Running Past Forever

My lucky LA **hat** pulled low over my eyes, I watched Maya from across the cafeteria. We used to be inseparable, but now she sat with the popular kids, laughing at jokes I didn't understand. I felt like a total **spy**, monitoring my former best friend's life from the safety of my solo lunch table.

That afternoon at cross country practice, I pushed myself harder than usual. **Running** had always been my escape, my therapy, my thing that was mine alone. But today, even the rhythm of my sneakers hitting the pavement couldn't drown out my thoughts.

A golden retriever from the neighborhood park bounded toward me, interrupting my wallowing. This **dog** — I'd named him Buster even though he probably belonged to someone — was the only thing that made me smile lately. He trotted beside me for three miles, his tongue lolling, completely unbothered by teen angst.

"Hey!" a voice called behind me.

I turned, still jogging, to see Maya running to catch up. Her expensive running outfit made my discount store gear look pathetic.

"Haven't seen you at the arcade in forever," she said, falling into step beside me. Buster greeted her with a tail wag, traitor.

"Yeah, been busy with practice." I adjusted my hat, suddenly self-conscious about the stupid slogan on it.

"I miss you, though." Maya sounded genuinely sad. "Those kids at lunch? They're nothing like us. I feel like I'm performing all day."

The admission hit me like a truck. She was struggling too?

"We could come here after school tomorrow," I suggested. "Like old times."

Her face lit up. "Yes! And I'll bring treats for Buster."

As we finished our run together, the **dog** happily trailing us, I realized maybe growing up didn't have to mean growing apart. Some friendships just needed a new route.