CHAPTER 23
OWEN
Shirtless,with pajama pants hanging offmy hips, I shuffle to the door to answer a pounding that is happeningwaytoo early in the morning. I’m going to have to have a word with George’s neighbors—or whoever is knocking on the door at this hour.
I can feel my hair sticking out in random directions and run my hand through in a futile attempt to tame it. Then I swing the door open.
…And there is Zoe, in the world’s most colorful jogging suit. Like a box of Crayola threw up on her.
“Good morning!” she says, way too brightly, as she thrusts a bundle of fabric into my hands. “I let you sleep in as late as I could, but chop chop, now! Go change. We’re going to be late.”
None of this is making any sense. Am I dreaming? I don’t think so. But I’m definitely not awake enough to figure out what is going on.
“Late for what?” I manage, following her into the living room. The pile of fabric in my arms seems to be several layers of athletic wear. In my size.
“Now, now, if I told you that, it would ruin all the fun!”
I eye her warily.
“Zo, it’s”—I check my watch—”6:30 in the morning.”
She points at me. “You said you’d make it up to me for not coming to the party yesterday. AndIsaid I’d hold you to it.”
She arches a brow at me defiantly.
I stand there silently, considering. Do I want to push this? Truthfully, hell yeah, maybe a little. But she is clearly putting a lot of thought into entertaining me while I’m in New York. And I havealready bailed on her. Twice.Andshe is just trying to help me get out of my slump. Crap. I’m a terrible cousin.
“Give me 10 minutes.”
“You got it!” She reaches up and pinches my cheek, like an overzealous aunt.
Dear Lord, I hope this isn’t a mistake.
“Please explainto me what exactly is happening,” I ask.
When Zoe showed up with gym clothes, Ifoolishly thought maybe we were going to… a gym?
But we’re standing on the grass beside one of the paths snaking through Central Park with a group of about fifteen other people in various kinds of winter athletic wear, doing hamstring stretches and jumping jacks and generally looking way too energetic for people standing out in the cold at this hour. The sun is just starting to light the sky.
“It’s a running club!” Zoe beams.
“Youare in a running club?” I really don’t mean to sound so incredulous. But Zoe once faked a limp for an entire semester to get out of gym. At least until the P.E. teacher saw her in the hallway, walking just fine.
“No, silly!” She smacks my chest. “But I thoughtyoumight like to try it.”
That’s weird because I’m notnotathletic, but running isn’t really my thing.
“Um…” I scan the group again. One guy, about my age, drags his eyes up and down my body before offering a slow smile. I give him a polite nod.
“Come on, O. Try something different! It’ll be fun.” She looks around now, surveying the group of obvious running enthusiasts warming up around us. A tiny flicker of doubt creeps onto her face. “Or at least I’m pretty sure it’ll be fun for you. There is a slight possibility you’ll have to carry me home.”
I grin. “Oooh, no. You dragged me out here, you run too!”
“Iwill. Geez.”
I laugh.
At the top of a little hill, a butch woman in sweats and a wool hat yells to the crowd. “Okay, people, time to get moving!” The group assembles behind her and sets off running along the path in twos and threes. Zoe and I fall in toward the back.
