Free The Lost & Found by Katrina Leno Page B

We’ll do some cardio in the front yard. Do you have a jump rope? I can get one from my place.”
    We ran by the light of the streetlights. We were maybe ten minutes out and I forced myself to speed up again, to match Arrow’s pace. Arrow turned backward, sideways, skipped and sprinted ahead, circling back. She could be reading a book. She could be cooking dinner. She looked utterly unchallenged.
    We fell silent. I thought about my mother, about my father(s), about Bucker and his sister. I thought about tragedy, I guess, how unfair it was that we weren’t doled out the same amount. How some people get so much and some people get none at all.
    That’s what I was thinking when I saw the figure dart up behind Arrow and grab her around the waist.
    Arrow screamed—I screamed—but then Arrow laughed and I stopped so suddenly I tripped and fell down, hard, on my knees and wrists.
    â€œOw,” I mumbled into the sidewalk.
    â€œOh my gosh—
Frannie
!” Arrow shrieked, doubling back and dropping to the ground beside me.
    I was panting but Arrow looked practically serene. The shadowy figure skipped over to us.
    â€œUse the four steps,” I whispered. My hands were warm and wet; I was bleeding.
    â€œThe what?” Arrow asked.
    â€œThe four steps to disarm your opponent. Like we learned in gym class.”
    Arrow laughed. “It’s just Hank.”
    â€œHank?” I said.
    â€œHank Whitney,” Hank Whitney said.
    â€œOh. Hi, Hank Whitney.” I vaguely remembered Hank Whitney from Arrow’s track team but didn’t think we had ever actually spoken before. He always seemed to be running; I would have had to yell.
    â€œHi, Frances Jameson,” Hank said, grabbing me around the wrist and heaving me up before I could protest. “You’re bleeding.”
    â€œYeah. I guess I am.” I put my hands on my knees and bent over. “I am also out of breath. I am possibly suffocating.”
    Hank was wearing running shorts and sneakers and a white T-shirt. My heart, beating a hundred miles an hour with exertion and the sudden positive fear I was about to be murdered, struggled inside my chest. I breathed in through my nose and then tried to breathe out through my mouth but only ended up coughing.
    â€œHere,” Hank said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a perfectly clean, perfectly white handkerchief. He used it to staunch the blood on my palms, which was sort of substantial.
    â€œYou run with a handkerchief?” I asked.
    â€œFor sweat,” he said, shrugging.
    â€œAh. Arrow doesn’t sweat.”
    â€œWell, we’re not all biologically perfect creatures like Arrow,” Hank said. “She’s basically like a cheetah.”
    â€œI’m like a tortoise,” I offered. “A slow, bleeding tortoise.”
    â€œDo you think you need stitches?” Arrow asked, taking the handkerchief from one of my wrists and moving my arm around until it caught a beam from a streetlight.
    â€œI think she’s fine. Just some soap and Band-Aids,” Hank said. “Keep the handkerchief. Sorry I scared you, Frannie. Can you make it home okay?”
    â€œSure, Hank,” Arrow said.
    â€œThanks, Hank,” I said.
    He saluted us goofily and turned on the spot, running away with the sudden speed and grace of a cat.
    â€œHe’s kind of creepy, right?” I asked.
    â€œHe’s not creepy,” Arrow said. She let go of the handkerchief; I pressed my wrists together to keep it secure. “Can you walk?”
    â€œHe’s sort of—”
    â€œHe’s just out running. We see each other all the time.”
    â€œA handkerchief?”
    â€œThat your blood has now undoubtedly ruined. So you sort of owe him one.”
    We started walking back to my house.
    â€œBut I mean—who carries a handkerchief on a run?”
    â€œYou’re right. Actually—do you have your cell phone on you? We