Page 17

She's a whole other kind of different.

"I'm, uh, not really sure where you start," I say, looking around, desperate to put my eyes on anything but her. "I usually just meet you at the end, so…"

"Oh, right," she says, walking over to the same spot she typically stops. "It's the same place—a giant loop, remember?"

I tip my chin up slowly. "Right," I chuckle, throwing my head toward the sky and groaning silently when her back's turned to me again.

She stands with her toes touching the crack in the sidewalk just feet from her bench and slides her phone from the pocket that runs down the side of her leggings. "Did you want to talk or… do you want music?"

"Um…" I hesitate, not really sure what I want.

I didn't really plan this out. I heard mom on the phone, and the next thing I knew I was walking out the door forty minutes earlier than normal with my running shoes on.

"Whatever you want. I don't care."

Those last three words come out of my mouth, and suddenly… they're not true at all.

Still, she scrolls on her screen, and moments later, an indie rock song I didn't expect comes pouring through the speaker.

"Cam Whitcomb?" I ask, surprise replacing my disappointment.

"I know music," she says in mock defense.

"Yeah, I know." I tilt my head to either side and grab one foot from behind, stretching. "I just didn't know you knew good music."

"That's because you've heard the one cool down song I listen to probably a dozen times now and nothing else."

"It's been more than that."

She tips her chin down and narrows her eyes. "You know what I mean."

I hold both hands up in surrender. "Okay, fair enough."

She huffs out a laugh, the corners of her mouth curling upward. Immediately, my smile mirrors hers. We stand like that, just existing as the singer's raw emotion swirls around us.

"Alright," Lenny says just as the chorus begins. Her voice comes out softer than it has, and I try not to over think it. "I guess we're ready then?"

She leans forward, ready to take off running. Without thinking, I grab her gently, holding her back. Lenny's gaze shoots straight to the contact then up to me, amusement—and a little something else—in her eyes.

"What?"

"No warm up?" I ask before realizing that I'm still holding her elbow, the fabric of her zip-up soft in my palm.

Her lips turn down as her brows shoot up. "That's kind of the point of my walk here."

I drop my hand, staring at her, and she pops out her hip.

"Ya know, I think I liked it better when you were only here at the end."

I narrow my eyes and suck my teeth as if I'm offended, when really, all I heard was that she likes that I'm here.

"Can we run now?" she asks, clicking the volume up higher on the music.

I nod, and she rolls her eyes playfully before taking off in a jog.

I leap toward her, catching up in just a few steps.

We run side-by-side, our feet falling into sync, our breaths not quite heavy enough to do the same. The whole time we're clearing the first straightaway, I want to talk to her—to hear her talk back. But her focus is forward, her lips mouthing the words to the song playing loudly enough between us to fill the silence.