Places No One Knows by Brenna Yovanoff

Author:Brenna Yovanoff
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2016-05-16T16:00:00+00:00

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I wake to the shriek of my alarm and an ache that starts in my feet and pounds all the way up my legs. That can’t be good.

On my bedside table, the candle still smells like smoke and spices, but sometime in the night, it’s burned low enough to drown itself. The wick is sunk a millimeter deep, and I have to dig it out of the wax with a paper clip.

I ignore the pain. After all, that’s what I’m good at. Everything is fine—totally doable, totally normal.

By third period, my feet hurt so much I can barely stand to put weight on them. My calves are starting to go numb. I skip trig to go see Molly Bruin in the training room.

“Do you have a minute?” I say, hovering in the doorway, trying to sound casual.

She adjusts her glasses and considers me, leaning back in her chair. “Sure, what’s up? We don’t see you in here much.”

I try to find a way to phrase the magnitude of the situation. My tongue feels useless.

If I were talking to Marshall, it would be different. I’d still be clenching my hands to keep them still. I’d want to look away, but at least I’d know the words. When I open my mouth, nothing comes out.

I stand in front of Molly’s desk, gaping like a fish. Last night I said the easy part was not caring that it hurt, but there’s nothing easy about this. If I were with Marshall right now, in the privacy of his room, maybe I could even tell him that. I shut my eyes and remember how it felt to be honest with someone.

“It’s my feet,” I mumble, as though Molly will be able to magically divine all meaning from one awkward sentence.

The look she gives me is appraising, like she’s waiting for me to finish, but all she says is, “Okay, get your shoes off and hop up.”

When I clamber onto the training table and offer her my foot, she probes the sole with her fingers, examining my heel and my arch. “You’ve definitely got swelling. Does this hurt?”

I nod as a familiar pain shoots up my calf. When she digs into my heel, I have to squeeze the edge of the table to keep from jerking away.

“How much have you been running?”

“A lot.”

“More than Jamie works you guys for practice?”

“Yeah.”

Molly takes a deep breath, like she’s formulating her conclusion. Her diagnosis. “You’re not going to like this, but you’re going to have to take a break.”

I shake my head. “We’re in the middle of regionals.” I can hear desperation in my voice, and I hate it. I hate the rising pitch. I hate that it makes me feel brittle like an egg. Crushable, smashable.

Molly sighs, leaning on the table and making a steeple with her fingers. “I need you to listen to me. Your feet are a tore-up mess.”

I keep my palms flat on the vinyl. One breath, then another. I raise my head and smile my best student-council smile.

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