James Patterson - Cross Justice

“What about Jannie?” Nana Mama asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

McDonald glanced at the track where Greene and another, older woman in warm-ups were talking to the girls. “I’m a track coach, and a scout of sorts. I’d like to share something with you and Jannie, but let’s do it after Coach Greene and Coach Fall have had a chance to talk with you. Would that work out?”

“Before we leave Durham today, you mean?”

“I know a great place for a lunch that will help Jannie nutritionally recover from that workout,” McDonald said. “My treat?”

I glanced at Bree and Nana Mama, shrugged, said, “Sure. Why not.”

“Great, I’ll find you in the parking lot,” he said. He smiled and handed me a card that read Ted McDonald, Extreme Performance Systems. Austin, Toronto, Palo Alto.

McDonald shook my hand, went back up into the bleachers, and put his hood up. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I started to Google him and his company. Before I could get the names typed in on my phone, up came Coach Greene and the older woman in sweats, Duke’s head coach, Andrea Fall.

After introductions and handshakes, Coach Fall said, “I was skeptical after the invitational and more so after Coach Greene’s descriptions of Jannie’s running in the two-hundred, but now I’m a believer. How are her grades?”

“Outstanding,” Nana Mama said. “She’s a worker.”

“That makes things a lot easier,” Coach Fall said. “I’d like to formally offer your daughter a full-ride scholarship to Duke when she’s ready to attend.”

“What?” I said, dumbfounded.

“Jannie can’t officially answer my offer until February of her senior year, but I wanted it on the table as the first of what I assume will be many offers,” Coach Fall said.

“She’s that good?” Bree asked in wonder.

“I can count on one hand in thirty years of coaching the number of athletes I’ve seen who have Jannie’s potential,” she replied. “Barring injury, the sky is the limit.”

“This is just mind-boggling,” I said.

“I imagine so,” Coach Fall said. “So anytime you or Jannie are confused or want to talk about her training or how things are going, feel free to call me. Whatever she chooses to do and whatever college she chooses in the long run is beside the point. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, and I shook her hand.

“Take care of her,” Coach Fall said. “She’s a thoroughbred.”

“What kind of bread is thor-oh?” Ali asked afterward.

“A thoroughbred is a racehorse,” Nana Mama said.

“Jannie’s a horse?”

“She runs like one,” Bree said, and she squeezed my hand.

I squeezed back, full of pride but also anxiety. I felt like I was in way over my head when it came to making decisions about Jannie’s future.

“You going to tell Jannie?” Nana Mama asked. “About the offer?”

“I have to,” I said. “But I’ll wait for somewhere quieter.”

When Jannie came up into the stands smiling, Ali said, “You got an offer.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said, and hugged her. “We’re very proud of you.”

She beamed, said, “Who knew?”

“God did,” Nana Mama said. “You’ve got something only God can give.”

We walked out into the parking lot and found Ted McDonald waiting. He shook Jannie’s hand, told her what he’d told me, and led us to a nearby café that offered organic sandwiches and the like.

We ordered, and he asked who would be making decisions about Jannie’s future training. I said I hadn’t even begun to think about that process.

McDonald said, “Then I’m very glad I happened to be here.”

He filled us in on his impressive background, including his PhD in exercise physiology from McGill University and his stints as a top coach with the Canadian and French national track federations. McDonald currently served as an independent training consultant to athletes at a number of U.S. universities, including Rice, Texas, Texas A&M, UCLA, USC, and Georgetown.

He said, “I’m also a scout for—”

Our lunch arrived. McDonald had ordered a salad for Jannie — vegetables, broiled chicken, and hard-boiled eggs — and a smoothie made from Brazilian acai berries that she said was delicious. I tried a sip and ordered my own.

While we ate, McDonald peppered Jannie with questions. How many pull-ups could she do without stopping? How many push-ups? What was her best standing broad jump? Her vertical leap? Flexibility? Endurance? Her mile time? Fastest recorded quarter?

Jannie didn’t know the exact answer to some questions, but others she knew right off the top of her head.

The questions went on. Had she ever long-jumped? High-jumped? Pole-vaulted? Hurdled?

Jannie shook her head.

“No matter,” he said. “Tell me what happens when you run. I mean, what’s the experience like for you?”

Jannie thought about that, said, “I sort of go off in my own world and everything gets kind of slow.”

“Nerves before you race?”

“Not really, no.”

“Not even today?”

“No. Why?”

“The girls you finished with in that last run were all-Americans.”

“Really?” Jannie said, surprised.

“Really.”

She grinned. “I think I could have beat them.”

“I bet you could have,” he said, then he grabbed a napkin, pulled out a pen, and scribbled for a minute or two.

He pushed the napkin across the table to me and Jannie. It read:

WHPT:

2018 — USNC

2020 — OGT5

2021 — WCPOD

2022 — WC

2024 — OGGM

“What’s it mean?” I asked.

He told me, and it felt like everything in our lives changed.

Later that afternoon, I was still struggling with what Ted McDonald had written on the napkin at lunch.

Was that possible? Should you even begin with that end in mind?

“He said we didn’t have to give him an answer right away,” Bree said from the driver’s seat of a rental car we’d picked up in Winston-Salem.

“I know,” I said. “But it’s just a lot to take in.”

“You don’t think she should try?”

“She’s only fifteen,” I said. “Is this when they start thinking like that?”

“Other kids in other sports sure do,” she said as we drove past the Welcome to Starksville sign.

I stared again at the napkin and wrestled with its meaning.

Women’s Heptathlon

2018 — U.S. National Champion

2020 — Olympic Games Top Five

2021 — World Championships Podium 2022 — World Champion

2024 — Olympic Games Gold Medalist

Was any of this possible? McDonald said it was. He said Jannie might win any of the titles he’d listed as a pure runner, but he’d seen such athleticism in my daughter that he thought she’d be better suited to the grueling multi-skill heptathlon event.

“The heptathlon decides the best female athlete in the world,” McDonald said. “You interested in being that athlete, Jannie? The one who can do anything? Superwoman?”

You could see it in my daughter’s face, how in the very instant he’d thrown out that spark, Jannie had caught fire.

“What would it take?” she asked.

“Your heart, your soul, and years of hard work,” he said. “You up to that?”

She’d glanced at me and then back at him, and nodded. I got chills.

McDonald said that if Jannie consented, he’d visit her regularly in Washington, DC, during the year to teach her the various events within the heptathlon. She’d compete as a runner until he was satisfied with her skills. If we were all happy after the first year, he’d arrange a scholarship at a private school in Austin, where she could work with him on a more consistent basis.