“Getting in shape,” she growls, faster now. We put some distance between us and Aidan, and I hear him coughing but matching our pace. We pass a few other kids, who look at us, surprised; Aidan’s feet are still rhythmically hitting the sidewalk behind us, closer now. I laugh nervously but keep going.

“Shit!” I hear him grumble as he begins to close the distance between us.

“Stevie, come on,” Dee urges me, speeding up.

I look nervously behind us. Aidan spits and shakes his wet hair out of his eyes; he looks like he’s going to puke. I turn to Dee, who stares ahead with grim determination. People are moving to the side, slowing down to watch us now. The school is in sight. Faster now. My lungs are aching, but I feel the urgency; I tap into something. I have to beat him. I notice Ms. Kwan now, lifting her head and turning, running backward, watching what has become a race. Dee is falling back, behind me, but I have gained a second wind.

“Come on, Stevie!” Ms. Kwan shouts as I start to lag, as I feel like my heart will burst, as I hear Aidan hissing you cunt, you bitch behind me. “Push yourself! Go! Go! Go!”

And we’re almost there, and I hear Dee’s laugh now, because suddenly, listen—Aidan’s feet have taken on a fainter sound, and he swears loudly as we cross through the school gates, and at the very least Ms. Kwan is clapping. She slaps my back and I stumble forward, gasping but smiling.

“Nothing like competition to fill your lungs, hey? Sorry McPhearson,” she calls to Aidan, “she beat you fair and square.”

I lift a water bottle to my mouth and close my eyes against the sun.

“I knew you had that in you,” I hear Dee say, and I can tell, even without look at her, that she’s grinning. Something that had long gone to sleep flickers its eyes open inside me: pride.

*   *   *

There’s a new me, better than the old me, and it is because of Dee, who is bigger, brighter, bolder than Lottie, than all of them. She is rubbing off on me like a marker you write on a birthday card, and realize too late that it won’t dry, leaving backward salutations on your fingers. She’s imprinted on me. It’s not sexual—it’s more, better, stronger. It’s best friendship. I am returning to myself and becoming more. She has less patience for the fools around her. It seems she doesn’t want to just watch anymore.