But I like it. When I’m not running, I’m thinking about it constantly: planning my meals, psyching myself up for the next weekend’s long run, drinking tons of water, icing my sore legs, sleeping. It exhausts me to the point I don’t lie awake staring out my window at the streetlight, hating that I have no strong chest to curl up against anymore. The minute my eyes close at night, I pass out.

I say bye to Matt and limp toward the parking lot. Running Backwards Boy is sitting on the back of a Jeep. Crap. I’m parked right next to him. Luckily he doesn’t seem to notice I’m waddling like a pregnant lady who needs to use the bathroom real bad—he’s fully immersed in texting and listening to something through his headphones.

I hobble over to my tiny red car, a 1984 Audi GT. She’s a piece of crap, but it’s all I could afford on my own. I saved for two years, and I love her. I pop open the hatchback, sit down, and kick off my sneakers. Then I peel my socks off one by one. The foot odor could knock somebody out.

“Damn,” the guy says. Shit, can he smell my feet or something? He slips his earbuds out, stands, and starts rummaging in the back of the Jeep. I expect him to Febreze the area, but seconds later he kneels before me, opening a first aid kid.

Why is he so close to me? My feet stink!

“That is one hell of a blister.”

That’s when I see it. My skin is stretched over a blood blister that’s bigger than a quarter.

“So that’s why my foot was killing me.”

The boy unscrews the top from a brown bottle. “What’s your name?”

“Annie.”

He grins. “Hi, Annie. This won’t hurt.”

“What are you doing?” I blurt, but it’s too late. He’s poured something on the blister. I don’t feel any pain, but there’s some kind of scientific reaction going on. Little bubbles appear, like he mixed baking soda and vinegar together.

“It’s just hydrogen peroxide. I’m cleaning that blister. Or is this some sort of unborn twin attached to you?”

“I do not have an unborn twin.”

“That you know of. Did you ever have this thing checked out? It looks big enough to be an unborn twin.” He lifts my foot by the ankle, staring the blister down. It tickles. Oh my God, my foot stinks and he’s touching me! “Is it okay if I lance it?”

“Do what?”

He reaches into his kit and pulls out a needle, dipping it into a bottle of alcohol.

“Are you a doctor or something?”

“No, are you?” He beams up at me for a sec. This boy might as well wear a nametag that says Trouble. “I’ve been running a long time. I know how to deal with injuries.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the weirdest injury you’ve ever seen?”

“One time I was running a race dressed as Elvis.”

“Elvis.”

“Yeah, Elvis. And I was doing pretty well too, until this other guy dressed as Elvis tripped in a rut and tore a ligament. I helped him until the medics could get to us. Everyone was pretty impressed to see one Elvis treating another.”

I bite into my lip, barely able to contain my laughter.

“I’m gonna lance your blister now,” the guy says. He sticks the needle into my skin and I rear back when it stings. The fluid trickles out as I bite into my hand. It’s about the grossest thing I’ve ever seen, but this guy doesn’t even react. He pours more hydrogen peroxide on it, making more bubbles.

“You want a Little Mermaid Band-Aid?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Disney?”

“I have two little sisters.”

I watch as he bandages the blister, taking notes so I can do this next week when I grow another Manhattan-sized blister. The boy pats my foot when he’s done and stands.

“Good as new.”

His eyes meet mine, and he gives me a little smile, and I find I like the way it makes me shiver even though it’s a rain forest outside. When he brushes the hair off his forehead, I get the sudden urge to do it for him, to push it back behind his ears. Uncomfortable, I turn away from his smile to shut the hatchback, and I’m fixing to make a break for it, away from the shivers and weird want to touch his hair, when Matt stalks over.

“What’s going on here?”

“Just helping Annie with her blister.”

Matt looks at my foot, then motions for the guy to follow him. But they don’t move far enough away—I can still hear them.

“I’ve told you not to hit on my clients,” Matt whispers.

The guy steps back like he’s been slapped. “I just wanted to help.”