“Ty, my . . . ugh, my boyfriend”—she said it like it was the worst thing you could call someone—“made some joke about me running the marathon. Like, who do I know who would be the absolute worst at running? Oh, obviously my girlfriend, she’s so lazy, hahaha! And then he did this run.” She imitated it—wrists high, hands flapping. “And everybody died laughing, so funny, so I threw my drink in his lap and started training the next morning because fuck him if he thinks he knows what I’m capable of.”

If I’d been embarrassed about my own rant, I wasn’t anymore. “And this Ty person is still your boyfriend?”

“Tyler,” she groaned. “Yes. Pending probation.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant relationship probation or legal trouble, so I mirrored her knowing nod.

“You wanted to be a cowgirl. Do you remember?” Jules squinted at me. “They asked us at Bridge to Learning so they could put it on a poster.”

“I don’t—”

“Doesn’t matter.” She scratched her head. “Listen, I can’t help you with the philanthropist-socialite thing . . .”

Socialite? I winced. I wouldn’t say they were the same thing at all.

“But if you want to run with me, that’s fine.”

“Oh, I wasn’t—”

“It’s not, like, life-changing so far, so don’t get your hopes up, but it’s . . . I don’t know. It’s something different.” She shrugged. “For me anyway. You might be some fitness nut, I don’t even know you anymore.”

I glanced at myself.

She burst out laughing, then smothered it. “Sorry. I . . . that wasn’t cool.”

“It’s fine.” I knew what I looked like. I was skinny, but not in a Self magazine way. More of an “all my exercises involve sitting on a piano bench” way.

“I’m starting earlier tomorrow,” she said, her voice a warning. “Before it gets stupid hot.”

“Early’s good!” I shot her two thumbs-up.

“Like six. In the morning.”

“I’m up then anyway!”

She snorted. “Course you are. All right, then. Meet you on the corner.”

And she jogged clumsily away.

I pulled out my notepad and, next to Buy clothes, wrote: Buy exercise clothes.

I had no idea why, but that felt a million times better.

5.

triumphantly homeward I marched, arms laden with bags bearing swooshes, bold colors, feet with wings. I would try running! I would see where it led! If I could become a runner, I could become anything!

Almost. I turned the key to the house, met with a sound that lifted my heart only to pummel it—my Baldwin, happy at last.