Run, Billy, Run Page 3

Dr. Shipley arrived within the next fifteen minutes. Billy explained about Christina and, because the doctor said he had to be back to attend to the patients who had appointments, he hurried out to his car with Billy at his heels, started it up, backed it out of the driveway, and sped down the road.

  Billy had managed to get the mileage on the odometer before the car had started rolling and hoped he’d remember to look at it again when they arrived at his home. He wanted to see how far he had run.

  “Haven’t seen you for some time, Billy,” said the doctor. He was a big man, over six feet tall and at least two hundred pounds. “What grade are you in, Billy? Tenth? Eleventh?”

  “Ninth,” said Billy. “I’m only fourteen.”

  “Right. I should have remembered. Any ambitions for the future? Or is it too early yet to predict what you’re going to do when you really grow up?”

  “It’s pretty early,” replied Billy.

  “Well, yes, it is. Are you into sports at all?”

  “Not yet. But I will be.”

  “You haven’t played basketball?” The doctor looked at him, his square-jawed face showing mild surprise. “You’ve got the height. I should think that would be your game.”

  “No. I played a little, is all. I just don’t care for it, I guess.”

  “Well, nothing wrong with that.” A smile deepened the wrinkles at the corners of the doctor’s eyes. “Mrs. Shipley told me that you ran all the way from your home to my office. That’s quite a run.”

  “I looked at the odometer when I got in the car,” admitted Billy. “I’m anxious to see just exactly how far it is.”

  “Good idea. Have you considered track? That’s a good field, you know. It has tremendous potential. If you were really good you might win a scholarship to a university, then study for a career that will set you up nicely for the rest of your life. Other sports provide the same opportunity, of course, but —” he smiled again as he cast another sidewise glance at Billy “— I can’t quite picture you as an up and coming baseball or football great. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re right,” said Billy, who had never had any ambitions of playing either one of those sports, anyway.

  When the car stopped in front of his home he looked at the odometer again, and quickly calculated that they had driven three and two-tenths miles. Without stopping once, that wasn’t a bad run, in his opinion.

  The doctor remained with Christina only about ten minutes. He left pills for her to take, and said she should be well and on her feet again in two or three days. Meanwhile, it was best that she rested.

  After the doctor left, and the door was closed to Christina’s room, Sam Chekko made an announcement that stopped the whole family in its tracks.

  “Family, I’m going to buy us a car,” he said. “I’m sick and tired of this business of begging for rides, of Billy running here and there for groceries, for the doctor, for anything.”

  Surprised, they all stared at him. Dan’s and Sheri’s faces were glowing from thoughts of the wonderful things that the possession of a car would bring them. His wife didn’t seem to know what to make of it. This was the first time since they were married that her husband had made up his mind about something important so quickly, and she wondered if her ears were deceiving her. Billy was dumbfounded, but pleased. If a car in the family was going to relieve anyone of a tiresome task, it would be him.

  “With what?” Mrs. Chekko asked, after she had managed to get over her surprise.

  “What do you mean ‘with what?’” Mr. Chekko said, staring at her. “I’m not going to buy a new car. I’m thinking of one about three or four years old. I’ll take the down payment out of our savings and pay the balance in installments. Two or three years, whatever they give us. In that way we won’t have to fork out too much money every month. Don’t you think it’s a good idea, Adelia?”

  She shrugged, then went up to him and planted a kiss on his lips. It was a gesture that none of the kids saw very often between their mother and father, and it amused them. Sheri ran up to them and swung her small arms around their legs, her tiny fists clenching the cloth of her father’s pants and her mother’s dress.

  Billy held his breath for a few moments, surprised that he could be so close to tears. Before he could see how Dan was reacting to the situation, his brother turned and went quietly into the living room.

  “Hey, Danny,” Billy called to him. “What do you think of that, huh? Imagine having a car after never having one!”

  Dan plopped himself on a chair, sprawled out his legs and folded his hands over his stomach. “I think it’s about time,” he said. “Maybe now we can see a movie once in a while.”

