Page 57

I found someone on the last stretch to school.

One of the JV cross-country boys was maybe a hundred yards ahead of me, running the same route toward the track.

He glanced back. Saw me. Sped up.

I smiled. There we go.

I let him work for it. For about half a mile. Then I passed him.

“Morning,” I said.

He made an offended sound.

I kept going. By the time I reached the school track, my sports bra was damp through and the sun had cleared the horizon.

Coach Ben was standing near the bleachers with a clipboard. He’d apparently witnessed the whole thing.

“You trying to make everybody else quit?”

“No.”

“You know he sped up when he saw you coming.”

“I know.”

“And you couldn’t let him have it?”

I shrugged. “He made it a race.”

Coach Ben shook his head. “How far?”

“Six.”

“And then you raced the last half mile.”

“He started it.”

“Of course he did.” He handed me a bottle of water.

Ben Hollis had been my cross-country coach long enough to know there was no point telling me not to race somebody who made the mistake of racing me first.

He also knew when to leave things alone. He studied me for a second.

“You running something off?”

I opened the water. “Maybe.”

He waited. That was one of the things I liked about Coach Ben. He’d ask, but he didn’t pry. If I didn’t answer, he'd let it go.

“My dog disappeared last night.”

His expression changed. “Max?”

I nodded.

Coach Ben knew Max. Most people who'd been to our house more than once did. Coach had dropped me off after meets plenty of times, and Max had greeted him at the door with the same hysterical barking he reserved for people he'd already met.

“He got out?”