Page 4

I said “constantly” and that choice of words made it seem as if my run lasted for a long time. In point of fact, I made it to the end of the block, then stopped to re-do my ponytail. Then I made it around the corner, running on the shady side for a few more paces before I stopped again and leaned over with my hands on my knees, my lungs burning and my heart pounding so hard that I felt it in my teeth. My roommate had returned after her workouts with a pleasant glow and a few curly tendrils of hair loose on her neck. Had she stopped somewhere along the way to freshen up?

I pushed off my knees and stood straight, and when I did, I saw another runner coming toward me. This person appeared to be an actual athlete, though, because he was moving fast and he didn’t need to stop for breaks. Also, his clothing seemed to be staying in the correct places…and then I recognized him as my upstairs neighbor, the one whose name I didn’t know and who was still having fun by playing his weird music all the time. Today, I had heard it in the kitchen when I was making ramen for lunch as well as when I had gotten ready that morning. I didn’t know why he was doing it, but I didn’t like it.

He seemed prepared to pass by without pausing or even acknowledging me, but I refused to let that happen. When he tried to go around, I took off running, too, now in the same direction as his and toward the Milaflores Building.

He moved fast. At first, he didn’t seem to notice me at his side, but when we turned the corner, he glanced down in surprise. Even then, he didn’t speak (although he wasn’t breathing hard, so he could have). He only nodded a little and I nodded back.

Every step was torture but I tried to grit my teeth and muscle through it. Unfortunately, I needed to have my mouth wide open to inhale as much oxygen as possible, so I wasn’t able to grit. I had also realized that I didn’t actually have any muscles.

Damn. A city block had never felt so long! And my neighbor never broke stride, not until we were a few steps away from our front doors. Then he came to an abrupt stop and tapped his watch. He studied the information it displayed for a few moments and finally looked my way.

“Did you turn around to run home with me?” he asked.

I could have answered “no,” but I wasn’t sure that I was capable of speech and I didn’t want to try because I might have wheezed instead of saying words. I hadn’t ever run so fast in my life, not even from other kids on a public playground in Maryland when I was eight. We weren’t playing tag; they were trying to hit me with a large branch.

I shook my head to answer and put on a confused expression, as if the question made no sense. Actually, my actions had made no sense. Why would I have tried to keep up with him, when he was actually a runner and I was a woman wearing two bras and pretending? Maybe that was why I couldn’t breathe right now: I was being constricted to death by nylon.

“How far did you go?” he asked me, and I made a huge effort.

“Three,” I said. He could have assumed miles, tenths, or steps. “You?” Longer phrases were not an option.

“About seven,” he said casually, and I had to think that he meant miles and not steps. I was astounded.

“Good,” I said. I was still limited to short answers.

“Are you all right?”

I nodded and tried to look confused again, as if I had no idea why he had even asked me that. “Fine,” I said, and went inside so that I could sit down before I melted into the sidewalk.

My nameless neighbor followed and then took the stairs up, as one would do after a seven-mile run. I had gone to the mailboxes again and pretended that I was going to check mine, although I had only tucked my door key into my sock. I decided that exercising to feel good was a lie, because I had rarely felt worse in my life. Why in the world had I chased after him? Well, I hadn’t really chased. I had only stopped, waited, and raced him—why in the world had I done that?

I couldn’t come up with any reasonable explanation for my actions but he was now gone, so I went into the elevator and leaned against the back wall as the inner door slid shut. I looked forward to a shower, because one thing that I had successfully purchased was a curtain for that (those did come in standard sizes). I would pass on the bubble bath, since I didn’t relish sitting in a pool of my own sweat after my two-block run.

But a funny thing happened when I turned on the water.

He was doing it again! I heard the music, but a little louder—like he was taunting me with it! Why? What was the matter with that guy? I had the urge to stomp upstairs and tell him what I thought of his childish antics, but I got a better idea. I brought my phone into the bathroom and played my own music as loud as I could stand it. I didn’t know these songs but they drowned out my annoying upstairs neighbor and his annoying little game. In person, he came across as aloof and disinterested, but it was obviously all an act.

Inside, he was immature and petty, and I would to stoop right down to his level.

Chapter 2

The little store looked dilapidated, with an awning so tattered that most of the name had worn off and with windows obscured by decades of grime. Despite that, I’d seen people coming and going through the glass door and most of them had been carrying brown paper bags as they exited.

That meant one of two things: the place was a front for drugs, like the “muffler repair shop” owned by Mom’s former boyfriend Daisuke, or it was a legitimate business which shoppers actually frequented.

Mrs. McGlothen, the Milaflores Building manager, had brushed past this place when she’d been bragging about how great the street was. There was the party store on the corner, there was the florist, and when I’d asked, she’d explained that this was a record shop. The peeling letters on the awning only said “d’s Recor” but that didn’t seem to prevent customers from finding it. As I watched now, a couple who looked to be about my age walked down the block, confidently opened the door, and entered.

I followed them inside, which was just as dusty as I’d expected and also dark. I didn’t mind the lack of light, but the dirt did bother me. I perused one of the racks of albums but only with my eyes, because I didn’t want to use even my fingertips to touch anything.

“What the hell do you want?”

I quickly looked around, but the question had been directed at the couple who had come in before I did.

“Hi!” the girl called happily. “We’re just here to browse.”

“You think I want to waste my day watching you sticky-fingered youths?” he demanded and I clearly heard anger in his voice.

To my surprise, the couple laughed as if he’d made a funny joke. They returned to flipping through another rack and got very excited by something they found there. They browsed for quite a while and accumulated a pile of records, which they stacked on the counter in front of the old man who had been so rude to them.