classes kept his mind occupied most of the time, away from the thought of the race after school with Cody. But there came moments when he did think of it, and he could feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat.

  He was a fool to have accepted Cody’s challenge, he thought bitterly. He was sure he was going to lose. He didn’t have a chance. He hadn’t trained for one hundred or two-hundred-and-twenty-yard dashes.

  But he had committed himself; he had to go through with it. Then the thought crossed his mind that he might beat Cody. If he could put all his power and energy into his two long legs for just the few seconds that it took to run the short distances, he’d do it. Just finishing an inch ahead of Cody was enough.

  Dreaming.

  The last period seemed to last forever. He found Dan and Sheri in the bus — they both got out of school before he did — and told them not to wait for him, he’d be home later. He didn’t explain what was going to delay him, and they didn’t press him.

  Almost a dozen students besides the racers walked out to the track. Billy noticed Wendy Thaler and Pearl McCarthy among them. And, of course, Seattle Williams, who instigated the whole thing. Billy was nervous, for he knew that Cody was not the kind to shrink from the opportunity to win a bet once he was challenged. He knew he was fast, and that Billy wasn’t. He had nothing to lose, and a hungry ego to satisfy.

  “Billy, you notice that both of you guys are wearing plain sneakers,” said Seattle, as they approached the track. “You can’t say that Cody was wearing running shoes and you weren’t.”

  “Thanks for telling me,” Billy snorted. He had noticed the minute Cody emerged from the school that he wasn’t bringing his track shoes with him. Even Cody would have realized the unfairness in that move.

  “You want to warm up a little?” asked Seattle.

  “Cody paying you for being his manager?” said Billy.

  “Okay, wise guy,” Seattle snapped, ignoring the question. “You want to warm up or not?”

  “Just a little,” Billy said.

  He went to the starting line, crouched, then took off, running moderately to get his muscles relaxed and blood circulating. He ran the full one-hundred-yard distance, then trotted back slowly. Cody, he noticed, had just completed a sprint of about twenty yards.

  “You guys ready?” Seattle asked.

  “Ready,” said Billy.

  “Ready,” Cody echoed.

  They got behind the starting line.

  “On your mark, get set. Go!” said Seattle.

  The runners took off. Cody was ahead almost from the start. The fact that he was wearing long pants instead of racing trunks didn’t seem to affect his speed. He was about ten yards ahead of Billy when he zipped across the finish line.

  A cheer burst from the small crowd behind them, a small thunder of applause.

  “You sure you want to do the two-twenty, too?” Cody asked as he turned, grinning to Billy.

  “I said I would, didn’t I?” answered Billy, his chest heaving with each breath.

  “That’s what you said.” Cody was breathing only slightly faster than normal.

  The two-hundred-and-twenty-yard dash was a disaster. Cody took a large lead, and just when Billy was beginning to narrow the gap a bit, the race was over. Billy lost by fifteen yards. It was, he told himself, worse than he had expected.

  He turned to Cody, stuck out his hand for a handshake, and forced a smile.

  “Well, you beat me good, Cody,” he said. “But you knew I didn’t have a chance, didn’t you? There’ll come a day, though. You wait.”

  Cody opened his mouth to answer him but cut it short, because Billy had turned away from him and was running across the field in the direction of home.

  Chapter 3

  HE ARRIVED HOME almost an hour later than he would have if he had ridden on the bus. It was twenty minutes after four and his mother was cooking supper. Billy smelled it the instant he stepped on the front porch.

  “Cabbage rolls,” he said, recognizing the smell. He stepped into the living room and saw Sheri on the rust-colored rug, changing the dress of her doll. “Hmmm,” he went on. “I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”

  “Don’t look at me!” she exclaimed, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’m no horse.”

  “Right. A horse has bigger ears.”

  He laughed and went through the narrow hall into the kitchen that was filled with the odor of cabbage rolls. His mother was at the gas range, stirring the contents of the large aluminum kettle with a wooden spoon.

  “A quarter I can guess what we’re having for supper,” quipped Billy, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, ignoring his offer. “The kids said you had to do something so you couldn’t come home on the bus. What was it?”

  Billy shrugged. “Nothing much.”

  He lifted the cover of a kettle cooking on another burner. “Corn, great.”

  “Nothing much?” She stared at his face, at his opened jacket.
“You’re sweating like a pig. You ran all the way from school, didn’t you? What do you want to do? Get sick, too, like your sister?”

