Chasing Sunlight

I'd been **running** every morning since sophomore year started—four miles around the neighborhood, my Air Force Ones thudding against the pavement like a metronome counting down the seconds until I had to face school again. Mom called it my 'athletic phase.' Dad called it 'discipline.' I called it the only time my brain wasn't running three different anxiety loops at once.

"You're literally insane," Maya said, waiting at my driveway with her signature iced coffee in hand. "It's forty-two degrees, Mira. Your nose is practically blue."

"Cold burns more calories," I lied, handing her the extra water bottle I'd brought. She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

Maya had been my **friend** since we got paired for that disastrous seventh-grade science project where we nearly set off the fire alarm with our baking soda volcano. She knew about the panic attacks that hit like random lightning strikes. She knew I kept a bottle of emergency **vitamin** D supplements in my backpack because my doctor said I was 'severely deficient' and 'probably not getting enough sunlight,' which felt like a metaphor for my entire existence.

"You coming to Jordan's party tonight?" she asked, falling into step beside me even though she wasn't wearing running shoes. "People are gonna be there. Like, actually everyone."

"I don't know." I kicked a pebble. "Parties aren't really my—"

"Scene. I know." She bumped my shoulder with hers. "But Tyler's gonna be there, and you've been making heart eyes at him across AP English since September."

"I have NOT—"

"You absolutely have. It's kinda gross, honestly." She grinned. "Just come for an hour. If it's mid, we bounce. I'll even let you complain about it tomorrow morning while you're doing your weird ritual running thing."

"Deal."

The vitamin D bottle rattled in my backpack as I walked. Maybe this time I'd actually stay long enough to talk to Tyler. Maybe I'd stop overthinking everything. Probably not. But having Maya there—knowing she'd drag me out of my head if I started spiraling—made the whole party thing feel slightly less terrifying.

"You're the best, you know," I said.

"Obviously," she said, already scrolling through her phone. "Now hurry up or we're gonna be late to first period, and I cannot deal with another lecture about 'punctuality being a virtue.'"

I laughed and started running. She ran too, in her slip-on Vans and flared jeans, like she always did—making everything look easy, making everything feel less lonely.