Page 48 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
“They’re here to see you, kid,” Dad says proudly. He’s fully beaming as he scans the rows and rows of cars. “Our future Olympian.”
My stomach sours further.
We park, and I walk through the town square, the energy electric in the air. People start waving at me, taking my picture.
Two kids, about eight years old, hover near the starting line. They’re wearing shirts that read,Future Legacy, and they keep shoving each other excitedly. They remind me of when Mitch and I first became friends. Then one turns, and I see it: The nameRousseauis on the back of his shirt.
What?
“Principal West had them made as a fundraiser for the school,” Dad says, following my line of sight. “Apparently they’re selling well.”
I close my eyes and inhale through my nose, releasing the breath from my mouth as if through a straw.
When I open them again, I see her. Clara’s in black leggings and an oversize sage-green sweatshirt. Her long hair is up in a ponytail, and her cheeks are pink with morning cold. She has her camera bag slung across her body and her camera with the mic attached to the top in her hands. She’s talking with someone on the Channel Nine news crew who has set up a camera as well.
Jesus. It’s a circus.
When she notices me, she quickly walks over, keeping her lens trained on me. The rush of pleasure I feel at seeing her again so soon is concerning. She’s flushed, and her eyes are bright and excited. She’s in filmmaker mode.
“Are we starting?” I ask, gesturing to her camera.
“I was hoping to,” she says, bending her head toward the crew a few feet away. “But Channel Nine pulled rank.”
“But you’re filming?”
She nods. “Getting footage. I’ll be hovering around you and everyone all weekend pretty much. Asking questions occasionally. Is that okay?”
I nod. I told her I was in. I’m determined to see this through if ithelps with what she went through last year. But I need to get my shit together first. There’s nothing she doesn’t see through that lens.
“We’ll set up the formal interview whenever you have a break,” she says.
Clara usually tries hard toplayit cool. But with a camera in her hand, sheiscool. More present. Like she forgets to be self-conscious and is the person few people get to know.
The person I got to know.
Her eyes travel over my face, and it reminds me of how she used to look at me. The way she drank me in. I had no idea attention could feel good until it was hers. She cocks her head to the side, her expression turning concerned. “You look tired.”
I pull in another deep breath and look around. When I exhale, it comes out in a visible puff against the cool air. “I was so looking forward to this run, I had trouble sleeping.”
Her expression is pinched, like she knows it’s a canned answer. The kind I’ll give Channel Nine in a minute.
“Insomnia,” I admit.
Only her green eyes flick up, quick and sharp over the camera. I almost wonder if she can hear the slam of my heartbeat. I shouldn’t have told her that.
“The guest of honor has arrived!” Principal West runs over. “Over here, sport, we have the crew all ready for you!”
“I should…”
Clara nods stiffly.
Relieved to be away from her watchful gaze, I get through my interview fine. Then they inform me they want B-roll of me warming up before “the big race.”
After stretching and jogging around the square, testing my knee, I feel a little better. My knee doesn’t feel great, but it’s definitely been worse. I can do this. Probably.
But before I can make my way to the starting line, Kenji and Mitchell appear, looking stressed. Clara hovers off to the side, recording us talking.
“So, don’t freak out,” Mitchell says to me, pushing a hand through his curls.
