I knew something was wrong that morning. Her bedroom door was cracked open. I saw her stuffing an extra set of clothes into her backpack. “We have practice today?” I asked. We run cross country. I just assumed it was her running clothes.

                Lizzie jumped, zipping the backpack quickly, keeping her eyes down. “No practice. But we might still do some training.”

                “Who?” I asked. She didn’t answer me quickly, so I pushed the door further open. “I’ll pack some shorts and a tank too,” I offered. “If you don’t mind me tagging along.”

                “No!” Lizzie exclaimed. I frowned at her, confused by her vehemence. “Sorry, it’s just…”

                “You want him to yourself, huh?”

                My sister smiled shyly, sadly. “Thanks for understanding, Beth.”

                Yes, my sister’s name is Lizzie, and my name is Beth, and no, neither is short for Elizabeth. This is something we’ve had to answer for our whole lives. Our parents think it’s kind of funny. “I don’t know if that’s good for you, you know,” I said, leaning against her door frame. “He’s not very good to you, Lizzie.”

                She closed her eyes for just a second, but it was long enough for me to see a wealth of pain hiding inside her, trying to spill out. “He just doesn’t know what he wants.”

                “If you say so,” I said. I watched her as she slung the backpack over her shoulder. Something was seriously wrong. She was carrying a weight today that hadn’t been there before. I had heard her crying last night. Her eyes were still a bit puffy. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

                She straightened, shaking her hair away from her face. It’s long and dark and she only pulls it back into a ponytail when she runs. “I’m fine. I promise.” She did not convince me.

                “Well, if you and Andrew do end up training today, just make sure you don’t go down 34. I heard the creek flooded over the road and it’s a mess.”

                “Oh,” she says, with a concerned look on her face. “Okay, thanks for the tip.” She stood at the center of her room awkwardly, staring at me like I was supposed to go away before she could move. Her knees were locked tight. She was chewing on her bottom lip.

                “I gotta brush my teeth,” I said. “Meet you at the car.”

                Lizzie nodded, but she still didn’t move.

                As I moved away, I heard her opening a drawer of her dresser, digging through the clothes. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, wondering the whole time why she was acting so weird. I stare at my face in the mirror, wondering what she sees in Andrew. He’s a cocky little punk. He wouldn’t know manners if they smacked him in the face. He’s been on and off with Lizzie for most of high school. I think I dislike him more the longer they try to make it work.

Andrew also runs cross country. That’s how we all met, two years ago, during my sophomore year. Andrew and Lizzie were both freshman back then, new to the school, new to the team. She decided to try out on my recommendation. We’ve been running together since we were little kids. Mom used to take us down to the shoe store and we would pick the craziest shoes we could find. Running shoes are always crazy looking. I was partial to neon yellow, but Lizzie always liked the pink ones. Bright pink. So pink you could see it in the dark. I think Lizzie fell in love with Andrew the first time she saw him at tryouts. He noticed her shoes and she couldn’t take her eyes off him after that. Andrew needed some convincing though.

It bothered me that she was going to try to run with Andrew this afternoon, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. I finished brushing and wrapped my hair up into a bun on top of my head. I grabbed my backpack and my purse from my room and headed down the stairs to the front door. “Bye!” I called out, to my parents who were probably in the kitchen, making their coffee and toast. I heard a muffled reply from one of them as I headed out the door.

                Lizzie was already inside the car—a real clunker. Dad got me the cheapest car he could find. It’s a 1997 Oldsmobile Intrigue. He bought it from a neighbor for $500. The neighbor, Ms. Perkins, lives four houses away. She’s 84 and had no need for a car anymore. Her daughter drives her wherever she needs to go now.

                I tossed my bags in the backseat and turned the key in the engine. I glanced over at Lizzie. She was chewing on her thumb nail. “Nervous?” I asked.

                She flashed me a smile. “Just a bit.”

                I tried not to snicker, I really did, but it came out anyway. Andrew hasn’t been talking to her, and last time they talked, they’d had a fight. I don’t know what the fight was about, but she came out of the school with tears streaming down her face. That was Friday afternoon. I couldn’t get the story out of her. I let her keep her secrets.

                “Well, if he says no, you should…”

                She interrupted. “He won’t say no,” she says, confidence like steel. “He can’t.”

                “He can’t?” I asked, skeptical. I looked over my shoulder as I backed down the driveway. “What if he didn’t bring any running clothes?” I joked.

                “Beth, please,” she begged. “Just let me try to figure it out on my own.”

                “Okay, sis. You can let this boy drown you if you want.” I smiled at her as I rolled the car to a stop at the sign outside our subdivision. “But you’re better than that.”

                She sunk lower into the passenger seat. “Maybe not,” she muttered.

                We drove to school in near silence. I worried about her the whole way.  

---

                She came into first period—English, our favorite—already looking like she had died of embarrassment. She had plenty of reasons to be embarrassed, I guess, after what happened on Friday. She passed a note to Andrew, but Joey snatched it from him before he could get a chance to read it. And then the boys spent the rest of the day snickering about what it said. I don’t know what she wrote in the note. She didn’t tell me. But she looked like death by the end of the day, and Andrew looked like he could kill somebody. I’m surprised she didn’t call her mom to get her from school. I would have faked sick.

