Chapter 8: Even Scores

On the ninth night of tutoring, Jude closed his textbook and said, "I want to start running."

Ken looked up from the whiteboard. "Running."

"Jogging. Walking fast. Some kind of moving that isn't toward a refrigerator."

"Why?"

It was a fair question, asked in the same flat voice Ken used for everything, and Jude had an answer ready.

"Because on the trek, I couldn't keep up with you. I had to stop on every ridge. I want to get to the top and still be able to talk."

"I never minded stopping."

"I know you didn't." Jude fiddled with a pen. "That's why I want to."

Ken put down the marker.

"I'm not asking you to change anything," he said. "I want that to be clear. Not your body, not your food, not a single thing."

"I know."

"Do you? Because you've been told for four years that you're a project."

"I know," Jude said again, softer. "Nobody's doing this to me. I'm asking me."

Ken studied him for a long, quiet minute.

Then he turned back to the whiteboard and wrote, in his neat square hand, Walk, 6:30 a.m.

"Ten minutes," he said. "Then fifteen. When your ankle's ready, we jog."

"Done."

"And no weighing yourself."

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to feel good and the scale will lie."

At six-thirty the next morning, Jude stood on the front lawn in new sneakers and a pair of sweatpants that fit.

He was not alone.

William stood beside him in loafers and a wool vest.

July stood on the other side in a visor and a velour tracksuit the color of a ripe plum.

"What is this?" Jude asked.

"The family is walking," his mother said. "Your father has a heart that needs exercising."

"My heart is excellent," William said. "I'm only here to supervise."

"Dad, you're wearing loafers."

"They're good loafers."

Ken came down the steps in his gray hoodie, with a stopwatch around his neck, and took in the scene without a flicker.

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