We’re doing intervals today, and Emma’s pace seems faster than usual. As soon as we are side by side, she pulls ahead. I have to push myself to catch her. I push, she pulls. She pulls, I push. This is starting to annoy me, even though it’s what Emma and I always do when we practice together — ​we compete.
She pulls ahead again. I try to focus on increasing my pace.
Focus, Chloe, focus.
But all I can think about is water.
I didn’t drink enough before practice.
I didn’t drink any water, actually. I got held up leaving seventh period because I needed to talk to Ms. Breece about my paper proposal for AP Physics and had barely enough time to pull on my running shoes. My proposal is going to be late, which Ms. Breece made sure to note is “unlike you, Chloe,” which is true, I guess, but it got me thinking about what really, honestly is “like me,” because sometimes, or maybe even all the time, I’m stumped on that one. Which got me stressing again about my college application essays and whether they are mind-numbingly boring, and, by extension, if I am mind-numbingly boring. Which resulted in me forgetting to fill up my water bottle. This is starting to seem like kind of a big mistake, now that my mouth has gone dry and I’m dizzy and feeling like I might be about to throw up all over my shoes.
I turn to Emma. Her mouth is moving, but I only hear her last few words.
“. . . don’t you think?” she asks. “Chloe?” Cross-country is when we catch up on anything we didn’t get to talk about at lunch. The pop quiz we weren’t expecting in Calc. Weekend plans. Emma’s ongoing analysis of her five-minute conversation with Liam Morales about Catch-22 — ​Was it an excuse to talk to her? Or did he just need some quick info from someone who actually read the book? — ​a topic that, for my own reasons, I really don’t want to analyze anyway. But I must have zoned out for a few seconds, or minutes, because I have no idea what she just said.
“Think about what?” I barely have enough breath to get out the words, so I slow to a light jog as Emma pulls ahead of me for the third — ​or is it fourth? — ​time. Instead of pushing, I just stop. My heart is thumping hard.
Thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump. It’s all I can hear. Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.
Emma turns around. “Chloe?”
The lane lines ahead of me look wrong. They’re not just vibrating, they’re rippling. Like those wave graphs in my physics textbook. The whole field around us is rippling. Are we having an earthquake? I look toward Emma, also rippling, who has now stopped running too and is staring at me, eyes wide.
“Chloe, are you okay?”
My chest feels like it’s being crushed. My ears are on fire. Sweat is running down my face and my back, soaking my shirt.
Not okay, I think.
Definitely not okay. But I can’t say the words.
And then the world that’s spinning, spinning, spinning like a top gets tipped over, me with it. The last thing I see is the brilliant blue of the October sky overhead.