Our friendship is easy and exciting and a little risky, only because Dee could give literally zero fucks. She is fearless. Maybe it sounds weird, but it’s like we have known each other for years. It’s different than with Lottie, because we weren’t thrown together as children just because we lived close by and were in the same class. We’ve actually chosen to be friends. She gets me. She never tells me to calm down or take it down a notch. It’s the opposite: she draws me out, pushes me. She likes the same movies and books and music, and we make each other laugh so hard we cry. We loop arms and entwine legs and are so comfortable in silence, sometimes I forget she’s there. It all went from zero to two hundred so quickly, but just having a friend at all in these troubled times is a win for me. All the other shit, the everyday nightmare of high school, is starting to feel like something I can take on, that we can take on together.

*   *   *

Our school doesn’t have a track, so during gym we run through the streets of town: a long line of joggers in matching T-shirts and varying degrees of athleticism ritually winding in and out of neighborhoods and past people picking up their mail or gardening. Our teacher, Ms. Kwan, young and peppy and excitable, leads the pack, her ponytail swinging to her steps, then loops back like a border collie to make sure she doesn’t lose the stragglers, the uninspired and asthmatic members of the herd who pull up the eventual rear.

Dee and I are about midway in the line, slightly out of breath but keeping a good pace. There’s a big gap between the people ahead and behind us. The sun is busting out the big guns today, bearing down on us, making us squint and sweat.

“I can’t wait until we don’t have to do this anymore,” I say, my feet slapping the pavement.

“No shit,” says Dee. “A few more weeks. I bet Kwan can’t wait until she has a whole summer of unadulterated running. I can just see her”—she holds her arms out in ecstasy—“‘Yes! Yes! Running! My one true love!’”

I grin, then look around as I hear someone coming up behind us. It’s Aidan, jogging alone, and looking the worse for wear in spite of what would appear to be a body made for sports. He is covered in sweat and wheezing as he makes his way toward us.

“Oh great,” I mutter.

He gets closer, and I notice that Dee is picking up the pace.

“What are you doing?” I ask, alarmed, as I try to keep up.