Running Out of Air
by David Lubar
Deeva sucked air and dug for the strength to hold her place in the middle of the
pack. One more lap and it was over. For today, at least. Stay in the middle and you
won't get killed, she thought, risking a glance over her shoulder where the
stragglers tailed out, one pair running slowly with awkward gaits, two more barely
jogging, and one last girl desperately swinging her arms in a pathetic attempt to
make her walk look like a run.
"Move it, you lazy bitches!" Ms. Pelham screamed, cutting across the track toward
the laggers. "This is supposed to be exercise." She grabbed the whistle that hung
from her neck and blew an ear-piercing blast.
"They should fire her," Kate Wilson muttered as she ran just ahead of Deeva.
They've tried, Deeva thought. She'd heard stories. They'd all heard stories. Each
fall, the first thing every girl at Smithfield High did was check her schedule to see
which gym teacher she'd been assigned. Deeva was zero for two, drawing Ms.
Pelham last year, and again this year. Across the field, near the bleachers, Ms.
Bright was teaching her class an Irish dance step.
It was almost comic. Or cosmic. Bright and Pelham. Heaven and hell. Good and
evil. Ms. Bright smiled. She encouraged all the girls. She baked cookies. Ms.
Pelham snarled. She screamed at every student, except for the few star athletes
who could do no wrong. But she saved a special level of venom for the slackers --
the fat, the weak, the uncoordinated, the sickly. If you couldn't run laps, Ms.
Pelham would eat you up. Three times a week.
Deeva finished her last lap, then turned to watch the final scene of the drama.
"You're gonna fail," Ms. Pelham screamed. She waved her stop watch at the girls.
"You miserable, lazy cows. You're not even trying."
The slow runners, Debby Munez and Tonya Hark, stumbled in. Then the joggers,
Amber Weiss and Tabitha Jordan, made it across the line. Behind them, the
walking, gasping, red-faced mess of Betty Lozer staggered toward the finish.
"Run!" Ms. Pelham screamed. She glanced briefly away to lash the rest of the
class with her favorite phrase. "Keep your nose where it belongs."
Betty moved her lips, but Deeva was sure the girl didn't have the air for speech.
Even so, she knew what Betty was trying to say. Asthma. One word. An
explanation that any sane person would understand. Asthma.
But Deeva had seen Ms. Pelham dismiss all infirmities short of broken bones as
nothing more than pathetic excuses. The invisible remained unacceptable. Asthma
wouldn't stop a girl who really wanted to run. Deeva could imagine Ms. Pelham
walking through a plague-struck village during the dark ages, screaming Get up!
On your feet, you lazy fakers! at the dying who littered the streets.
Deeva let out her own breath as Betty finished the lap. Her sense of injustice was
tinged with relief. Betty took a lot of the heat, leaving less of Ms. Pelham's
attention for the others. Deeva's relief was tinged with guilt. Someone should do
something about this. But those words, Keep your nose where it belongs, hovered
at the edge of her thoughts like a wasp.
The class filed inside as Ms. Pelham berated them for their poor display of soccer
skills. "We're going to keep drilling until you get it right," she told them. "We'll
do it until you drop, if that's what it takes."
Deeva got her clothes from her locker. On the bench just across from her, she saw
the four other laggers clustered around Betty. The girl was a sobbing, wet wreck
now, sucking on her inhaler and drawing wheezy gasps of air.
"Get a doctor's note," Amber told her.
Betty nodded, then wiped her nose with her sleeve.
"You have to do something," Tabitha said.
"Friday," Betty said.
"You have an appointment?" Amber asked.
"Hang in there," Tabitha said. "Just one more class. Then you're free."
The talk died for a moment as Ms. Pelham walked by, holding a sheet of paper and
a roll of masking tape. A moment later, she passed by again in the other direction.
Deeva shoved her gym clothes in her bag. Through the glass window that
separated the coachs' area from the locker room, she could see Ms. Pelham at her
desk, eating grapes from a large plastic produce bag. She seemed to live on fruit,
though Deeva was sure that when nobody was looking Ms. Pelham gorged on
burgers and fries.
On the way out of the locker room, Deeva passed the spot where Ms. Pelham had
taped up the latest grades. The teacher was murder on grade-point averages. Next
to slow runners, she seemed to hate good students the most. The smart, the
ambitious, the college bound, were at her mercy. The best and the brightest served
only to fuel her rage. She rubbed in the damage with weekly grade postings,
hand-written and secured to the wall with masking tape, a dangling display of low
numbers laid out for all the world to see.
Deeva winced at the 83 next to her name. She knew she deserved better, but there
wasn't much she could do about it. Ms. Pelham had branded her as a low 80s
student, and that's where she'd stay no matter how hard she tried or how well she
Betty walked over and leaned toward the sheet. She gasped, then said, "That's not
It was worse than unfair, Deeva thought. Ms. Pelham had given Betty a 59.
Failing. But tauntingly close to passing. Worse, the grade threatened to ruin
Betty's summer with a make-up gym class.
The marking period ended on Friday. Even with a doctor's note for next marking
period, there was nothing that could erase the F that Betty was about to get.
Deeva watched Betty walk over to the coachs' room. Don't do it, she thought as
she drifted closer.
Betty opened the door. "What can I do to raise my grade?" she asked.
Ms. Pelham glanced up from her snack and regarded Betty with contempt. "Try
"I'm trying as hard as I can," Betty said.
"Then you'll fail."
Betty walked off and joined her waiting friends.
Deeva headed out, too. At least gym was over for the day. And at least she was
They played soccer again on Wednesday, though a damp chill cut through the air.
