“Run,” Kitty said again, “as in being the one in charge.”
I laughed when I realized she was serious. “Kitty, how in the world am I supposed to organize a marathon in less than two months?”
She smacked a hand against her forehead. “You are so slow sometimes.Marathon. The list doesn’t specify whattypeof marathon.”
Finally, it clicked. I hadn’t even thought of looking at the list that way. I’d always taken the items at face value. Could I bend the rules this late in the game? I looked at the listing for the race on my birthday. My mouse hovered over an image above the registration form depicting a group of incredibly fit runners, their faces determined and triumphant as they crossed the finish line, their legs well muscled, a lot like Alex’s, really, and their arms raised above their heads in victory. And here I was taking an Uber after two miles. When it came down to it, the real question was if I could finish the listwithoutbending the rules.
Nina had said I’d need to think outside the box, and Kitty was right, I hadn’t specified what I’d meant by the wordsrunormarathon. If Kitty’s Japanese poetry could be open for interpretation, why couldn’t something as insignificant as my list?
I exited the browser, banishing race listings from my life. “You’re a genius, Catherine Taylor. What type of marathon should we put on?”
“Movie marathon,” a voice grumbled, and Mia’s face emerged from the blankets.
“Like a Harry Potter marathon?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Everyonedoes that.”
“Then what are you thinking?” Truthfully, movies weren’t really my thing. Sitting still in the dark for two hours? No thanks. I was more of a TV show person. Short, sweet, and to the point. With TV I could tap out whenever I needed to. I could skip the episodes I didn’t like, the ones that got too dark, or sad, or heavy, and not miss much.
“Maybe we don’t do it based on the movies, but on the actor,” Kitty suggested.
Mia propped herself up to look at her sister. “Like when Shia LaBeouf sat in a theater and filmed himself watching his entire filmography.”
“That sounds... odd,” I said.
“It was,” Kitty said. “Mia made me watch it.Allof it.”
“It wasart.” Mia flopped back onto her pillow.
“So who should we have a movie marathon of?” I asked. “Chris Evans?”
“Gross,” Mia and Kitty said.
“He’s soold,” Mia added.
“But he’s hot.”
“No way.” Kitty crossed her arms, deciding the matter.
“Zac Efron,” Mia said. “We should totally do that.”
Kitty’s eyes widened, and she jumped onto the bed, singing, “Mia loves Zac Efron! Mia loves Zac Efron!”
“I do not!” Mia cried. She chucked a pillow at her sister’s head. “I like him in anironicway.”
“Oh, please. I remember a certain toddler who wasobsessedwithHigh School Musical,” I said.
Mia rolled her eyes, the color rising in her cheeks. “I was akid.”
“No need to be embarrassed. Have you seen his abs?”
“It’s decided,” Kitty said, still standing on the sofa bed. She pounded a fist into her open palm. “The Zac Efron movie marathon ison.”
Mia groaned, disappearing again beneath the blankets, but I could tell she was excited. And I was, too, not least of all because I could toss my running shoes to the back of my closet and never look at them again.
Eight
The next morning I sat at my desk and responded to blog comments while Mia and Kitty gnawed on strawberry Pop-Tarts and watched TV. It didn’t take too long, seeing as I only had about thirty regular readers. Once I finished with comments on my “Kiss a Stranger” post, I clicked over to read the comments beneath my post about the skinny-dipping incident.
