And, most aggravatingly:What if he’s not alone?
There could be a Harper or a Lauren or a Maddie, andwow,the mind really has a knack for some perfectly timed self-sabotage. At least the pain in her tight calf muscles is a good distraction.
In the thick of the crowd at the Seventy-second Street entrance, she feels like a child sneaking into a wedding reception for grown-ups only. Everyone around her is part of a social group or a couple. They all have festive props to wave and selfies to take, and she’s alone and nervous and trying to un-fuck-up a fraught situation by ambushing someone whose feelings might be bordering on hostile.
Her heart’s racing—and not just because of the unprecedented amount of cardio. A series of waist-height metal barriers line the edges of the race route without an obvious entrance. Ari jogs along it, jumping up every so often to scan the crowd of runners.
It’s like a bizarro, life-sized edition ofWhere’s Waldo?, in which the object is to find the tree-sized emo man wearing all black running gear instead of a bug-eyed nerd in a striped sweater. “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” is booming through the sound system in the band shell, echoing eerily through the trees. Finding a tall, dark needle in a haystack is much more difficult when every racer is bopping around to ABBA.
Except—
There’s one head that’s not bopping: a man with a black knithat, standing with his arms crossed, mouth turned slightly down, surrounded by a group of young, long-haired, heavily made-up women in matching logo shirts who are really feeling the second verse.
He couldn’t look more miserable if he tried—and it’s possible he did try. What kind of pretentious snob shows up to a giant fun run and puts in their earbuds before the race even starts?
Mypretentious snob.
Hopefully.
AT FIRST, JOSHthinks all the visual stimulation must be playing tricks on his mind. Because sometimes he’ll be walking behind a woman with light brown hair in a messy topknot and wonder…
It never is.
But the girl leaning over the crowd-control barrier on the other side of the road could be Ari’s twin. She’s forty feet away—difficult to see details from this distance in the darkness punctured with flashing lights—but when he catches her glance, he swears her eyes grow large with recognition. At that moment, the race organizers force everyone in his starting group forward.
Fuck.
Josh takes some ineffective clearing breaths. He can’t find Briar in the mob of women surrounding him—all wearing T-shirts emblazoned with theryan’s racerslogo (it’s just an empty pair of gray sweatpants, running—which happens to be an apt description of Ryan himself). A whole universe of art and culture and food and a half-assed jogging club organized by a former reality star is the best entertainment this fuckingcity has to offer? Josh can’t even properly track his stats on an outdoor run where his progress will be impeded by amateur athletes.
Predictably, Briar thought this would be a good place for him to meet someone, but none of these women are here to meet a man who’s the opposite of Ryan and his gray joggers. He’s the only person in the vicinity not dancing around like a fool or taking selfies with practiced silly faces. It’s a familiar feeling—like his whole life has been a party where everyone else is enjoying themselves while he sulks in the corner.
He cranes his neck and catches sight of the Ari doppelgänger again. She’s still staring directly at him with an off-putting intensity.
She looks exhausted and flushed, but—
“…thirty seconds.As soon as the ball drops, the race begins. Runners, to your starting marks please!”
Even if he hadn’t had the precise contours of her face memorized for the last eight—nine?—years, he would still know it was Ari because she opens her mouth and screams out—
“Josh!” It’s barely audible over the growing roar of the crowd and the bouncy music, but he hears it.
His heart stops.
“Ten…”
“Josh!”she yells again, her voice louder but ragged.
“Okay, Ryan’s Racers, you’re gonnacrush this!” Ryan holds up his hand in front of Josh and folds him into a nonconsensual bro-hug before he can avoid it.
“Nine…”
Josh whips back around and sees Ari reach forward and grab for the metal crowd-control barrier.
She has one leg over the top bar before a police officerrushes over and forces her back behind it. Josh pushes a couple inches closer to the curb, as if that will somehow make a difference.
She argues with the cop. She’s gesticulating. Pointing across the path. At him.
What gives her the fucking right? To show up here and shout his name like that?
