Free The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares

you get tired, just fall back to your own pace. I don't expect everybody to finish with me.”
    Jesus. Seven-minute miles. The path led uphill. She kicked up dust from the dry ground. Over the hills the land flattened out again. They ran along a riverbed, which carried just a trickle in the dry season.
    She was sweating, but her breathing was in check. She stayed up with Eric. “I hear you're from L.A.,” she said. Some people liked to talk when they ran. Some people hated it. She was interested to test out which type he was.
    â€œYeah,” he said.
    She had just cast him as a type two when he opened his mouth again. “I've spent a lot of time here, though.”
    â€œHere in Baja?” she asked.
    â€œYeah. My mom is Mexican. She's from Mulegé.”
    â€œReally?” Bridget asked, genuinely interested. That explained his looks. “Just a few miles south of here, right?”
    â€œRight,” he agreed. “What about you?”
    â€œI'm from Washington, D.C. My dad is from Amsterdam.”
    â€œWow. So you know the whole foreign-parent syndrome.”
    She laughed, pleased at how this was going. “I do.”
    â€œWhat about your mom?” And here, without warning, she'd come directly to a second test. This was one she usually saved for much further down the road if she could.
    â€œMy mom . . .” Is? Was? She was still indecisive about tense when it came to this. “My mom . . . was from Alabama. She died.” Bridget had spent four years saying her mother “passed away,” but then the term started to really annoy her. It didn't fit with what had happened.
    He turned his head and looked at her straight on. “I'm so sad for you.”
    She felt the sweat dry up on her skin. It was a disarmingly honest thing to say. She looked away. At least he hadn't said, “I'm sorry.” She suddenly felt exposed in her running bra.
    With most guys she managed to forestall this issue indefinitely. She'd gone out with guys for months at a time and not had this conversation. It was strange that with Eric it had come up in the first two minutes. Carmen would take that as a sign of something, but then Carmen was always looking for signs. Bridget never did.
    â€œYou go to Columbia now?” she asked, leaving her discomfort on the path behind them.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œDo you like it?”
    â€œIt's a strange school for an athlete,” he said. “Sports aren't exactly a big emphasis there.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œBut it's got a great soccer program, and the academics are obviously good. That was a big deal to my mom.”
    â€œMakes sense,” she said. His profile was awfully nice.
    He was picking up the pace now. She took that as a challenge. She always enjoyed a challenge.
    She glanced back to see that the group had thinned a lot. She kept with him stride for stride. She loved the feeling of strain in her muscles, the exhilaration that came with mounting exhaustion.
    â€œHow old are you?” he asked her point-blank.
    She was hoping to finesse this issue. She knew she was among the youngest girls here. “Sixteen,” she answered. She would be soon. It wasn't a crime to round up, was it? “What about you?”
    â€œNineteen,” he answered.
    That wasn't such a big difference. Particularly if she were sixteen.
    â€œAre you thinking about colleges yet?” he asked.
    â€œMaybe University of Virginia,” she said. She actually had no idea. The truth was, the coach at UVA had already commented on Bridget to her high school coach. Bridget knew she didn't have to worry much about college, even if her grades weren't that spectacular.
    â€œGreat school,” he said.
    Now she was pushing the pace. She was feeling good, and the excitement of being this close to Eric was energizing her muscles. They circled back around to finish the run up the beach.
    â€œYou must be pretty serious about running,” he said