When he got older, Kyle worked concessions there on weekends and would sneak me in. That weekend in September, we had just started senior year. We were watching Forrest Gump at the drive-in, and during his favorite part, when Forrest decides to run across the country for no apparent reason, Kyle whispered in my ear, “Marry me?”

We were in love, and I didn’t want to lose him, but I couldn’t imagine getting married before going to college. My mom has been working as a cashier at the Quick Pick since before I was born—my dad ran off when I was little—and I wanted more for myself. If Kyle could have had his way, he would’ve moved in and had babies with me the week after we graduated.

“We’ve talked about this,” I replied with a shaky voice. “You know I’m not ready.”

He slowly pulled his hand out of his jeans pocket. Was there a ring in there?

“You’re saying no?” he whispered.

“I can’t. You know I want to—”

“If you wanted to, you’d say yes!”

“Kyle, I want to wait until I’ve gone to college and have a job—”

“I’ll take care of you!”

“That’s not what this is about—”

“Either you love me and want to marry me, or we’re over—”

“How can you put me in that position?” I cried.

He felt so betrayed, so hurt, that he broke up with me.

And I missed him so much, my stomach twisted up and it hurt to breathe. Pizza tasted like broccoli. Music hurt my ears. I didn’t know what to do between classes. Who was I supposed to walk with? My bulletin board had long since morphed from pictures of me and Kelsey playing with our moms’ makeup to me and Kyle snuggling and kissing. Who was I supposed to say good night to before I went to sleep?

At the same time, the breakup really pissed me off. How dare he throw away three years just because I wasn’t ready for marriage? Why couldn’t he respect my dream of going to college, getting a job where I could make money, maybe buying a house one day? I didn’t want to live in a trailer all my life.

Sometimes when I would talk about college, he’d get a sad but happy face. Like a wince when you have an ice cream headache: it hurts so bad, but the taste is so good. Mom said he might’ve proposed because he was desperate to hold on to me—he was scared I’d forget him when I left for college. I hated her saying that. I would’ve kept dating him! Other than working at the Roadhouse, doing my homework, and reading thrillers about hot FBI agents and lady CEOs that partner to solve mysteries, he’d been my whole life for three years. Besides, he dumped me. Why would he do that if he wanted to hang on to me? None of it made any sense.

A month later, he was gone. He never got to run his marathon. I was alone. And for a while, Mom rocked me to sleep every night like when I was a baby, but then she started pushing, wanting me to go out with my brother and his friends. I could barely sleep through an entire night or do my homework, and she wanted me to go shopping with her?

That’s when I blew up.

“He’d still be here if it weren’t for you!” I screamed, even though it wasn’t true. “If you hadn’t pushed me into wanting to go to college, I would’ve said yes to his proposal. It’s all your fault he’s gone!”

The blood left Mom’s face. She slammed her coffee mug into the sink. In all my life, I’d never seen her cry like that, the tears streaming down her face.

My brother rushed into the kitchen, ordered me to get out of the house for a while, and hugged Mom long and hard. When I came home from my walk up to the empty basketball court on Spring Street, passing a bunch of barefooted little girls playing tag, Mom had gone to work, and the relationship we’d had was gone too.

I knew what I’d said was a lie. I wanted college for me just as much as my mother did. I didn’t mean to lash out… And now I don’t know how to get back to what we once had. How could she forgive me? I blamed her for my loss. For something that was completely my fault.

It’s my fault he’s gone…

I cringe at the memories.

I wish I could run from them.

•••

Every Saturday night, I wait tables at Davy Crockett’s Roadhouse.

I work a couple nights during the week and Sunday brunch too, but Saturday is the big date night in Franklin. It’s the night when I make nearly all of my money, which I desperately need for college and gas. I wiped out the $600 I had to buy new tennis shoes, running clothes, and the first two months of training dues. Matt’s program costs $200 per month, which Nick said was outrageous, but considering I get a gym membership and all the Gatorade, energy bars, fruit, and candy I want at the trails on Saturdays, I think it’s worth it. Not to mention I get the support and expertise of a guy who’s run over thirty marathons and is a certified personal trainer. That’s a billion times better than flailing around the school track by myself.