By the time I get to gym class in the afternoon, I’m antsy. There was a pop quiz in math, a boring movie in social studies, and a slow read-aloud in English. The whispers and questions continued in between all of the seventh-grade schoolwork. Are you related? Are you her cousin? Are you twins? I’m hoping we’re going to do something easy, like jump rope. I follow the other students to the big field beyond the basketball hoops. At my old school, this class would be held in a big gym with wooden floorboards. I spot November and Sunny from lunch and stand awkwardly next to them while the teacher gets organized.

“Hi,” I say to Sunny. She gives me a smile as small as she is.

“You guys ready?” November asks. The whole welcoming committee is in my phys ed class.

“Ready for what?” I ask, squinting in the bright sun. Bob was right—no sign of fog this afternoon.

Sunny mumbles something.

“What?”

“Mile run,” she squeaks.

The mile run? I’m not that antsy.

“Are you as fast as Mercedes Miller? She’s the fastest girl in our class,” November informs me.

“I’m not fast at all,” I say. In fact, I was the slowest kid in the whole sixth grade last year. I broke a record for the slowest time ever.

“Wait till you see Sunny. She’s second fastest.”

Sunny looks embarrassed. “I like running.”

I hate running. I don’t like the way my lungs burn or my chest constricts—it’s too much like having a panic attack. Just thinking about running makes my jaw clench, my toes curl. My stomach churns. I close my eyes. Relax, I tell myself.

“I thought maybe you were fast, too, Mattie,” November says. I open my eyes. “Since you look so much like Mercedes.”

I don’t want to run the mile. But I do wish I could run away.

CHAPTER 4 Mercedes

Don’t get lost,” Mr. Martin says as he tells us the route for the mile run. As if it were even possible to get off course when we’re just running around the school. “Follow the orange cones around the field, past the parking lot, in front of the office, and back around on the sidewalk to the basketball courts.”

I stretch out my calves, lunging on first one leg, then the other. The more warmed up you are, the better your chances. “Aren’t you going to stretch?” I ask Gaby.

“Nah,” she says, tugging at her shorts. “I run after Lori and Luke enough.” Gaby babysits for her hyperactive brother and sister whenever her mom has to drive her other brothers to work at the mall. “Do you think that girl who looks just like you is as fast as you?”