  He shrugged off his light jacket. “How is Christina?”

  “Not better. That medicine helped her cough, but she’s got a fever. I’ll have to ask you a favor, Billy. I hate to do it, but I don’t know what else to do. If just one family had a phone among all these houses it would be simple. I could telephone and there wouldn’t be any problem.”

  “Telephone who?”

  “Dr. Shipley. Christina should see him as soon as possible. I don’t want her to risk getting bronchitis or pneumonia. They’re dangerous illnesses.”

  “You want me to go after him now?”

  He held the jacket in a tight roll in his hand, ready to slip it back on if she insisted. He had just run most of the way home from school and was tired and hungry. But he’d go anyway if she wanted him to.

  “No,” she said. “You can go after supper. I’ll have it ready about five-thirty. Why don’t you ask Cody to take you? He’ll drive you there, I’m sure.”

  “Cody Jones? Forget it, Mom. I’m not going to ask him for anything. Period.”

  “All right, then. Rest for a while after supper, then go.” She looked at him, her blue eyes sorrowed, worried. Christina sure looks like Mom, he suddenly thought. “Maybe one of these days we can move closer to where your father works, into a home where we can have a telephone.”

  “Can’t Dad insist that we need one here?” asked Billy.

  “He has. So have other people who live here. But the company is against it. They say that these homes have all been moved once away from the quarry, and that they will be moved again. They don’t want to spend the money to run wires up here, and we can’t afford to do it on our own. The quarry’s expanding.”

  “The cement company where Dad works says that?”

  “Yes. They blasted again today. Everybody had to get out and walk up the field so as not to be struck by falling rocks. But I stayed here with Christina. I couldn’t risk getting her out of her warm bed, walking up into the field and waiting for half an hour till they finished blasting. I just sat close beside her all the time and prayed to God that no rock would fall on our house. None did.”

  Billy stared at her as he conjured the picture in his mind that she painted so graphically for him. He knew what she was talking about. There was dynamite blasting in the quarry in the summertime, too. He hated the loud, eerie whine of the siren that warned the inhabitants of the company-owned stucco homes to get out and walk up into the field above them where they could be assured of safety from flying, falling rocks.

  It was infrequent that a large falling rock, big enough to crash through the roof of a home, ever found a target. But almost every home had been hit one time or another, and sometimes by a rock that had plunged through the roof and ceiling, and even through the floor. A life had never been lost, but a boy had been hit by falling debris some years back, before the danger of remaining in the homes during a blasting had been noticed. Ever since then the company had issued a proclamation that every home had to be vacated at the sound of the warning siren. There was a fifty-dollar fine levied if the order was disobeyed.

  “It’s ridiculous to live like this,” said Billy, sprawling in a chair. “Why don’t we move the heck out of here?”

  “Can’t. Not for a while. Rent is real cheap here. And your father’s earnings aren’t enough to pay the higher rent of a better home, or to buy a house yet. Anyway, we’re saving money. Every week your father has money taken out of his check that goes into a savings account. When we have enough to put a down payment on a house, we’re going to get out. We must just be patient.”

  She glanced at the wall clock. “Look for Dan, will you, please, Billy? I swear he hasn’t been in the house for five minutes since he got home from school. I’ve never seen such a kid. Always on the go.”

  Billy got to his feet and put his jacket back on. “He say where he was going? I hope he’s not fighting again.”

  “Who knows where he goes? He doesn’t know himself until he gets there.”

  Dan had mostly his father’s characteristics. He was short and stocky, with more energy than most two boys put together. But, unlike his father, Dan still had not developed control over his temper. He seemed to think fighting went along with the growing process.

  Billy’s fear that his younger brother might be entangled in another scrap turned out to have a basis. He found a human arena at the softball diamond that the kids had laid out in the field separating the quarry from the homes. In the middle of it two kids were going at it furiously. One was almost a foot taller than the other, and taking the worst of the beating. The smaller one had on a blue shirt with sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Billy had a feeling that when Dan was old enough he’d join the navy and have a tattoo burned on each bicep.

  Billy’s long legs churned as fast as he could get them to as he headed toward the fight. “Hey, you guys! Stop it!” he yelled. “Stop it! You hear me?”

