This summer is the first summer I've run heavily since then. It's different now. Then it was an escape. Now it's just part of a routine. I take that same route I did the first time I went. Right past my house, past the school, through the town's one stoplight, past Chellie's diner, and through Peters Paradise Orchards to their slice of the lake. I feel good today, so I strip down to my gym shorts, tuck my socks into my sneakers and drop my t-shirt over them.

Slowly, I walk out to the edge of the dock. I take it all in for a few seconds and dive in. The cool water surrounds me, swallowing me up like a hungry giant. I don't stay under for long. I don't like water in my ears. So, I break the surface and tread for a little while, enjoying the cool relief the water offers before I pull myself back on the dock. I lie face up, closing my eyes. Even then, the sun shines brightly through my eyelids. I close them tighter until I see black and take deep breaths. My arms fall to my sides, two dead fish landing with a small spray of water and a thud. The sun steals the little beads of water from my skin that was keeping me cool and replaces them with rays of heat.

I open my eyes. Not a single cloud in the sky. Nothing but blue, blue, endless blue. I pull myself together. I throw my shoes on but leave my t-shirt and socks. I'll be back for them some time or another. I check my phone and my time. 7:05. I've got 10 minutes to run two miles. 7:15, that's my limit. My personal best is just under 12 minutes. I'm never gonna make it.  I know what that means.

"You're late." I walk through the front door. 7:16.

"Dad, come on, it's a minute," I argue, but I know it's useless. I'm only stalling.

"I don't care if it's a minute or an hour. I said 7:15 and when I say 7:15 I mean-"

"7:15, I know."

"If you know, then how come you're late?"

"Can I at least change my shorts first?"

My dad nods.

"Two minutes," he says.

He opens up the door and closes it, disappearing to our front yard. I can just picture him out there. Arms crossed, serious face, a baseball hat pulled tightly over his eyes, legs shoulder-width apart, whistle around his neck. Waiting for me...shoot, guess I better get going.

I jog upstairs, throw on a dry pair of shorts, but don't bother to find a shirt. It's hot. Too hot for a shirt. Socks. I need socks, I left the pair I was wearing at the lake. I pull on a pair of socks, shove my feet into my sneakers and get outside as fast as I can. My dad's waiting for me just as I imagined.

 I swear, my dad never used to be this bad. I mean, yeah he's always been a neat-freak and punctual beyond the point of normality. And he's always been competitive and strict, but he's never been like this.

"Ready?" My dad asks as we take our respective spots. 

Me on the edge of the grass. My dad leaning against the red fire hydrant outside our house. I take a deep breath and nod. I dig in a little and turn my head towards my dad, waiting.

"To the tree and back. Four times. I'll give you ten seconds and we'll do it again." 

Tweet. He blows his whistle.

I run as fast as I can, cutting through the air, digging into the grass. The tree is about 20 yards from me. I get closer and closer to the tree until I reach out and touch it. One. I don't feel a thing. Two. My legs start to burn. Three. I start to lose my breath. I slow up. Four. I stop.

"Not bad," My dad says, staring at his watch. I lean over, using my knees to support my upper body. "I think you can do better." 

Tweet.

I go again. One. I'm tired. Two. I don't think I can do it. Three. My dad yells that I'm slowing down. Oh, really? I think. I speed up. Four. I'm done.

I collapse on the grass.

"I'll get you some water," my dad says. "Good job."

I chug the water my dad gets me and then crawl over to the tree for some shade.

I sit there for a couple of minutes before I catch a glimpse of Kiersten's ridiculously long dark- chocolate brown hair swishing out of her front door and down her steps. As she walks towards me the rest of her pulls together. Her tiny frame and short little legs topped off with a pair of cutoffs and an old white t-shirt. Her porcelain skin that never tans, but will never fail to burn if she doesn't slather herself with a gallon of sunscreen. Her giant dumbo ears (her words not mine) that she hates. That mole right under her left eye that she also hates. Big Bambi eyes as blue and endless as the sky above me. Sweet sunny smile. This is Kiersten Shultz.

"Hey," I say and pour the last little bit of water my dad gave me down my throat.

"How late were you?"

I smile. Kiersten knows all about my runs and sprints.  Not only because she's my neighbor and sees most, if not all of it, first hand, but also because I tell her all about it. She calls it complaining, but she's wrong about that. I'm not complaining. Just relaying the message.

"A minute," I say and Kiersten smiles.

"7:15 means 7:15."

I roll my eyes.

"Not you too."

Kiersten laughs lightly and her eyes dart to my hair.

"Is that sweat?" She says with a laugh. 

I run my hands through my soaked hair. Yep, definitely sweat.

"I'm working hard!" I yell jokingly. "You gotta sweat to be the best."

"Are you tired?"

"Am I tired?" I laugh. "What kind of question is that? I just ran four miles then came back and did sprints."

