Three A.M. Cat Run
Maya's sneakers hit the pavement at 3:17 AM, rhythm slacking like her heart rate. Running used to be track practice, MVP dreams, college recruitment talks with Coach Miller. Now it was just—running.
Her phone buzzed against her thigh. Jenna again.
"u coming? everyones @ tylers"
Maya slowed to a walk, chest burning. Same text she'd been ignoring since Friday. Since the incident at Tyler's party that everyone was pretending didn't happen. Jenna—her best friend since sixth grade, ride-or-die, sister she never had—had laughed along with the rest when Chris pulled that prank. Not mean laughter, but scared laughter. The kind that keeps you in the circle.
The circle that didn't include Maya anymore.
"cant" she typed back. "busy"
Busy finding out who she was when she wasn't part of the group chat.
A flash of orange caught her eye near the 7-Eleven dumpster. A cat. Not the Instagram kind, not the aesthetic Tumblr cat—this cat was scraggly, one ear half-gone, vibrating with something that looked like fear or fury.
Maya crouched down. "Hey, little dude."
The cat hissed.
"Yeah, same." She sat on the curb, knees pulled to her chest. "Team hatred, fam."
The cat inched closer. Not because Maya was some Disney princess with animal magnetism, but because they were both alone at 3 AM behind a convenience store, and sometimes that's enough.
"My friend ditched me," Maya told the cat. "Well, not ditched. That implies she left. She's still there. I'm the one who left. Because staying meant pretending everything was chill when it wasn't. Is that weak?"
The cat head-butted her shin. Approval? Or just demanding food?
Maya pulled the granola bar from her pocket—emergency supply from her backpack, the one she grabbed before slipping out her bedroom window. Breaking it in half, she offered a piece.
"Running away from problems isn't sustainable," her therapist's voice echoed. But therapy was expensive and sometimes you just needed to move until your legs burned and your brain shut up.
Her phone buzzed again. Jenna.
"this isnt like u. call me"
Maya stared at the screen. The cat finished its granola and sat beside her, tail wrapped around its paws like it owned this curb. Like it wasn't a stray but someone who belonged somewhere.
"See you tomorrow," Maya told it, standing up. Her legs shook from miles she hadn't counted.
The cat watched her go with one good eye and one half-closed one, knowing something she didn't: sometimes you have to run through the dark to find out who's still waiting when you come back.