Free Strider by Beverly Cleary Page A

Strider bark. Geneva’s voice reached me. “Leigh! Full out, Leigh!” I tried harder as I rounded the curve on the far side of the track, rounded another, and the race was over. A King City guy had won.

    I stepped off the track and threw up on the grass.
    Coach was right there, his arm around my shoulders. “It’s all right, son,” he said. “Often happens to beginners. Get your sweats on and keep moving.”
    After I cooled down, I climbed into the stands to sit beside Strider and Barry. The loudspeaker announced, “Leigh Botts, P.G., third place, 2:27.”
    â€œNot bad,” said Barry as Strider licked the salty sweat from my hand. “King City is hard to beat.”
    â€œNice try,” a varsity runner said. Geneva gave me a thumbs-up. Her hair had begun to fall down around her shoulders.
    Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. When I was running, it seemed forever.
    Nobody mentioned my throwing up.

March 31
    Run with Strider, school, track, study, sleep, start all over again. That’s the way the days go. Cutting my time by two crummy seconds took hours of hard work. I win some, lose some.
    Other team members are interesting to watch. There is the good-looking senior pole-vaulter who walks with a swing to his broad shoulders because he knows he will win and all the girls are looking at him, and the varsity eight hundred runner, a real show-off, who is always doing high-stepping sprints in front of the crowd. He has great form; he just doesn’t run fast enough.
    A girl, a chubby miler on the frosh-soph team, is really fascinating. By the fourth lap, all the other runners have passed her and reached the finish line, but she keeps chuggingalong with the whole track to herself. Everyone watches, nobody makes fun of her, and when she finishes, a big cheer goes up. I wonder why she runs a mile when she knows she will never win. Maybe she wants to lose weight. Whatever her reason, she never gives up. I admire that.
    Bus trips to other schools are fun, with the team laughing and making jokes on the way there and sleeping or talking over the meet on the way back. If the trip is long enough, we stop at a fast food place on our return. The varsity team goes in first, with the frosh-soph team following. Restaurant managers never look very happy to see us coming.
    This morning when Strider and I were running along Ocean View, I saw a sign on Lovers Point announcing the Annual Lovers Point Weed Pull, April 1, coffee and doughnuts provided, and free cypress trees to all participants. I liked the idea of people volunteering to pull weeds to keep the cliff along the bay beautiful. I thought maybe I would pull a few myself. I owe it to the cliff for being such a great place to work out.
    Today Geneva joined me as I was walking down the breezeway on my way to our math class. “You’re getting a lot better,” she said. “In track, I mean.”
    â€œThanks,” I said. “So are you.” When I triedto think of something else to say, I heard myself blurting, “Would you like to pull weeds with me tomorrow?”
    Geneva stopped so suddenly someone bumped into her. I stopped, too. She looked at me as if she didn’t believe what she had heard. “Pull weeds! Did I hear you ask me to pull weeds?”
    I know I was blushing, but I stood my ground. “That’s right.” Then I explained about the Lovers Point Weed Pull and thought, Don’t laugh. Don’t tell all the other girls so they can laugh, too.
    Geneva didn’t laugh. She answered with a nice smile, “I think that’s a good idea, Leigh. I’d love to pull weeds with you.”
    We agreed to meet at nine o’clock Saturday morning.
    This afternoon I sliced three-quarters of a second off my time in the meet against Gonzales and Soquel.

April 1
    After breakfast I said to Mom, “Well, I guess I’ll pull a few weeds this morning.”
    Mom sputtered into her