Parallel

bell rings.
    “So who all is going?” he asks. He, unlike me, appears to be in no hurry to get to his next class.
    “The whole senior class, practically,” I tell him, willing his pencil to move faster. “Well, except the hermits.”
    “The hermits?”
    “The people who never go out.” I watch the clock on the wall behind him. Forty seconds till the late bell. Forty seconds to get from the A Hall all the way to the newspaper lab at the end of G. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late.
    “I meant with us,” Josh says, finally handing me the paper. “You said ‘we’ll’ pick you up. Who’s the ‘we’?”
    “Oh. Right. I don’t think you know any of them,” I say distractedly as I move toward the door. When is it acceptable to break into a run? “So I’ll see you later?” I’m out the door before he can respond.
    Despite the fact that I haul ass to get there, I’m still late to sixth period. I mumble some excuse about having to stay after class for astronomy (not technically a lie), then slide into my seat, where I spend the rest of the period mentally rehashing my conversation with Josh while pretending to review page layouts for the Oracle ’s next issue.
    As soon as class is over, I sprint to Caitlin’s car. She emerges from the building a few minutes later, balancing a ridiculous stack of textbooks. “Don’t you have cross-country practice?” she asks when she sees me.
    “I wanted to talk to you first. About tonight.”
    “Can we ride and talk?” She drops the books into her trunk, then nods at the growing line of cars waiting to exit the parking lot. “Keep in mind that I use the term ‘ride’ loosely.”
    “Sure.”
    We get in. Caitlin pulls out of her primo parking space and joins the stalled exit line, then looks over at me. “So, tonight. What’s up?”
    I try to sound casual: “I invited Josh to go with us to Ilana’s party.”
    “Who’s Josh?”
    “Josh Wagner. Astronomy Boy.”
    “You invited Astronomy Boy to go with us to a party we’re not actually attending. Interesting strategy. Shall I bring the boyfriend I don’t actually have?”
    I shoot her a look. “Ignoring that. So will you drive? And can we take Tyler, too?”
    “Why do I have to go?”
    “Because I told him a bunch of us were going.” Caitlin just looks at me. “He hesitated when I invited him! I wasn’t sure what it meant.”
    “Of all the things you could’ve invited him to, you picked this?”
    “I don’t know where it came from!” I moan. “I opened my mouth and . . . blah . There it was.”
    We’ve finally reached the main road. The crossing guard stops us to let street traffic pass. “Am I taking you to the field house or are you getting out here?” Caitlin asks.
    “Getting out here,” I say, already pushing open the passenger door. “We don’t have to stay long. We’ll go, we’ll see how lame it is, and we’ll leave. Okay?”
    “You realize how ridiculous you are, right?”
    “See you at seven forty-five!” I blow her a kiss and shut the door.
    Cross-country practice is predictably brutal. Our first meet is next Thursday, so we started fast-paced runs yesterday. Which means unless I want to sit through Coach P’s annoying Tortoise Only Wins in the Fairy Tale speech, I have to really push myself.
    It’s a rough six miles, especially in eighty-degree weather, but it feels good to turn my brain off for a while, to focus on nothing but my breath and the steady, calming sound of my sneakers hitting the asphalt. Running is the one thing I can count on to quiet my unceasing inner monologue. If I couldn’t run, I’d probably overthink myself into a nervous breakdown.
    The mental quiet never lasts. By the time I pull into the driveway after practice, my brain is cluttered again. Astronomy Boy. Astronomy homework. AP Calculus test on Monday. Northwestern application. Northwestern application essays. The SAT. Astronomy Boy. Astronomy Boy. Astronomy Boy.
    My mom is in the kitchen, sorting the mail.
    “You’re home early again,” I say, dropping my bag on the table.
    “Am I?” she says distractedly. “I was up to my eyeballs in flooring bids for the damaged wing. I had to get out of there.” She looks up. “How was your day?”
    “Good,” I tell her. “Except for the part where I blatantly asked the new guy out on a date.”
    Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. “Lucky new guy.”
    “Yeah, I’m not so sure he thinks so,” I reply. “When I asked him, he