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life. My brother graduated from here last year. He ran for them.” She finished with her mascara and moved on to a tube of lip gloss. “He talked to Coach Martin yesterday, and he’s expecting us.”
    “What’s he expecting?” I picked nervously at the edge of my plastic coffee lid. Before I finished my question, a white truck pulled up. The driver was a man, midforties, who wore a baseball cap and sunglasses. Ashley shoved her lip gloss into her bag.
    “That’s him. Come on!” She squeezed my leg and hopped out of the car, waving to Coach Martin like he was a long-lost friend. He didn’t look up from whatever he was fumbling with on the seat of his truck. I sighed and put my coffee cup in the holder, then swung my legs out of the car.
    A few more cars had pulled up, and girls—juniors and seniors, I assumed—got out and greeted each other. It was easy to see which ones hadn’t seen each other in a while by the enthusiastic hugs and instant chatter. None of them wore makeup like Ashley, and that made me feel better, like I might actually be in the right place. Like she might be the one who was out of place. Girls miled around in twos and threes, absently stretching and shaking out their legs as they talked. No one said anything to us.
    It was earlier than I wanted to be awake, but I was abuzz with nervous energy. I kicked my foot up behind me and stretched my quad. Ashley, who stood next to me in hot pink running shoes and an outfit to match, looked over and did the same. Almost. When she grabbed her foot, she wobbled for a split second before using me as her last hope to avoid hitting the asphalt of the school parking lot. We both went down with a thud, and Coach Martin finally looked at us. He walked over casually.
    “Miss Whitmore. This must be your friend I heard about.” He looked directly at me. “What’s your name?” It felt like a trick question.
    “Anna Ryan. I just moved here from up north. I, uh …” I fumbled, not sure if I should add more. He stared, waiting for me to finish. I had been right about the midforties guess. Silver hair peeked out from under his hat, and I was sure that if he’d taken off his glasses, his eyes would have shown his age. In any case, he had an athletic build that looked like he meant business. “I …”
    Luckily, he rescued me. “You want to run, right?” I nodded. “Well, let’s see what you can do. Miss Whitmore, I’ll be watching to see what you can do too.” His voice carried a note of sarcasm that set off a few knowing glances among the girls. I watched, trying to get a read on whether those glances applied to me by default, since I’d showed up with Ashley. Nice as she was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be put in the same category they’d probably decided she belonged in.
    Coach Martin turned to the group of runners now gathered in front of him, and stood silent until everyone settled, all eyes on him. “Ladies, welcome to Hell Week. Double days this week, Monday through Friday. You’ll take a break over the weekend, then our kickoff meet will be at the end of the first week of school. This morning we’ll be running Poles.” He pointed to the ridge behind him.
    Stifled groans rippled through the group. “You’ll go out together on the first mile, but once you get to the hill, I want to see what you can do. It’s your chance to make the first impression of the year. All of you.” His eyes flicked to me and Ashley, and I felt his challenge knot up in my stomach. Clearly, he (and the rest of them) thought we were a joke. I willed the knot down, like I always had, breathed deeply, and resolved to prove him wrong. He gulped his coffee.
    “Now get stretched out. You have five minutes.”
    Everyone backed into a large circle, and Jillian led us through a series of stretches that I did without focus as I eyed the hill that loomed above us. I had actually always liked hill runs, because you had to run up them hard and fast or else the hill beat you.