  Moments later Mr. and Mrs. Chekko and Sheri came into the room. Mrs. Chekko had her arm around her husband’s waist. The smile still lingered on her lips.

  “You know what getting a car means, Dad?” asked Billy. “You’ll have to learn to drive. Did you ever drive a car?”

  “Why, sure! But a long time ago. I had a driver’s license for five or six years.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I lost it.”

  “Lost it? How?”

  He grinned shyly. “I had an accident, and my license was revoked for six months. I never renewed it. I sold the car and never bought another one.”

  “Was that before you were married to Mom?”

  “We’d been married a year,” he answered. “Okay, let’s drop the subject. It wasn’t one of my best years.”

  “Oh — it wasn’t?” his wife said, looking directly at him, her nose only inches away from his face.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way!” he exclaimed. “I’m talking about the car, sweetheart!”

  Everyone laughed. For a few moments longer the kids teased their father about his statement which his wife had twisted into a joke on himself, but they stopped abruptly when they remembered that there was a sick girl in another room who required rest and quiet.

  That night Billy dreamed that he was running through a quagmire that was up to his ankles. Seattle, Cody, and some of the school kids were running ahead of him. None of them seemed to be having the difficulty he was. He was trailing far behind, and losing ground with every hard, grinding step. His calves, heels, and toes were aching terribly. He could see his own face, as if he were looking into a mirror, screwed up with strain as he tried to break loose from the quagmire and catch up with the runners far in front of him. He grunted, groaned, even shouted out loud to vent his anger.

  He woke up, cold with sweat.

  There was a bunch of students — mostly boys — standing in front of the bulletin board in the main corridor the next morning as Billy headed for his classroom. He immediately recognized Seattle Williams, Luke Maynard, Rudy Joy and two others whom he knew were interested in track. Did whatever they were reading have something to do with that?

  He walked up behind them and, after quickly scanning over some of the announcements, saw the one he expected. It was a sign-up sheet for the track team, issued by the track coach, Roland Seavers. The participants were also asked to write the event, or events, of their choice.

  There were half a dozen names on it already. Seattle signed up next, then Luke. Billy saw that Rudy’s name headed the list, his choices being the eight-eighty, the mile, and the two-mile races.

  “Hi, Billy,” he said, glancing around at the boy who was about four inches taller than he. “You going to put your name on that? We can use your long legs.”

  Billy shrugged.

  Seattle, turning away from the board, flashed a smile at him.

  “Billy boy!” he cried. “Here, use my pen and sign your John Hancock up there, man. Maybe you’ll turn out to be the broad-jump champion of Cove Hill Central!”

  “No, thanks,” said Billy.

  The smile faded from Seattle’s face. “You’re not going to sign up?”

  Billy’s answer was only a shrug. If you’re so interested in knowing whether I’m going to sign up or not, pa
l, he thought, I’ll just let you wait and wonder. It’s about time I played a little game on you.

  “Man, you’re real talkative today, aren’t you?” said Seattle. “What’s the matter? Cody scare you out of it by beating you in the hundred and two-twenty yesterday?” His eyes danced for a moment. “When it comes to sprints, he and I are just the greatest, man. Didn’t you know that?”

  Most of the small crowd broke out laughing, except one of the girls standing at its rim to the right of Billy. She didn’t seem to find anything funny in Seattle’s remark. On the contrary, from the somewhat disgusted look on Wendy Thaler’s face, she might have considered it downright obnoxious.

  Billy felt the condescension in the remark, but tried not to show that it bothered him. Everyone knew of Seattle’s boasting stories; whether anyone believed them was something else. Seattle had come from Seattle, Washington, and used to tell of his exploits there, in baseball, track, even with girls, till the kids at Cove Hill stuck him with the nickname, Seattle. In the last year or so his memory of all the wonderful things he had done in that city seemed to have deteriorated. But Billy figured that Seattle’s loss of memory was mostly due to the teasing he got from the kids.

