The Fastest Way to Fall(101)

A guy in a hoodie with shaggy blond hair and a tall Black woman with long braids cut through the crowd. “Britta?”

“I’m Britta,” I said warily. Since the race was sponsored by FitMi, I’d been worried all morning that someone would recognize Claire and me.

The man reached out his hand, and I exchanged a quick look with Claire, who shrugged.

“It’s nice to meet you in person. We’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Cord, and this is Pearl.”

“Wes’s friends?”

They both nodded. “I’m glad we caught you before the race. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” I glanced around, wondering if this meant Wes was nearby. I’d talked a good game, even psyched myself up to come that morning after almost turning back three times on the way to the train, but I was panicking. What if I can’t do it? What if I mess up and everyone laughs? What if I finish and everything still feels the same? As a swirl of questions twisted through my head, I knew if I could see him, talk to him, I’d feel better. I glanced behind Pearl and Cord but only saw more people in compression shorts checking their phones and jogging in place.

“First, thank you—you brought a ton of business our way.” He looked over my shoulder to Claire. “Both of you.”

“The last piece you wrote was so touching,” Pearl said in a smoky voice that made me want to listen to her read the dictionary. “It embodied FitMi perfectly. Our users have been sharing it and posting their own lists. Despite the initial scandal, you’ve inspired people.”

“Thank you,” I said, still unsure what they wanted.

“Our VP of communications will reach out to you after the race to offer you a job writing for us. We think you’d be a good voice for FitMi Fitness, and we want to start an online community. We’d like you to head it.”

“Is that a . . . joke or something?”

The two of them exchanged a knowing smile, and Pearl responded first. “Sorry, it’s just that Wes told us you’d say something like that.”

I pulled my arm across my chest to stretch, just to do something with my hands. My nervous energy was making me twitchy. “Wes . . . I don’t think, um. I’m not sure how—”

Cord held up a palm. “Before you answer, read this.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and glanced at his watch. “You have a little time before the race starts.”

I held the note in my hand. What is happening here?

Cord glanced at me, and his mouth twisted into a smile of recognition. “I like the shirt.”

“Good luck with the race,” Pearl said before they walked back through the crowd. After a few steps, she doubled back. “Keep an open mind. I know it’s complicated, but he’s worth it.”

“That was weird,” Claire said after the couple walked away. “What’s in the note?”

I opened it to see Wes’s blocky handwriting.

    Bubs,

You probably feel like you’re not ready, but I promise you are. Get out of your own head. Take off your watch. Listen to our sweet Whitney Houston workout mix and push.

Pearl and Cord told you about the offer—I hope you’ll take it. You could do such good work at FitMi. You’re a talented writer, and you’ll help move our platform to the next level. We need you. I need you.

Keep stretching. It’s about time to start. You don’t need me in order to cross the finish line, but I hope you’ll let me meet you there. I’ll explain everything else after I get to kiss you again, if you’ll have me, that is.

I love you.

Now, go kick some ass.

Wes



“What does it say?” Claire asked, half-heartedly jogging in place. “Is it from your guy?”

I reread the note. I love you. “Yeah, it’s from my guy,” I said. “He’s going to meet me at the finish line.”

A disembodied voice fell over the crowd from the PA system. “Runners, find your starting position.”

Around us, bodies jockeyed for position. I’d planned to move to the rear of the crowd. That’s where the slow runners are. My people. I worried Claire would make fun of me, but she motioned to the back, and we nestled between two elderly women and a couple bickering about going to pee one more time.

The voice came over the loudspeaker again before we could continue our conversation. I expected us all to lurch forward when they started the race, but from the back of the crowd, it was anticlimactic. The wave of people ahead of us started shifting forward, but we were still, waiting for our turn to launch. I observed my fellow runners. The older women next to us and the middle-aged couple—they forwent the extra pee break—had all trained, too. I felt a sudden soulful kinship with the back of the starting line crowd. We can do it. I wanted to shout out, to lead them in a cheer.

Claire had to yell to get her voice above the din of the waiting crowd and the Top 40 music blaring from the speakers. “Did you say he’s waiting for you at the finish line?”

“Yeah.”

Our area opened, and we started a slow jog along with the masses.

“I guess you’d better finish,” Claire said before popping in her earbuds.

I popped in my own and hit play on my workout mix. “I guess I’d better.”