Free Breathe, Annie, Breathe by Miranda Kenneally Page A

I’ve only got like three hundred dollars right now.”
    She pulls me over into her arms and hugs me. “I know, baby. But you can’t go to work like this. I wish you didn’t put so much pressure on yourself…I wish I could pay for everything. You know I would if I could.”
    I know. I know.
    •••
    My alarm clock blares like a fire alarm.
    I reach over and slam the snooze button. 5:00 a.m. I got off work at midnight, and now I have to drive to Nashville to go run seven miles? Or as Matt and Jeremiah would call it, a rest day.
    The alarm goes off again. There’s no way I’ve snoozed for five minutes already! I groan into my pillow.
    The aftermath of last Saturday’s run, in which I got sick for four straight hours and missed work, was so spectacularly bad I haven’t run all week. I skipped my three short runs and didn’t ride my bike to cross-train like I was supposed to.
    If I run the seven miles this morning, will I get sick and have to call out of work again? I can’t risk missing work again this week…I won’t be able to pay for training, much less the gas to get to training. And what about supplies for college, like new sheets, towels, books, and stuff to cook with?
    My stomach hurt so bad last week…I don’t want to feel that pain again.
    When the alarm goes off for the third time, I reach over and turn it off, then burrow back under my sheets.
    The next time I wake up, it’s to my phone ringing. The clock says it’s 7:05 a.m. Matt’s name flashes on the screen. Shit. I should’ve called him.
    “Hello?” I say groggily, picking the sleep out of my eyes.
    “Where are you?” he asks in a rush. “Are you okay?”
    “Umm…I’m sorry, I fell back asleep.”
    “Are you sick?”
    “No…”
    “Are you hurt?”
    “No.”
    “Then why aren’t you here? Everybody else is.”
    That makes me feel ashamed. “Look, I’m sorry. I woke up and wasn’t feeling up to the run.”
    “You should’ve called me.”
    I yawn into my hand. “You’re right. I will next time.”
    “There won’t be a next time if you don’t take training seriously, Annie.”
    “What?”
    “You don’t show up for my training sessions, I won’t train you. It’s simple as that.”
    “Why not? I mean, I’m paying for it.”
    A long silence. “Annie, you’re running on my team, under my name. Every single person I’ve trained who’s made it to the day of a race has finished. I’ve helped over two hundred people finish a race. If a client doesn’t take me seriously, I don’t train them. I want to keep my one hundred percent race-day success rate.”
    “I get it—”
    “Now do you want to tell me what’s wrong? If something’s wrong with the training, we can adjust. If you aren’t feeling good, we can adjust. But you have to talk to me, okay?”
    I pull a deep breath and clutch a pillow to my chest. “I’m scared about my stomach. It hurt so bad last week. I got so sick after doing those god-awful speed bursts with you. I threw up like eight times.”
    Another pause. “We’ll change up your diet then. Maybe try some toast and English muffins instead of cereal and oatmeal. Maybe we’ll stop giving you Gatorade. The sugar might be making you sick.”
    “No! I love my lemon Gatorade. I’ll give up the speed bursts.”
    He laughs. “Not a chance. Now, what are you doing tomorrow? You’ve got seven miles to make up.”
    •••
    Why can’t they just leave it be?
    “Do we really have to do this?” I ask.
    “It’s time,” Connor says quietly, looking at one of Kyle’s track trophies. How can Connor say that so matter-of-factly?
    I swallow as I scan the room. I’m kind of pissed at Kyle’s parents for wanting to box up his things. But then I remember how I boxed up the teddy bears and wind chimes he gave me, and I can’t imagine walking past this room every day either, so I kind of get how they feel. Probably the same way I do whenever I drive past the fire station.
    Kyle’s younger brother,