Chasing Sunlight

The morning air hits my lungs like ice as my sneakers slap the pavement. Running. Again. Mom's idea, obviously. She thinks if I just run enough, maybe the wonky thyroid thing will fix itself and I'll stop being so, you know, *moody*.

My hair's a disaster—frizzy from humidity, sticking to my forehead in sweaty strings. I spent forty minutes this morning trying to tame it, convinced that if I could just get my curls to cooperate, maybe everything else would fall into place too. Spoiler alert: they didn't.

"You forgot your vitamins again," Mom had called after me, shoving the bottle into my hand like it was some kind of magical cure-all. As if orange gel capsules could fix sophomore year, or the fact that my best friend since kindergarten started sitting with the popular kids at lunch and suddenly forgot my name existed.

I'm rounding mile two when someone falls into step beside me.

"You're basically sprinting for a casual jog," says this guy, tall and gangly with hair even crazier than mine—like, full-on Einstein vibes but somehow working for him.

"I'm not jogging," I huff. "I'm fleeing my problems."

He laughs, and it's not mean. "Valid. I'm Alex, by the way. I've seen you running past my house every morning this week."

We run together in silence for a while, and somehow it's not weird. He tells me about how he moved here in October and still feels like the new kid. I tell him about the friend situation without even meaning to, words tumbling out between breaths.

"Screw that," Alex says when I finish. "You've got great hair. Anyone who doesn't vibe with you is missing out."

I snort, then actually laugh because he's so serious about it.

By the time we part ways at the park entrance, something in my chest feels lighter. Those vitamins are still sitting on my nightstand, probably useless anyway. Some people—the fake friends, the ones who make you feel small—are just bad for your health. And the real ones? They find you when you're sweaty and disheveled, running from your problems, and they somehow make you want to keep going anyway.

Tomorrow, I think I'll wear my hair however it wants to be. And I'll definitely be looking for Einstein-hair Alex at mile two.