Patina: Chapters 10–16

"And guess what? That old man is still teaching me stuff. Even the other day, when he was sort of out of it, going on about buffing the floor"—Momly's face brightened, laughter trapped behind her lips—"all I could think was that he thinks he can do things that he just...he just can't anymore. In his mind, he's strong enough to push a buffer. But you know? If he really wants to clean that floor, we can do it together. And that's okay."

But I could still see the imprint in the fabric where the bone jutted out, like a second elbow.

But I could still see the imprint in the fabric where the bone jutted out, like a second elbow.

Then Maddy reached over and took Momly's hand, her chest heaving as she worked to fight back her own feelings, even though she had been there the whole time.

"Help you what?" she asked, her voice still quavering.

I patted my thighs, beckoning her to come take a seat so we could continue on with the visit and put the tears and scary stuff behind us.

"So here's what's going to happen. Coach Whit is gonna lead y'all on the long run as usual. But it's going to be a little different. All of you who aren't running relays will run the regular way. But all my relay runners are going to stagger."

Coach Whit stood off to the side, kicking her legs behind her, one at a time, catching them by the ankle and holding them for an extra quad stretch.

He popped the top off, slathered the baton in the petroleum jelly, and handed it to Curron.

"Again, everyone is responsible for everyone. In relay, you win and lose as a team. You are not two legs, you are eight," Coach droned.

"Got it, Coach," Sunny said, totally unflustered.

"Patty!" Coach bellowed.

Coach barked on the infamous megaphone.

Krystal swiveled to the inside, Brit to the outside.

And on top of all that, none of us knew where to go because Whit was gone, probably chasing after Sunny who runs long distance like it's a leisurely walk to his locker.

They didn't even have the decency to be panting or nothing, while the rest of us were trying not to cry like babies.

You could see others poking their heads out of the windows, trying to understand why the track looked like an apocalypse movie.

"Look, we takin' it easy, Sunny," Ghost said testily.

In math I spent the entire time thinking about how Momly's arm was probably at an obtuse angle when it broke.

"Okay," I said, groggy.

I took a shower, then sat down at my vanity desk to do my Flo Jos and hair.

She came over to me, pinched the ends of a few of my plaits, then patted my edges as if she was touching up my baby hair.

I looked past Cotton, and there was a head full of tight curls poking out the passenger side window, a sly grin on her face.

Not because she didn't want to but because she was always so drained from the blood cleaning and Saturday was her only real recuperating day, and she needed to save up her energy for church on Sunday.

The park was teeming with parents and friends, runners and coaches.

"And don't forget, if you win, you gotta strut off the track like Mary."

"Let's go, y'all," I said, scurrying and rallying Cotton and Maddy, taking my bag back from her.

She ran a steady race, her long ballerina legs graceful, which was ironic since she couldn't stop stepping on my toes during practice.

Brit-Brat scrambled frantically to pick it up, like chasing down a rolling quarter.

It was a fumble, and I slammed my hands together.