SEVEN
The cold air pierces my lungs as I close my front door and bounce down the steps into the mellow October morning. A delicate mist hangs in the air and a cloth of silver dew clings to the blades of grass. The sweet, heavy summer air is long gone, replaced by the smell of earth, clinging desperately to its last precious weeks of life.
Luke stands at the edge of my driveway dressed in athletic shorts and a maroon New Albany High School lacrosse sweatshirt. His full lips separate into a wide smile when he sees me and I can’t stop my own from turning up at him. I never invited him to go running with me. He just kept showing up at the end of my driveway at 5:45. But now I can’t imagine him not striding along next to me, pushing me to go faster.
“I was about to send a search-and-rescue team,” Luke says, tapping on his Fitbit.
“What am I, a whole minute late?” I tease, bumping my hip into his.
“Two minutes late,” he says, extending his arm to show me the time. “Bed feel too good this morning, Mac?”
“Just too comfy,” I lie with a yawn. Little does he know, I’ve already done thirty minutes of Krav Maga and fifteen minutes of target practice.
We take off down Landon Lane, our feet crunching the red leaves that cover the sidewalk like a crimson carpet.
“You ready for the AP bio test?” Luke asks as we run to the end of our street and hit the bike paths that crisscross throughout the neighborhoods and along the golf course.
“As ready as I can be,” I say with a laugh. Harper didn’t stick to her promise and we found ourselves looking through Snapchat and Instagram in between trying to memorize the difference between structural isomers and geometric isomers. “I’m really not in the mood for a test today. Mr. Bajec’s tests are so painful.”
“Would you rather have to take an AP bio test every single day for a year,” Luke says with a sideways smile as he begins our favorite, silly game. “Or scrub the gym locker room toilets with a toothbrush once a week?”
“Oh gosh,” I answer, my voice and breath beginning to strain as we run up a hill. “The test, I think. I don’t know what you boys are doing in that disgusting locker room.”
“Okay, how about this one?” Luke asks as we reach the crest of the hill. “Would you rather have a bear claw as a hand or a mermaid tail as a foot?”
“Bear claw all the way,” I answer and tuck a dark strand of hair that fell out of my ponytail behind my ear. “I’d be so super strong.”
“But you’d be hairy.”
“True enough,” I reply. “I think I’d still take the claw. Hairy hand and all. Okay, how about this one? Would you rather be stuck on a desert island by yourself or with someone you hated?”
“Oh man, I don’t know,” Luke says and shakes his head. His blue eyes smile at me before his lips do. “Can I have your bear claw hand? Just in case I need to kill the person I hate when they get on my nerves.”
“Sure,” I answer with a laugh. Luke and I have probably asked each other about one thousand stupid “would you rather” questions and I never get tired of them.
“Are your parents excited to tour Templeton with you tomorrow?” Luke asks as we run past New Albany Country Club. There are a lot more cars in the parking lot than I expected at this hour but then I remember what day it is. Hot Yoga Instructor Friday. Harper may have even pulled her butt out of bed for the gorgeous Australian’s six a.m. class.
I press my lips together and shake my head. “They’re not coming.”
“What do you mean they’re not coming?” Luke asks, his eyes growing wide.
“They got called out on assignment,” I answer and shrug my shoulders two inches too high. “A protest in South America or something.”
“You bummed?”
“Nah, it’s okay. No big deal. Work is work.” I’m lying. To Luke and to myself. I know exactly what I’m doing; trying to pretend like I don’t care so that I can trick myself into actually believing it when really my body is sore from the sting of their dismissal.
“So who’s going up with you tomorrow?” he asks.
“No one. Just me,” I answer, attempting my best chipper, it’s-all-good voice.
“No way,” Luke says, furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “I’m going with you.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s an hour-and-a-half drive. I’ll be fine,” I reply and push up the sleeves of my sweatshirt. “Besides, you’ve got JROTC stuff on Saturdays.”
“It’s okay. I’ll skip it.”
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
“Maybe a little bit. A few extra chores at the office will fix it.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble for me.”