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to join the cross-country team out of the blue, on my first day in town, suddenly felt ridiculous. My stomach fluttered. Stupid.
    I swung my legs out of bed and walked over to the pile of running clothes I had laid out the night before. Groggily I pulled on my shorts, aware that they were old and faded, just like the tank top I put on next. I sighed and tucked the red pendant that hung from my neck into it. When I bent to tie my shoes and got a good look at their cracked leather and balding soles, I resolved to get new everything before the next practice. Then I thought of Ashley and wondered if Prada made running clothes.
    “See ya, hon! Have a good one!” my dad called. I heard the back door shut.
    “Bye,” I said to the quiet of the house. In the kitchen he’d left a bowl of steaming oatmeal and a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. I looked at the clock, shoveled a few bites into my mouth, and then grabbed the twenty and my keys and headed out the door. Our VW bus that had looked so perfect in front of the cottage now stood, slightly rusty and a little pathetic when I thought of rolling into the Coast High School parking lot. I dismissed the thought, annoyed at myself that I was already caring about what a bunch of people I had never met would think. It would be hard not to, though, if Ashley was any indication. I started the engine and crawled up the hill to the PCH, reminding myself that it didn’t matter—that I had friends back home who were real, down-to-earth people. I just wished I could take them with me. Once on the highway, with the windows rolled down and the music cranked up, I started to feel a little better. Enough to even entertain the thought that joining the team could be a good thing. I didn’t exactly want to spend my entire junior year alone.
    The only car in the parking lot was a sparkly pearl white BMW. Had to be Ashley. Or everyone here was descended from privilege. I shook my head and parked my bus right next to it, kind of my own little statement—no use disguising the gulf between our backgrounds. As soon as I cut the engine, the passenger door of the BMW swung open, and Ashley waved excitedly from the driver’s seat. I waved back, relieved it was her, and got out.
    “Hey! I hope you don’t mind, but I told you that practice started a half hour earlier than it actually does, because I wanted to make sure we got to talk first.
    Get in. I got you a coffee.” She held up a Starbucks cup. “I read that Lance Armstrong totally drinks coffee before a workout because it gives you a big boost. If we drink it now, it should be perfect timing for our run.”
    As I had done the day before, I smiled and held back the laugh at the back of my throat. “Thanks.” I took the coffee, ducked into the door, and sank into soft white leather. The inside of the car was warm and smelled like the perfume section of a department store.
    “I got it skinny, just so you know.”
    “Skinny?”
    “You know, nonfat milk, sugar-free vanilla?” she said nonchalantly. “Anyway, you didn’t eat breakfast, right, because this will be our first calorie-burning run.”
    “Nope,” I lied. “Nothing but fat to burn here.” I patted my stomach, wondering if it pooched out at all.
    “Good.” She looked in the rearview mirror as another car pulled up. I was relieved that it was a nondescript black something-or-other. “Oh, that’s Jillian.
    She’s supposed to be really fast. Her sister was faster, though, but she died in a car accident a few years ago.” She pulled a tube of mascara out of her purse and began applying it in the rearview mirror. “So. Sad.”
    “How do you know all this? I thought you were new.” I eyed Jillian as she got out of her car. She was average-looking—brown hair in a ponytail, regular running clothes, serious expression, confident walk. Nothing out of the ordinary. It made me wonder how I looked to people who knew about my mom.
    “New to the school . I’ve lived here all my