Ana

Rick Murphy and I are driving to the library to work on a project for our AP US History class in the pouring rain. We are listening to the classical music radio station, and Vivaldi is flowing out of Rick's car speakers. Up ahead, I see a thin figure running hard, twiggy arms and legs pumping like pistons.

"What kind of crazy person runs in this weather?" Rick asks. I shrug, still staring at the soaking sprinter. As we draw closer, a jolt of recognition shoots through me. I know that t-shirt. Cassie and I tye-dyed together in freshman year. We wrote "BFF'S 4EVER!" on the backs of the shirts. No one else in our town has shirts so obnoxious. I'm shocked she still wears hers.

"Cassie does," I tell Rick. He rolls his eyes. We both know how fanatical Cassie is about exercise.

We stop at a red light. Cassie stops too, waiting to cross the street. She looks exhausted.

"So how late can you stay out?" Rick asks me. I look over at him. "We want to get as much work done as we can, since we're both busy the rest of the week."

I am about to answer when a sudden movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye. I whip my head around and see Cassie beginning to run.

And then, just as I am turning back to Rick,

she falls.

I glance over at Rick, who is watching the road, not Cassie.

Cassie doesn't get up. She just lies there, in the middle of the road, perfectly still.