The Red Dog Run

Maya's lungs burned as she kept running, her Nikes pounding against the asphalt track. Coach Barker's voice echoed in her head: "You've got bull-like determination, kid, but you need to stop overthinking it."

Whatever that meant.

The problem wasn't running—Maya had been varsity cross-country since freshman year. The problem was that suddenly, everyone expected her to be The Girl Who Wins Everything. Her best friend Keisha had started giving her these looks, like Maya was some kind of different species now. And Jordan, the cute junior she'd been crushing on for literal ages, had finally noticed her—but only because of her stupid PR times.

"Nice form, Maya," Jordan had said yesterday, and she'd literally frozen up like Windows 95.

Now, practice was over, but Maya kept going. One more lap. Just to clear her head.

Until something streaked across her peripheral vision. A dog—this massive, terrifying red beast—tore onto the track from the neighborhood behind the school. Maya's brain short-circuited. Everyone knew dogs chased runners. That was, like, a scientific fact.

"Nope," she said, and sprinted toward the equipment shed.

The dog followed.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Maya vaulted the fence, her heart practically beating out of her chest. The dog—wait. The dog was just standing there, tail wagging, tongue out like this was the best game ever. It wasn't even a bull-terrier or something scary. Just a regular, derpy golden retriever mix.

Maya slowed down, laughing despite herself. The dog bounded over, and she scratched its ears. A tag on its read: "Buster."

"You're not scary at all, are you, Buster?"

A girl with purple hair appeared at the fence. "That's my dog, oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

"No worries," Maya called back, still grinning. "He kept me on my toes."

The girl hopped the fence easily. "I'm Riley. You're Maya, right? The runner everyone's talking about?"

Maya rolled her eyes. "Unfortunately."

"Same," Riley said, snapping Buster's leash on. "I'm the new girl everyone already has opinions about." She paused. "Wanna get boba? My treat. For the trauma."

Maya looked at the track, where Coach Barker's expectations waited. Looked at Riley, who somehow already got it.

"Absolutely," Maya said.

Maybe running wasn't about the bull-headed determination after all. Maybe it was about knowing when to sprint—and when to let yourself be chased in a completely different direction.