  Billy started to walk away, and soon realized that someone was coming up beside him. To his surprise he saw it was Wendy.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Can’t I walk with you?” she said, catching up to him.

  “Yes, but —” He shrugged.

  “If you’d slow down just a little bit, maybe I’d be able to walk alongside you.”

  He blushed and slowed down his pace. He felt like a giant beside her.

  “You in track?” he asked. “That’s for girls, too, I noticed.”

  “No,” she said. “But I like to watch. How come you didn’t sign up?”

  “I will.”

  “I hope you’re not going to let that wise guy affect your decision.”

  “Seattle? I thought he was one of your friends.”

  “He’s all right. At times. But I don’t like a guy who blows his own horn too much.”

  “He’s cocky, but he lives up to it. He’s no phony.”

  She offered no comment.

  They were approaching the classroom he had to enter, and he slowed down, wanting to let these few precious seconds last as long as possible. He found he liked her. She was friendly, soft-spoken, intelligent without being snooty about it.

  It wasn’t till they were at the door of the room and he stopped and looked at her that she spoke again.

  “I think you could make a good runner, Billy,” she said brightly. “Cove Hill can use someone besides a sprinter. There’s more to track than just the one-hundred dash, you know.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I know.”

  Chapter 5

  HE PUT HIS SIGNATURE on the list shortly after the end of the first afternoon period, adding the eight-eighty, one mile, and two-mile to it, the same as Rudy had done.

  Looking around he hoped he would see Wendy, but he didn’t. A river of humanity was flowing by him, and there were cheerful calls to him from classmates and others who knew who he was because of his height. He was the tallest ninth grader in school. Every time he walked in the corridor he was conscious of it. Very few older kids — sophomores, juniors or seniors — were taller than he.

  Wendy was in his algebra class, and flashed him a brief smile when their eyes met. But when they had an opportunity to talk she made no effort to, and he assumed that she hadn’t checked the board yet, didn’t know he had signed up.

  It wasn’t till the end of third period that he was accosted in the corridor by Seattle and some of the other guys who had signed up for track. Seattle held out both hands, waiting for Billy to give him two fives. Billy did, and he loudly exclaimed, “Billy! You signed up! Thataboy, man! Now Rudy won’t have to worry about being tailend Charlie anymore! Ha! Ha!”

  Billy felt like flattening Seattle’s nose against that smooth-skinned, smug face of his that so many girls thought was so beautiful.

  “What do you mean I’ve been tailend Charlie?” cried Rudy, pretending hurt. “I was tailend Charlie only twice last year! Check the records, man!”

  “Don’t lose your cool, ol’ buddy,” said Seattle, patting him on the back. “Don’t you recognize a figure of speech when you hear one?”

  “I’m lousy in English,” Rudy quipped.

  By Monday morning Christina was well enough to go back to school. She was slightly pale and looked as if she had lost some weight, but because she had been on the plump side anyway, her mother told her she looked good. What she had missed mostly, she told the kids on the bus, was playing field hockey during the noon hours.

  Billy read a notice on the bulletin board that announced a meeting of the track team right after school. The boys were to meet at the south end of the track with Coach Roland Seavers, and the girls at the north end with Coach Sue Callahan.

  A swarm of enthusiastic athletes showed up. Uniforms were distributed. Most of them were old, but there were some new ones that replaced the ones that were torn or worn too badly to appear in public again.

  Billy saw that the uniform given to him was almost ready for the scrap pile, too. But he accepted it willingly, figuring that he had to earn his spurs before he’d qualify for a brand new one. Among the five or six pairs of old track shoes he tried on he found one that fitted him. It was a snug fit but he didn’t complain.

  Seattle, Luke, and Rudy were given new uniforms. Rudy? Billy asked himself. Was he that good that he deserved a new uniform?

