John C Pelkey
Shy Jon Perone is just getting by when an incident introduces him to the world of running. When he meets pretty Jennifer Carling, a new student in his school, he falls for her, hard. Overcoming his fear of everyone and everything to be in her life, he joins the track team and excels. Jennifer rewards his effort when she asks him to teach her how to run.
However, a web of deceit and neglect rules Jennifer’s life and snares Jon, ill equipped to handle both his emotions and the downward spiraling situations. Can Jon overcome the barriers of innocence, youth, and fear to succeed in life and find happiness with Jennifer? You’ll have to read RUNNERS to find out.
John Pelkey is a budget analyst for Washington State, in his 23rd year of state employment – a long time for a day job. Although not the expected background for a romance and adventure writer, his degree from the Evergreen State College, with its many writing classes, does contribute. John began writing short stories as a child and decided to revive his writing when the kids grew up and someone invented the personal computer. RUNNERS 1 is his second book, following CATCHING THE WIND, published in 2002. It is the first book of a trilogy, with RUNNERS 2 and RUNNERS 3 to follow. He lives in West Puget Sound with his wife Cheryl, five fluff dogs, and Nellie the cat.
Saturday morning blossomed in full spring color, as beautiful a day in May as the Pacific Northwest allowed. But, my heart awoke uncertain as I recalled the events of the previous day. Jen, the object of my dreams for over two years, knew I was crazy about her. And I could never go back to being her shy observer from a distance. I had laid it out for her and the ball was in her court. What would she do with it? I both dreaded and hoped her answer would be waiting for me when I arrived at Cartier Street. But, it wasn’t.
As I worked in Mr. Dunlap’s yard, I wanted to run across the street and find out, good or bad, how she was, and more important, what she thought of me. But, fear kept me on my side of the street and I didn’t see Jen. I took an hour to weed three feet of weedless flowerbeds and gave up. She probably wasn’t even home. I ran to Dr. Canfield’s house.
I mowed his lawn and was almost finished weeding by the front door, three hours later, when I heard someone running. I looked up to see Jen, in sweats several sizes too big, bouncing a golf ball on the sidewalk. The ball hit a crack and caromed onto the lawn. She hesitated, and then kept running. I picked up the ball and ran after her.
“Jen! Stop! Please!”
She rounded the corner to the back of Dr. Canfield’s, and then slowed to a stop, like a grounder rolling through a grassy outfield. She stood staring away from me out onto the golf course. When I caught up to her, she spun around. Her eyes were red.
“I watched you all morning at Mr. Dunlap’s. I wanted to see you, but couldn’t get out the door. Then you left. I followed you and went home a bunch of times. I hoped you were here, but by the time I could go this far, I was crying again. I wanted to run by you and just keep running. I didn’t want you to see me like this. I’m sorry about yesterday. I really bungled things. With running. And with you.”
She looked so tiny and pitiful standing there in her oversized sweatshirt. She wasn’t crying exactly, but a single tear ran down her cheek. My heart was breaking, just looking at her. Without thinking, I launched into a pep talk, placing a hand on each of her small shoulders.
“Jen, you didn’t bungle anything. You carried the team to the win before you even started the last race. You had a free run to experiment with. It didn’t work, but so what? You know more than you did before the race. You have limitations, everyone does. You are the fastest girl I have ever seen. With some minor adjustments, you can break five minutes and even my record.” Minor adjustments? I sounded like my choir instructor.
This was the first time I had touched Jen, other than shaking her hand and the “fives” before and during the track meets. She didn’t seem to mind, but I let go of her as soon as I finished talking. We just stood there, looking at each other. I could see she was thinking about something, and waited. With a quiet sigh, she seemed to come to some decision.
“Remember my first day? In sixth grade two years ago? When you sacrificed your hand to open my locker?” I must have grimaced at the memory because she started to smile. “You said if I needed something, just to ask and you would help me. I know it’s rather late, but I need something and I’m asking. Will you help me now? Will you teach me how you run?”