I shake my head.

"Whatever, Matty. I thought I'd invite you to the lake, but I guess I'll just go by myself."

I am tired, but I'm never too tired to hang at the lake with Kiersten. I could swim to China and back and I would still say yes. 

"No no, I'll go."

"Are you sure?" She says and slumps her body just a little. 

"Of course."

"Okay," she says and perks up with a big smile. "Let's go!"

She jumps right up but I don't move. Even though I've been sitting here for a while now my legs still feel like lead.

"Come on," Kiersten encourages me.

She takes my arm and pulls with all of her body weight to try to get me up. Unfortunately, Kiersten's body weight is not a whole lot. 105 pounds, 110 at the most. And she's definitely no taller than five feet. My shoulder just barely nudges forward. Eventually, she gives up and throws my arm back at me. She puts her hands on her tiny hips and glares at me, jokingly, of course.

"Are you coming or what?" She says.

I sigh and force myself up on my feet. Kiersten smiles real big and hops in the direction of the lake. From the porch swing, my dad smirks at the sight of Kiersten pulling me down the street.

"Morning, Mr. Purdy," Kiersten shouts happily and waves to my dad. "We're going to the lake."

"Okay," My dad says with a friendly smile that he never seems to give me anymore. I always thought my dad liked Kiersten more than me.

Kiersten practically skips to the lake. Me, I just walk. When we get there, Kiersten lands herself on the edge of the dock and drops her feet in. A few seconds behind her, I do the same thing. The water's warmer than it was this morning, but I have no intention of swimming. I had my share of exercise already.

Kiersten kicks the water around, testing it, and then stands up. I try not to watch as she peels off her t-shirt and shorts. Even though over the years I couldn't even count the number of times I've seen Kiersten in a bathing suit. And she's undressed, I guess if that's the right word, in front of me like that as many times. But still, it seems weird. So I keep my eyes on the water until she's done. When I do look over, I have to keep my jaw from falling open. She's in this bright yellow strapless bikini. Never in my life have I seen Kiersten in a bikini, let alone a strapless one. She's had the same plain black Adidas one piece since we were kids.

"Is that new?" I ask, hoping to God I don't look like a drooling idiot.

It's not like I've never seen a girl in a bikini before. Alabama summers are hot, and it's in no way out of the norm for girls to be walking around in bikini tops and daisy dukes. I mean, yeah, I look, but I don't think much of it. They're just girls. But this is different. Kiersten isn't any old girl. Kiersten is Kiersten. Her smile, her pretty blue eyes, her airy giggle, how easy it is to talk to her for hours, man, everything about her is literally perfect. 

But she's been my best friend since we were six-years-old. Emphasis on the friend. I doubt I'm as perfect to her as she is to me.  

"Mmhmm," she says. "I saw it in my latest issue of Seventeen magazine. My mama said she'd buy it for me as long as I promised not to tell my dad. Isn't it cute?"

I look away and hope Kiersten doesn't see my cheeks flush at the question. Of course, I think she looks cute. I think she looks gorgeous. But I can't say that. Nothing says I'm secretly in love with you like gushing about how good she looks in a bikini. I need to take some corrective action, here. 

"It doesn't seem very practical."

Kiersten laughs and drops her t-shirt onto her shorts and shoe pile.

"You're such a boy," she says with a roll of her eyes.

"Sorry?"

"Not everything is about being practical," Kiersten said. "Especially when you're a girl."

"I guess, but isn't the whole point of a swimsuit so that you can, you know, swim in it."

"You wouldn't understand," Kiersten said, shaking her head. 

Kiersten looks down and seems the slightest bit hurt. She sits down next to me again and we don't talk. I might have overcorrected. 

"I like it," I say after I think about it for a couple of seconds.

"You don't care," Kiersten says.

"Sure I do. It's cool. I like it, I really do," I say as I try to think of a good compliment.

I think back to what her girl friends have said when they tell her they like her outfit and go with that.

"The color really suits you." 

"The color really suits me?" Kiersten asks, holding back a laugh.

She can see right through me. She knows I don't know anything about color and that I'm only repeating what her friends say. 

"Oh come on," I say with a smile. "I'm trying to give you a compliment." 

Kiersten stifles her giggles and refrains from poking fun at me. She knows I mean well. 

 "Okay, I'll accept it."

With that Kiersten gets up and faces her back towards the lake. She looks behind her, making sure she's at the right distance. She takes a few baby steps backward, then flashes a quick smile at me. She bends backward, her back arching painfully, well for me to watch, not for her to do, until her palms are flat against the dock. She steadies herself in a bridge position then kicks her legs up over her head and with a tiny splash, she drops into the water feet first.

A few seconds later, her head pops up from the water. She's got this cute little smirky grin on her face. She doesn't have to say a word, because I already know what she's thinking. How's that for practical?