Sweaty Palms and Strays

Maya's palms were literally dripping as she stood outside the community center, clutching a crumpled flyer. Three blocks away, the stray dog she'd named Ghost was probably waiting by the dumpster behind the bodega where she'd been feeding him stolen turkey slices for two weeks.

"You're actually doing this?" Chen asked, adjusting their crop top. "The track team? You who literally walks everywhere?"

"Shut up," Maya muttered, wiping her palms on her jeans. "I need something for my college apps. Besides, I've been—"

"Running?" Chen raised an eyebrow. "To catch the bus?"

"I've been running with Ghost," Maya said defensively. "He's fast. Like, weirdly fast. We race to the corner store and he always wins."

Chen snorted. "So your personal trainer is a stray who probably has worms? Have fun explaining that to Coach Martinez."

Inside, the gym smelled like rubber floor cleaner and anxiety. Maya's phone buzzed—her mom asking if she'd taken her vitamin D gummies because "teen depression is real, mija." She quickly typed back "yes" even though the bottle was collecting dust on her dresser, right next to her untouched geometry homework.

"Maya Rodriguez?" Coach Martinez called out. She was intimidating—muscular, with a stopwatch dangling from her neck like a weapon.

Maya stepped forward, heart hammering. She thought about Ghost waiting by the dumpster, about how he'd started letting her pet his head last week. About how running with him had become the only time she didn't feel like a total failure at everything. School, her parents' divorce, the fact that she still took gummy vitamins like a baby—none of it mattered when she and Ghost were tearing down 42nd Street, the wind drowning out everything else.

"On your mark," Coach Martinez said.

Maya's palms were sweating again. She closed her eyes and imagined Ghost beside her, his scruffy white fur matted with city dirt, his tongue lolling out like he knew something she didn't.

"Get set... GO!"

She ran. Like actually ran, faster than she'd ever moved, everything blurring except the finish line and the weird realization that maybe she wasn't running away from everything anymore. Maybe she was running toward something.

Ghost would be proud. Even if he did have worms.