                Anyway, Lizzie came into first period, and when she plopped down in her chair at our usual table there was something about her that felt so wrong. You know how sometimes you get that weird tingling in your guts and some people say it’s a premonition, but other people say it’s the Holy Spirit? I don’t know what it is, but I definitely felt it. That girl was radiating some weird energy.

                “Hey, what’s up?” I whispered. Lizzie gave me this hollow stare. It was kinda creepy actually. “What happened?”

                “Nothing happened, Angie,” she replied. Her voice was as thick as one of those milkshakes you can get from that premium ice cream shop—what’s it called? The Spotted Calf? She looked like she was going cry.

                “Andrew?” I guessed. It was a good guess. It’s always Andrew. She did a little head roll and it was hard to tell if it was a nod or not. “Why you still chasing him, girl? I thought you gave up.”

                “Yeah, but that was before he sent me this,” she said. She pulled out her phone. “Last night.” She showed me the screen. The blue and gray bubbles that held the words I didn’t want to see.

                I still like you.

                I still like you too.

                I want to see you.

                When?

                Tomorrow.

                That was it. There was nothing more. I thought it was weird they didn’t hatch out a plan, or say goodnight or anything else. “You didn’t reply?” I asked.

                Lizzie had tears in her eyes now. “He’s the worst,” she said, and it was another one of those moments when you get the tingles. Maybe it is the Holy Spirit and it was telling me to say something to her. But I just nodded instead. The bell rang before I could think of anything to say, and Lizzie tucked her phone away.

                I studied her while we were supposed to be doing our independent reading. God, she looked awful. I’m telling you, she was in real bad shape that morning. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She was really pale, too, the kind of pale that people are when they’re sick. I tapped her on the shoulder. She snapped her head in my direction. I mouthed the words Are you okay? She just shook her head. That was it! She just shook her head as if that was supposed to be a complete answer.

                I wrote her a note in my notebook while Ms. Langine was recapping the plot of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. Do you have a plan? Then I bumped her on the shoulder.

                Lizzie peered at the page, then shook her head. She glanced at Ms. Langine, then scribbled out a reply. Go for a run.

                Where? My pen scratched across the page.

                I don’t know. Beth said the creek flooded.

                Maybe go through downtown. Stay where people can see you.

                Her whole mood suddenly shifted. She was suddenly really angry about something. He’s not dangerous.

                I know! I just meant…stay where you can be safe. You know, where people can find you. If you need a ride.

                You sound like Beth.

                Why are you mad?

                Lizzie hesitated. I’m not mad at you. That’s what she wrote. Not that she wasn’t mad. She said she wasn’t mad at me. So, she was mad at someone, right? Well, she needed to be a lot more mad at Andrew than she was, in my opinion. He’s been just awful to her. And it wasn’t getting any better. How you can profess to love somebody and then decide to keep breaking their heart is something I’ll never understand. Love isn’t supposed to hurt. That’s what my mom always says.

---

                Lizzie is in my third period, Biology II. It’s mostly juniors and seniors, although I do have one sophomore this year. Lizzie is a top student, usually, but she’s been slipping recently. Normally she would be acing the tests and turning in every assignment without fail. But this month, she’s not been handing in homework, and her last few quiz scores have been in the C range.

                A few weeks ago, I held her back after class. She seemed timid, like she knew she was in trouble. I’ve never seen a girl look more like a dog caught chewing on a shoe.

                “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, Lizzie,” I started.

                She shifted from foot to foot, not meeting my eyes. “I’m okay, Ms. Marston.”

                “You haven’t been performing the way I have come to expect,” I say tenderly. “Is everything okay at home?”

                She still didn’t meet my eyes. “Home is fine,” she muttered.

                I tried to take a different approach. “I’m here to help, Lizzie. You seem…” I searched for a word. I didn’t want to offend her, or pry, but I knew there was something on her mind. She is very bright. There was no reason why she should be getting Cs on the work we were doing. “You seem sad lately. Very sad. And unengaged.”

                She looked up at me, and I could see the biggest cry for help in her eyes. She wanted me to save her from something. I was ready to help her in whatever way I could. “I’m…um…” She faltered. “I’m okay, Ms. Marston. Really. Just a little distracted with…um…cross country.”

                I didn’t believe her. I had seen the desperation bubble to the surface before she stuffed it back down. “You’re sure?” I asked.

                She nodded. “Thanks for checking on me,” she said politely.

                I made a mental note to call her parents. “Okay, Lizzie. But please know, if there is anything I can do to help you,” I paused, searching her face. Her eyes were hiding that hollowness I had seen previously. “Don’t hesitate, okay? I’m here to help. Really.”

                “Thanks,” she said. Her whisper was like the soft brush of paint on a canvas. It sounded like a prayer.

                That was a few weeks ago, of course. That morning…how can I say this without sounding dramatic? I almost sent her to the nurse as soon as I saw her. I’ve had four children. I know morning sickness when I see it. She said she was fine, that she wasn’t ill, but as I watched her trying to swallow her bile, I knew she was lying. She made it through my whole class though. I was surprised she didn’t ask for the hallpass to use the restroom. I wish I had had some crackers to give her. Poor kid.