Girl on the Run

Chapter Two

Cool morning air hit my face. My sneakers kept count with a steady beat.

"Feet and lungs, Jesse!" Dad called out.

I pumped my arms faster, not even hearing the gravel crunch under my shoes. I wasn't running, I was flying. I bounded through the air for a few more seconds before slowing down.

"Beat that!" I laughed between deep breaths.

But he wasn't behind me.

"Dad?" My voice echoed through the empty park. A woodpecker knocked above my

head. I looked up, but there wasn't a bird. Then the park melted into darkness...into nothing.

I blinked and my bedroom came into focus. Someone knocked on my door. I pulled the covers over my head.

"Hey, Legs," Grandma sang. "You up?"

"Yeah," I mumbled into the pillow.

This was the worst time of the day. For a few seconds, I believed that life for the last four months had only been a dream, and that Dad was actually downstairs making breakfast.

Although Mom was the caterer, Dad owned the kitchen on weekend mornings. It was unusual to wake up and not smell bacon or hear the gurgles from the coffee maker. But that had changed, too. The familiar knot tightened my stomach. Reality packs a mean punch.

"Legs?"

"Yup." I pushed myself up in bed and rubbed my face. Grandma's white spiked hair peeked around the doorframe. A big smile on her red lips made me return the expression automatically. She closed the door, then sat down on the bed and took my hand in hers.

"Oh, Legs." She's the only person who still calls me that without it feeling forced or sarcastic. Her silver bangles tinkled as she traced the lines of my palm with her wrinkled finger.

"Let me guess," I yawned, "an unexpected romance."

"Hmm," she frowned.

"Good or bad?"

"Shh, I'm concentrating. This is very interesting." She turned my hand and gently squeezed the flesh, making ridges along the side of my hand.

I knew what she was looking for. "How many kisses, Grandma?" I asked.

"More than you've had before, one in your very near future."

"Someone special?" I played along.

"Someone who loves you," she promised. Then she leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "How was your date last night?"

I groaned. "He kept calling me Jessica." It was an honest mistake, I guess. Not many girls are named Jesse. I was supposed to be Julia, after Julia Child, but Mom was so dopey from painkillers after she had me, Dad got to choose. He was a sportswriter who worshiped Jesse Owens, and when I paired up with track and field like peanut butter with jelly, it seemed I was fulfilling my namesake's destiny.

Even Mom, food whiz extraordinaire, was excited to have a super jock for a daughter, and once the trophies started to pile up, she finally forgave Dad.

"Looked like you made up by the end," Grandma teased. She'd been watching through the drapes, of course.

"Never kiss anyone goodnight after they've eaten a tub of flavoured movie popcorn," I told her. I could still picture him sprinkling two full packages of the fake seasoning. "He didn't even flinch when I warned him about the MSG."

She nodded like she was mentally cataloguing my advice. We sat quietly, and her gaze fell on my huge duffel bag, bursting with clothes.

"Chloe said she dropped off some outfits," I said.