Free You Can't Catch Me by Becca Ann

says. We’ve only been here for thirty minutes. The team doesn’t hesitate though. They trudge off the field, giving me worried glances over their shoulders. Drake takes the longest to leave.
    “I’m sorry,” I say when Coach gets to me. She pulls in a long breath and plops down on the track by my hands. And then not a word, like she has no idea what to say to the pathetic, used-to-be-awesome runner who can’t run a few simple laps without dying.
    “I was… trying to pace myself,” I mutter.
    “I noticed.” A smile. “Are you even tired?”
    My frizzy hair tickles my nose as I shake my head. Physically, I know I have more in me. So no, I’m not tired. Tired of failing, maybe.
    “Let me go again,” I say, pushing on my knee. “My legs just gave out. I’m okay now.”
    Coach reaches out like she wants to stop me, but abruptly changes directions, scratching her face instead. “The problem isn’t your legs, Ginger.”
    I pause on my way to standing, which makes me wobble. My arm shoots out to catch myself before I topple over.
    “Huh?”
    She gives me a pointed look, still smiling that incredibly not-annoying smile. “I think the problem is a little higher than your legs.”
    My eyeballs fall out of my head and roll along the track. It takes me a couple seconds to put them back in. “Um… I…” Does she notice all the bouncing? I bet no matter how loose my shirt is, the Sharpies are still incredibly obvious when I run. I cross my arms purposely over them, as if holding myself like this will suck them back in to wherever they came from.
    “It’s all up here.” She presses a finger to her head, and I almost laugh with relief. “Don’t overthink this. You’re a runner. Trust your body’s natural instincts.”
    Something that feels a lot like an anvil rests in the pit of my stomach. What would she say if I told her that the problem is north of my legs, but south of my head? Probably laugh, or get scared because of the whole teacher/student no talkie of the Sharpies, or think I’m being stupid.
    Nope, if I can’t tell my best friend, I certainly am not gonna tell this brand new coach.
    I plaster on a confident grin—or what I think a confident grin looks like.
    “Okie dokie.”
    She nods once, keeping that perma-sweet smile. “Try again tomorrow.”
    We both get to our feet, and even though I’d normally jog back to the locker room, I take my sweet time.
    “Trust my body?” I snort to myself when no one is within earshot. Probably sound advice, except my body and I aren’t getting along right now.
     
    ***
     
    My house smells like bread again. Sweet, delectable, teasing bread. Must mean Aunt Heidi’s here.
    “Ginger,” her voice says from the kitchen, and I jump because I thought I was being darn quiet. I turn the corner, and Aunt Heidi isn’t even looking at me, but a recipe book on the counter.
    “What was that?” my mom asks, her head buried in the oven.
    “Add a teaspoon of ginger,” she says, and I laugh, making her eyes drift up.
    “I thought you were talking to me.” I skip over to the fridge, grabbing one of the cold waters and swigging half of it in record time. When I lower the bottle, Aunt Heidi’s grinning at me like she knows something I don’t. My eyes drift to Mom, and now that her head’s out of the oven, she gives me a similar grin as well before going to the boiling pot on the stove.
    “What?” I say cautiously.
    “There’s a boy in your room.”
    I raise an eyebrow. “Huh?”
    “A boy. In your room.” Aunt Heidi pops her gum inwardly, making the loudest crack to echo through the kitchen.
    “Who?” It has to be someone significant because I have so many guy friends that it’s hardly an issue to have a boy over. A small, very illogical part of me pictures Oliver up there, but I shoo the thought away because if he was, that means he followed me home. And that is not cute. That is creeperific.
    “I don’t know,” she sings, handing my mom the ginger.