Until I Lose my Breath | REWRITE COMING SOON

chapter one

Seven Years Ago

Lizzy's hands are tight around my own, tugging me forward with her whole body. "Come on, Beck," she begs, "we gotta run."

My breaths are short, shallow. "Do we have to keep running?"

"C'mon, he already got Sammy!" She tugs harder, and I'm stumbling along behind her in the dark October night. The leaves underfoot are too soggy to crunch—a result of last night's rainstorm. The knees of my jeans are muddy. I was hiding behind Lewis' dad's boat when Lizzy found me and told me we had to go. That we were the only ones left.

We crossed from Lewis' backyard across Mrs. Perkin's, into Sammy's and then into mine. There's a rule that we can't cross the street, leaving us with nowhere else to go. But I still come to a complete stop before the next property over.

"Lizzy," I whine, "do we have to?"

Lizzy gives my hand a firm squeeze. "Come on, it'll be fine. Donovan Ross is just a stinky boy."

"But what if he's waiting for us here?"

"No way. I saw him get Sammy in Mrs. Perkin's yard, and then Lewis screamed like a girl behind us. We just gotta hide somewhere new." Her head whips around, scanning through the dark for some place we miraculously, somehow, have never thought of before.

"But I hate running. Maybe he ran around the fronts of the houses. Maybe he's just waiting there. Maybe he—"

"You think too much," Lizzy says, squeezing my hand again. I'm too scared to squeeze back, but I like it when she does that. "C'mon, let's go hide in his window well, and we'll—"

Swift footsteps patter through the dark. An invisible force pushes Lizzy forward into me. I jump back. "I tagged you!" Sammy yells, running backward and pointing. I can barely see his outline in the far off light of the Ross' back porch. "You're a zombie now!"

Lizzy reaches down for her flip flop and throws it at him. "Sammy! You aren't supposed to tag me! You promised!"

"But I'm a zombie. Zombies don't have friends."

"Or brains," Lizzy says, crossing her arms. "You suck. Ugh, whatever. You know what that means, Beck."

I'm already taking a few steps back, but I know there's no point. "I ... won?"

"Come here!" Lizzy cries, trying to run forward with only one flip flop. I turn and run, no questions asked. I can hear her shout behind me, "SAMMYYY! GIVE ME MY FLIP FLOP BACK!"

I hate being chased. I'm not very fast on my own. I came in last place at the 4th grade track meet last spring, and I always get to Sammy's house last whenever his mom offers us all ice cream. I don't mind waiting. But being chased? Nope. Nope. Nope.

I'm kind of fast when I'm scared. I've got my good sneakers on too, the ones Clary told Dad to get me for gym. They're a little too big right now, but my feet have left indents in the memory foam already, so I don't trip and fall like the first few games of night tag we all played together.

My legs are tearing up the wet grass beneath me, the droplets I send flying wetting my calves as I tear across my lawn, then Sammy's, then Mrs. Perkins, before finally landing back at Lewis' backyard. My heart is pounding. I hate running. I hate running. I. Hate. Running.

It's not even the running, although it sucks butts. It's the being chased thing. I don't like it, especially when it's pitch black outside, the only light coming from back porch lights and Sammy's mom's giant Halloween decorations.

Sammy and Lizzy are shouting behind me. Maybe I can hide somewhere? Where's Lewis? No, no, where is Donovan? He's way scarier. Lewis is nice. He shares his snacks with me at snack time. Donovan just calls me stupid. Clary says he's a sexist pig. I agreed, after she explained it, because yeah. He's sexist. And a pig.