The next day, I tell my parents that I am going to go running. I need to get life off my mind. I wear a neon yellow sleeveless shirt, a black sports bra, and black soccer shorts. I pull my hair into a tight, high ponytail, with my favorite thick black headband. My neon green, running earphones are tucked in my ears and connected to my iPod, which is in a black holder around my upper arm. Larry's leash is wrapped around my hand. My green and grey shoes pound against the pavement.
As always, my knees begin to ache about two miles into the run. Larry keeps pulling on the leash. I am downtown now. I weave in and out of people. Larry gets in the way of a few people, but I tug him along. Surprisingly, I keep running. I run out of the downtown area and towards the next little town. I feel as if I could run to Georgia. Pain creeps into my legs, but I ignore it. I keep running. Five miles down.
As I enter another tiny town, my legs hurt terribly, and I am literally dragging Larry on his leash. We both need a rest. We walk a quick pace for a while. I hear footsteps in sync with mine. Someone is following me. As I turn a corner, I causally look over my shoulder. A short, stocky figure trails behind me about fifty feet back. I quicken my pace, and I turn my music off. My phone rings. Braden. I answer.
"Lindsey, you've been gone forever, where are you?"
"I can't talk now. Come pick me up, I am near the corner of Haton and Eastly. I am wearing neon yellow, hard to miss. Hurry!"
"Lindsey, that's like seven-" He protests.
"Just do it! I gotta go! Hurry!" I hang up.
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HARDER THAN IT LOOKS
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