  The coach called the team together. He was about five-ten, wore a blue baseball cap, a gray sweatshirt, and gray sweatpants. From the minute he started to talk Billy knew that he was a tough, hard-as-nails, no-holds-barred coach who spat out words as if they were lead pellets and meant to hit the target with every one of them.

  “If you don’t know me yet, I’m your coach, Roland Seavers,” he bellowed. “I expect you to address me as Coach Seavers, or just Coach. The gentleman at my right,” he pointed to a tall, angular man beside him, “is my assistant, Dick Rafini. You’ll also address him as Coach.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not an old man but I have old-fashioned ideas. I like to win. Maybe some of you think that isn’t so old-fashioned. Well, you’re right. Some schools are satisfied to have a track team just so the alumni can reminisce about it at the sports banquets. But I want a winner. I want Cove Hill to have a track team that will bring home trophies. I want Cove Hill to have a track team that the school will be just as proud of as they are of its baseball and football teams. That’s a status we haven’t been able to gain yet. It’s a damn shame that a school like ours can’t pick up more wins. It’s a reflection on your school. It’s a reflection on me. But a coach can only get out of his team what it gives him.

  “Track is an individual sport, but it’s also teamwork. Hell, I don’t have to tell you that. But you’d be surprised how many of you think it isn’t. You put on your trunks and track shoes, come out here, work out, and seem so bushed you look like a field of dried-up vegetables. I’m talking about last year, the year before and the year before that.” His eyes hardened. “You work out to get in condition and stay in condition. No staying up late at night. No heavy eating. Only two or three of you put in enough effort to indicate that you’ve got at least part of your heart in it. Well, this year I want more. I’m not asking you; I’m telling you. Give me all you’ve got or hand in your trunks. I’m fed up with being on the bottom of our athletic totem pole every year. I want this team to climb up this year. And I know we can do it if you get off your butts and give it all you’ve got.” He paused, cleared his throat.

  “I think that Jones will still be the league’s best sprinter for the sixty and one hundred yarders. He should do pretty well, too, in the two-twenty. But I’d like to see a guy or two push us ahead in the hurdles, the eight-eighty, the mile, and the two-mile. Colloni still has the edge on the discus. When he grad
uates this year we’ll be back in the shadows in that department, unless our rivals lose their best throwers, too.”

  While he was talking his eyes were sweeping over his prospects, and a couple of times Billy felt them pause for just a moment on him. Now suddenly they were on him again. They held a challenge so strong and alive he wanted to tear his eyes away.

  “You, there. Chekko. Billy Chekko, right?”

  Billy nodded, embarrassed that he was singled out like this.

  “How tall are you, Chekko?”

  “Six-foot-one.”

  “Tenth grade?”

  “Ninth.”

  The coach frowned. “Ninth? How old are you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Fourteen?” A smile rippled over the coach’s face. “You listen to me, Chekko, and maybe Cove Hill will start making waves.” He looked back at the rest of the squad. Billy sighed, glad to be out of the spotlight. “Okay! Spread out for some routine calisthenics! After that, Mr. Rafini and I will divide you up into the various categories, put you in spots that I will judge you’re best suited for, no matter what you wrote as your choices. All right? All right!”

  Coach Seavers led the calisthenics, but Mr. Rafini, about five yards to his left, went through the routines with him and the team. Pushups, situps, jumps. “One! Two! One! Two! One! Two!”

  Ten minutes of this, then a two-minute rest period. Then exercises again.

  After half an hour they all lay on the ground, chests heaving, every muscle screaming with pain. Billy lay limp, his long arms and legs stretched out, his sweating face turned to the sky, his eyes closed. He had thought that all the running he had done would have prepared him for this, but he hadn’t realized there were muscles that were hardly used while running. Fortunately his chest didn’t feel the torture that his arms and shoulders did. But his stomach muscles were like knotted ropes. Oh, man! And this was only the first day!

  Afterward they all ran sprints on the grassy field, stopping when they heard Coach Seavers blow his whistle. It was a loud, shrill sound, lasting for about two seconds, dying abruptly.