I thought Sasha looked like an angel most when she was running. The stroke of her legs exuded grace and her arms pumped like the ethereal flapping of those white, weightless wings. She was powerful, strong, she could do anything, go anywhere, beat anybody. I leaned up against the fence that surrounded the track and watched her, entranced with my new beginning and the rhythm of her feet.
It was a glorious day. The sun was high in the sky and breaking through the clouds with a ferocity and warmth that I was grateful for. Michigan weather was like that. For months and months it would be gray, cloudy, cold and depressing. Then, all of sudden, spring will break through. This week, in May, was our breakthrough week. I could practically taste spring and I could definitely wear a short-sleeved shirt again. I had a scar on my wrist from where I had cut myself, but it was fading, just like that distant, dark time in my life. The next week would be Memorial Day weekend, and then three weeks after that, school would be out for the summer. I had chosen the perfect time to be happy. I climbed the bleachers that overlooked the track and watched Sasha's practice.
"Hey, Loren!" Robbie called from the track. He was a sprinter on the boys' track team, although not so much of a star as he was on the basketball court. Sometimes I went to his track meets, especially since they were Sasha's track meets too. The Girls and Boys' track team had competitions at the same time and unlike Robbie, Sasha was the star. "What are you doing up there?"
