“I love you too.” Then we curled up under a patchwork quilt on the couch and watched the Predators’ game. He was a die-hard hockey fan, so he leaped to his feet and cheered when they beat the Blackhawks 2–1 in overtime.

“They won just for you,” I joked.

“They could’ve lost for all I care,” he whispered, softly running his knuckles against my arm. “You made my birthday perfect.”

When I got home later that night, somehow my mother just knew. It must’ve been because I was playing with my necklace—it has always been my nervous tick. She didn’t smile, and she didn’t say anything except that she’d get me a doctor’s appointment.

I’ve always been grateful I could talk to her about anything. But I can’t talk to anyone about this. About how I fooled around with Jeremiah and it seemed different, it scared me, it made me feel like a bad person, it felt great.

But as she searches my face, I get the feeling she already knows.

•••

When I get home, it’s time to work out.

Matt’s exercise schedule is intense. Some weekdays I run five miles. Others I run seven. Sometimes I don’t have to run at all. Today is one of those days. But that doesn’t mean I get to slack off.

Matt told me, “You need to work your heart hard. So even if you’re not running, you need to ride a bike or swim or even go for a walk.”

Since we don’t have a garage, I keep my bike in my room. I bought it used a few months ago, specifically for training, but now I’m thinking I might ride it at college. Biking usually clears my thoughts just like running does. Tonight, however, after a day of shopping and that dreadful hepatitis B shot, I can’t get my mind off leaving home next month.

It’s a sweltering July evening, so hot the minute I step outside with my bike, sweat beads on my forehead. I climb aboard and start pedaling through Oakdale, passing by the basketball court where some of the neighborhood guys are playing a pick-up game.

My knee aches a little each time I pedal. Did I tweak something at yesterday’s personal training session with Matt? I reach into my CamelBak’s side pocket, pull out two ibuprofen, and swallow them.

I turn out onto the four-lane and work my way through town. I wave at Joe as I pass Joe’s All-You-Can-Eat Pasta Shack, where I like to carbo-load on Fridays at lunch before my Saturday long runs. I zip past Madison Street Elementary, where I won the Friendliest superlative at sixth-grade graduation. Even after I graduated there, I would go swing on the swings and twirl around on the merry-go-round. At fourteen, when Kyle and I first started dating and needed our privacy, sometimes we’d go to the playground. I would sit on the swing, he’d twist up the chains and let go, and I’d fly around in a circle, squealing. Then we’d kiss as fireflies flickered on and off in the moonlight like floating Christmas lights.

It’s weird to think that in a month, I’ll be living in Murfreesboro, I won’t be in Franklin, and I won’t be a kid anymore. Leaving elementary school and going to middle school was a big change—I remember freaking out that we wouldn’t have recess anymore. When would I play with my friends? I worried that girls coming from the other elementary schools would tease me about my non-name-brand tennis shoes. I worried about getting my first kiss, shaving my legs, wearing a bra, whether I’d remember my locker combo.

It all seems so not newsworthy now. So much has changed. The idea of leaving my safety net to go to college and being thirty minutes away from my mom is a lot scarier than buying a training bra. Going to college is sort of like starting kindergarten all over again.

What if I can’t find a job in Murfreesboro and I go broke after one semester? What if my grades suck and I lose my financial aid? It’s like the world is open to me, the sky is wide and blue, but clouds are threatening in the distance. I shake my head, push the clouds away.

I drop by the Franklin library for a new book. I decide on a thriller about two Secret Service agents (who are secretly having an affair) who discover the President is having an affair with the Secretary of the Treasury. Oooh, steamy. Then I hop back on my bike and pedal past Sonic, the place where kids from school hang out in the summertime.

“Annie Winters!” Vanessa waves from the back of Rory Whitfield’s pickup truck. I shift into a lower gear and ride up to her. She and Savannah are lounging on the tailgate. Rory and Jack Goodwin are talking with a group of guys from the baseball team. And Kelsey and Colton are arguing over what they should do tonight.

“I want to go to Miller’s Hollow,” she says.