Deeva inhaled slowly. Fast breaths hurt her lungs. She noticed that Betty kept
glancing at the track.
When Ms. Pelham blew the whistle and sent them to do their laps, Betty asked the
teacher, "How fast do I have to go to pass?"
Ms. Pelham told her.
As Betty fell behind the pack, her four friends stayed with her, encouraging her.
Deeva dropped back toward the rear of the main group. It was safe. She knew Ms.
Pelham wouldn't be watching her today.
Betty's gasps grew louder as she struggled to run.
Deeva clenched her teeth, wishing there was some way she could lend strength to
Betty. Or sanity. Just stop, she thought. There weren't any degrees of failure here.
A 50 was no worse than a 59. Even a zero was no worse.
As Betty ran, Ms. Pelham kept waving her stopwatch. "You're way behind," she
said. "If you don't hurry, you'll never make it."
Deeva gasped as Betty put on a burst of speed. It only lasted for a couple steps.
She stumbled and fell to the cinders. She pushed herself to her feet, took two more
steps, then fell again.
She lay on the track, her chest heaving, one cheek pressed to the track, her mouth
open like a dying fish.
Ms. Pelham walked away. Betty's friends rushed over to her.
"She can't breathe," Amber yelled.
Ms. Pelham shook her head in disgust. "Nikki," she called to her favorite pupil,
"go get the nurse."
Nikki ran off. Ms. Pelham walked back to Betty and stared down. Her expression
showed nothing but annoyance. "Finish your laps," she screamed at Betty's
friends. "You've already lost points. Last one in gets an F."
The girls dashed off.
Deeva finished running, then huddled with the others, watching as the nurse came.
And then the ambulance.
The story spread rapidly, growing and changing, mutating the way all school
events do. But two points remained relatively unaltered. Betty was in bad shape.
And Ms. Pelham wasn't in trouble. She'd told the administration that she'd done
everything she could to keep Betty from overexerting herself, but the girl just
The next day, Deeva stayed late to audition for the school play. At one point, as
she waited her turn, she saw four figures pass by in the hallway. Betty's friends.
There was something about the way they walked that caught her attention. After
Deeva read her lines, she left the auditorium and headed toward the gym.
As she reached the end of the corridor, she heard voices coming from the locker
room. She slipped the door open and moved inside, ducking down and staying
close to the lockers. Ahead, she saw five clustered figures -- Debby, Tonya,
Amber, and Tabitha. At the center was Ms. Pelham.
Her posture seemed odd. It took Deeva a moment to realize why. Ms. Pelham's
hands were behind her back. In the light spilling from the coachs' room, Deeva
saw that the gym teacher's wrists had been bound with masking tape. The office
showed signs of a brief struggle. The teacher's chair was turned over. Her desk
lamp was on it's side. An apple and a handful of grapes were spilled across the
desk. A couple stray grapes had fallen to the floor.
"You girls are in big trouble," Ms. Pelham said.
"Hey, we can lie just as good as you," Tonya told her. "Nobody knows we're
"It's our word against yours," Amber said, tossing the roll of masking tape up in
the air and catching it. "Nobody would believe nice girls like us would do
anything bad. And we wouldn't. Not normally. But you're a special case."
The girls seemed to be waiting for something. Deeva sat and made herself
comfortable. Time passed. She heard faint sounds through the wall as the boys
came in from football practice, followed by more noise as they left the building.
Soon after that, Debby slipped out and went to the back door, opened it briefly,
then returned to the coachs' room. "It's clear. Come on. Let's go." She gave Ms.
Pelham a push.
Deeva crept outside, keeping far enough back so they wouldn't spot her. The girls
took Ms. Pelham to the track.
"It's very simple," Debby said. "We're going to run a race. Just one lap. You win,
we cut off the tape."
Ms. Pelham laughed. "A race? Against you girls? It doesn't matter if my hands are
tied. I'm an athlete. A real athlete. Not like you girls who can't even --"
"On your marks," Amber said.
The other three girls turned to face forward on the track.
Ms. Pelham shook her head. "You are in so much trouble." A smile crossed her
lips, as if she was already planning her revenge, or perhaps relishing her coming
victory on the track.
"Get set," Amber said.
The girls crouched in poor imitation of sprinters.
"When this is over, you're all going to suffer," Ms. Pelham said. She leaned at the
waist and put one foot forward. "But first, I'm going to make you eat dust. Stupid
"Wait. I almost forgot." Amber stuck her hand in her pocket. Deeva heard a
crinkling sound. Then Amber reached toward Ms. Pelham and slipped something
over her head.
Deeva smothered a gasp as she watched Amber strip a length of masking tape
from the roll and fasten the plastic produce bag around Ms. Pelham's neck.
"Go." Amber said.
The other three girls jogged off.
Ms. Pelham froze for an instant, her head swiveling rapidly from Amber to the
runners, who were already widening their lead.
"Go," Amber said again, as if speaking very patiently to someone who wasn't
bright at all.
Deeva saw the bag puff out as Ms. Pelham exhaled, then cling to her face as she
drew a panicked breath. The clear plastic, fogged with moisture now, flattened on
either side of her nose.
Deeva opened her mouth. One shout would put a stop to this. As she looked at the
figures on the track, scenes from the past flooded her mind, along with a phrase
she'd heard shouted far too often. Keep your nose where it belongs, Deeva
Taking a slow, deep breath of the cold night air, Deeva turned and walked back to
the locker room. Behind her, the crunch of feet on cinders faded, like the tail end
of a dying gasp.