Midnight Pool Runner

Every night at 2 AM, I'd slip out the window and run.

Not because I was some troubled kid running from my problems or whatever. I was training. Cross country season was two weeks away and I needed every edge I could get. The problem? Our neighborhood had zero sidewalks and cars that thought pedestrians were decorative.

The community pool, though - the pool had this perfect outdoor loop around the deck, lights blazing all night, nobody around. Perfect.

I'd been doing this for a week when I first saw him.

A dog, on the other side of the chain-link fence, matching my pace stride for stride. Some scrawny thing with fur the color of spilled coffee and one ear that refused to stand up. He'd just appear around midnight and run alongside me, separated by the metal fence, like we were training partners in some secret midnight club.

We developed this whole routine. I'd show up, he'd be waiting, we'd run. I started calling him Pool, which was dumb but also kinda perfect.

"What's up, Pool?" I'd say, even though dogs obviously don't speak English. "You ready to crush it tonight?"

He'd wag his tail like he understood everything.

The thing was, I was getting faster. Like, actually faster. My coach noticed, my teammates noticed, even my mom noticed. "Since when do you run sub-5:30 miles, Zara?"

I just shrugged. "Putting in the work."

First meet of the season, I'm standing at the starting line, heart pounding, when I see him.

There, holding the leash of some coffee-colored dog with one floppy ear, was this guy from my history class. Jordan. The one who sat in the back row and never talked to anyone.

And that was my dog. The dog was his dog.

Our eyes met across the starting line and he just nodded, like yep, that's the one.

I won that race by eight seconds.

Afterward, Jordan found me. "So you're the one who's been training Buster at 2 AM," he said, like this was the most normal conversation in the world. "He kept escaping and I couldn't figure out where he was going."

"I call him Pool," I said. Then immediately wanted to die.

Jordan laughed. Actually laughed. "Pool and the midnight runner. Sounds like the title of a indie band."

We sat on the grass while the dog - Pool, Buster, whatever - proceeded to attempt to eat both our medals. We talked about everything. How he'd just moved here from Chicago and didn't know anyone. How I was secretly terrified that cross country was the only thing I was good at. How the dog had been his grandpa's before his grandpa got sick and couldn't keep him.

"He's lonely," Jordan said, watching the dog try to climb a tree. "His person was gone all day. He needed a job."

"Guess we both did," I said.

The next night, 2 AM, I climbed out the window. Jordan was waiting outside the pool fence with Pool/Buster and two flashlights.

"Race you," he said.

We ran together, no fence between us, the dog weaving between our legs like he'd been training for this his whole life. And for the first time, I wasn't running toward something - a time, a finish line, a college scholarship.

I was just running.