The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

5 - Miss Ohio

In the morning, I awake to Hartley tapping on my forehead. "Come on, sleepy head. It's time to get up."

I roll away from her and groan. "It is not in my best interest to get out of this bed."

"Fine, if you want to forget about your second summer goal, that's okay with me. But—" She drags the word out until she has my attention. "Sully sent me a text about you ..."

I bolt up in bed as her voice trails off. "What do you mean, he sent you a text? What did he say?"

Hartley's already dressed in jogging shorts and a baggy T-shirt, her curly blonde hair piled on the top of her head. "I'm not telling you until you get your booty out from under those covers."

I rub my eyes and swing my legs over the side of the mattress, my gaze moving toward the window. "What time is it, anyway? It's barely even light out."

"Just before five-thirty."

"Five-thirty? But we didn't get home until two!"

She stares at me, her mouth slightly ajar. "You want to lose those chipmunk cheeks, don't you?"

I look away. "Well ... yeah. But can't we get in shape at a decent hour?"

Hartley plops bottom first onto the floor and begins lacing up her running shoes. "Nope. It's now or never. I always run first thing in the morning, that way I get it over with. And if you want your mom's cheekbones before school begins, you'll need to get started right away. The clock's ticking." She taps an invisible watch on her wrist.

I can't argue with her logic. If I want to make some major changes this summer, my cheek-slimming days are numbered. Besides, this way, maybe we'll at least beat the heat. But as soon as I'm dressed and we crawl through her bedroom window, I discover that beating the heat in New Orleans is a next-to-impossible task.

"Why is everything always wet around here?" I hold onto the siding then wipe my hand on my shorts. "Instead of sunscreen, I should have brought a snorkel."

She laughs. "That's the Deep South for you. It's like a soggy sponge."

"And why exactly are we escaping through the window again?" I step onto the black shingles and shield my eyes from the rising sun. "We're only going for a jog."

"My mom doesn't like it when I go running," she says. "She thinks I'm going to get raped and mutilated. This is the murder capital of the world, you know."

No, I didn't know, but those sound like good enough reasons to me. "Um, no offense, but is your neighborhood safe? Because my mom will kill me if I get murdered on my first full day in New Orleans."

Hartley rolls her eyes and maneuvers down the trellis. "Yes, my neighborhood's safe. But worrying about me is like a sport for her."

Speaking of mothers, I still have to call mine. Although, in my defense, Mom hasn't called me either. Maybe she's decided Dad was onto something when he wrote me off.

With one final glance at Hartley's house, we take off down the sidewalk and about fifty steps in, I'm already winded. "How far are we going to go, anyway?" I try to catch my breath. "You remember I'm not a good runner, right?"

"Yes, Gwen. I'm well aware of your athletic shortcomings. I was thinking maybe five miles to start."

"Five miles! I can't run five miles! Are you nuts? I'll die!"

"Well, what were you thinking?"

Honestly, I hadn't given it any thought. "I don't know. Maybe half a mile?" I think that sounds fair since all I really want to do is crawl inside of her freezer and take a nap.