  Some of the small crowd heard him and turned, saw him coming, and quickly related the message to the fighters. The battle continued; neither gladiator paid any attention to him.

  All at once only the shorter of the two was standing. Dan. He stood above his fallen opponent, fists still clenched, chest heaving, jaws squared.

  “Dan!” Billy said, plunging through the ring of onlookers. “Man, what’re you fighting about now?”

  Dan looked around at him, a mischievous gleam of pride in his victory dancing in his brown eyes. Wordlessly, he scooped up his jacket which was lying on the ground and started to go through the line.

  Billy grabbed his arm. “That kid’s hurt. He’s still lying there. What started the fight, I asked you?”

  “Dan was blocking home plate and Steve ran into him,” one of the softball players explained.

  “He could’ve slid. But he didn’t,” Dan declared. He shrugged Billy’s hand off his shoulder and walked through the line that opened up like an automatic door for him.

  Billy headed for the loser of the fight, but Steve was rising to his feet under his own power. There were a couple of small bruises on his face, and his shirt was torn.

  “You okay, Steve?” asked Billy, brushing dirt off the tall boy’s pants.

  “Never mind. I’m all right,” Steve said, drawing away from him.

  Most of the onlookers seemed obviously pleased that they had had a ringside look to a good fight, even if it was one-sided.

  Billy followed his brother home, wondering what the future would hold for the tough little rascal. Maybe he’d wind up a boxer. Who could really tell? Using his fists so adeptly at this stage could mean a fighting career, and a good one, too.

  Billy shook his head. He knew that if Dan became a fighter, and he got good at running, his parents would have a fit. Neither one of them viewed athletics as anything more than fun games. Although a career in the ring could bring in instant money, a fast runner in high school could be offered a college scholarship. If he was very good, the Olympics could be his ultimate goal. A gold medal — or even a silver medal — could open doors for him into a career that even Mom and Dad would joyously respect.

  There was no avoiding the reason for the glum look on Dan’s face. Even though there were no physical signs that he’d been in a scrap, his face showed that he had been in some kind of trouble. Billy got him off the hook by telling his mother just part of what had happened, that a kid had run into Dan at home plate and you can’t carry a smile on your face under such circumstances now, can you? His mother said no, I guess you can’t, and the matter was dropped.

  Billy hung up his jacket and went to see Christina. She had her eyes closed as he entered the room, but opened them the minute he approached the bed. A weak smile flickered over her pale face.

  “Hi,” she greeted him.

  “Hi, Chris. How you feeling?”

  “Not too good. Mom said you’re going after Dr. Shiple
y after supper.”

  “Yes. She thinks you’ll get better quicker if he sees you.”

  “Are you going to walk? He must live at least three or four miles away.”

  Billy shrugged. “Maybe I’ll be lucky. Maybe somebody will pick me up.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, crossed his arms over his chest and smiled at her. Seeing the other kids up and around without her was like looking at a chain with a missing link. In a way she was like Dan. She enjoyed being on the go, playing softball with the boys, playing pitch and catch when there weren’t enough players for a game, swimming at the pond on Mitch Wendell’s farm. But she didn’t have Dan’s temper, and Billy was thankful for that.

  After supper he sat around for fifteen minutes, then put on his jacket and started out on a run to Dr. Shipley’s house on Haden Road. He wasn’t lucky. He had to run all the way.

  Chapter 4

  “YOU RAN ALL THE WAY?” Mrs. Shipley asked, her brow furrowed.

  “Yes,” said Billy.

  “What a shame. Isn’t there anyone living there who has a car?”

  “Oh, yes. But I don’t mind.”

  No point in telling her that Cody Jones had a car. She’d want to know why he hadn’t asked Cody, and he’d have to explain about the stupid game that Cody and Seattle had played on him while he was running home in the rain that day, and then his refusal to accept a ride when the game was over. It seemed so childish now, and Mrs. Shipley would surely think so, too.

  “You’ll wait now, won’t you?” she asked, looking warmly at Billy. She was in her sixties, a short, silver-haired woman who seemed as full of vitality as one twenty years younger. “The doctor was called out on an emergency about an hour ago, so I think he should be coming home shortly. Then you can ride back with him.”

  “Okay,” said Billy.

  “Take a seat,” she invited. “People start coming in about a quarter of seven for their appointments. But that’s still half an hour away. Would you like to have something to drink? Tea or lemonade?”

  “No, thanks.”