. . . a shortcut
It wasn’t worth a pizza. It wasn’t worth two pizzas, even with the extra cheese and loaded toppings, and garlic knots on the side. Nothing is worth getting up at five in the morning to meet a bunch of strangers in the Old Town and go for a run.
‘You talking to me yet?’
Noah sidles up to me, the hair on his calf brushing against my skin as he stretches. I don’t dare look his way. I’m too angry. The sun is barely up! Why on earth should I be?
‘Can’t talk. Shouldn’t even be awake,’ I huff.
He lets out a warm laugh. ‘Well, you’re going to have to talk eventually. First to forgive me, then to meet lucky date number nine.’
I scour the crowd of bright and alert presumed-sociopaths, all stretching around us in their skintight athleisure sets.
They’re all gorgeous, put together, with lean, athletic builds and the kind of smiles that radiate utter contentment.
It makes my stomach sink and my shoulders hunch further into the billowed sleeves of the baggy gym shirt Noah let me borrow.
I did my best with what I had, knotting it at the front and fashioning a vaguely stylish attempt at a crop top, but even my slither of stomach doesn’t save me from sticking out from this crowd like a sore, and soon to be sweaty, thumb.
I even slicked back my hair for a serious athletic look.
Then we got outside, I felt a small, pestering mist of a rainfall, and I knew the gel would loosen by the time we reached our destination.
I’ve done what I can, smoothing it back down with my fingers, but my frizz cannot be stopped even at the best of times.
‘No one’s going to take me seriously,’ I say.
He does a quick scan of my face. ‘Of course they will – you look great.’
‘Noah, I’m in Converse.’
It’s enough to shut him up as we both take a moment of silence to look down at my inappropriate footwear.
‘Okay, you don’t look like a runner, per se, but you do look very cute! And this club is for all skill levels.’
I can’t help but snap at him. ‘You keep saying that, but no one else here looks like a beginner.’
They’re all laughing and stretching, smiles as bright as the annoyingly persistent 6 a.m. sun. It’s incredibly social, oddly so when you factor in the time.
‘Do all of these people know each other?’ I ask.
‘Nope, strangers. I recognise a couple of people from yesterday morning, but most are brand new . . .’ He looks around.
‘And they just . . . talk to each other like that?’ I feel my nose turning up.
He chuckles. ‘That will be you soon.’
I survey the crowd, an overwhelming dose of nerves flooding my body. My arms start to tingle with goosebumps again. I cross my arms and try to subtly warm them, but based on Noah’s prying eyes it isn’t subtle enough.
‘We could approach people together?’ he says. ‘Pick a person. I’ll make the first move and bring you in after.’
I’m fretting. ‘And leave me alone? No. What if someone comes up to me and starts yapping?’
‘Have you forgotten the reason you’re here or are you suddenly very into the running part?’ he asks, confused.
A klaxon sounds at the front and the scattered group of strangers rush to gather round the host as she spouts a few peppy words, first in Czech and then in English.
Noah listens closely, nodding and laughing along, but I’m too busy searching for a target.
I need someone smiley, approachable, enthusiastic, but not so enthusiastic that I’ll have to sprint.
Someone who won’t mock my Converse and will happily drop to the back of the line.
The host ends with one definitive clap and suddenly the group springs to life, the sea of bodies hurtling forward at pace. I move with them, startled as my canvas-clad feet topple over each other clumsily in an attempt to keep up.
‘How you doing?’ Noah asks, dropping back at my side.
He’s doing his best to pretend this is his regular pace, but I can see him holding back.
I’m not sure what he’s doing would even constitute as a jog.
I open my mouth to answer and immediately clamp it shut.
There’s nothing coming out but my hot, exasperated breaths.
My lungs feel like raisins, my forehead’s clammy and my soles are already sore.
I grab my phone and flash the time up. It’s been seven minutes.
‘I thought you said there’d be beginners,’ I say in stilted, breathless pants.
‘There are! See that girl in blue up front? Yeah – there. She said this is the first time she’s ever been on a run!’
I glance way, way up ahead and catch sight of her glossy auburn ponytail swinging jovially as she moves.
‘That girl leading the pack?’ I ask.
‘Crazy, right? She’s a natural,’ he says in awe.
I glance to his side and watch the way his eyes laser into her. His smile stretches widely as he does. I feel a twinge of envy rise up my throat.
‘If you’re so impressed, why don’t you go talk to her?’ I say, panting.
‘Am,’ he says, taken aback.
He slows his jog down some more, barely breaking his stride.
Even as he walks, he keeps time with me effortlessly as I attempt to keep my pathetic excuse for a jog at pace.
I catch a nearby runner clock it too and her attempt to hide her smirk after she sees me staring.
If I didn’t look like an unfit loser before, I certainly do now.
Especially compared to the girl in blue at the front.
‘What? I’m not the only one who needs to find someone and she is clearly more your speed.
Go run up,’ I say, doubling down. I hear the snark in my voice as I speak, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Frankly he’s lucky I’m speaking at all. I should be preserving all my energy for the task at hand.
‘I don’t want to hold you back from the love of your life. ’
I know it’s not fair. I barely even know where it’s coming from, but I can’t stop the way I’m snapping at him.
Between the lack of sleep, the prying eyes, my poor running and Noah’s crush, there’s too much happening for me to muffle my discomfort.
So instead, it’s all pouring out of my mouth and spilling onto Noah and his new perfect woman.
He scoffs with certainty. ‘She’s not the love of my life.’
‘How would you know?’ I ask, voice clipped.
I can’t keep talking and moving. I halt in place, turning to face Noah as he does the same. The gesture, while sweet in intention, just makes my whole plight feel even more tragic. A wave of shame hits me so hard it hurtles me right through to anger.
‘You’re so closed off to the possibility of actually opening up that you won’t even try with these women.
That is, of course, unless they’re already taken.
Right?’ The last part flies out of my mouth venomously, shocking even myself.
We grow silent, my chest rising and falling vigorously as I scramble my brain for an apology.
But I can’t speak; I’m all out of breath, let alone words.
He opens his mouth to speak, before dropping his eyes and shaking his head.
‘You’re right. I’ll go chat to her,’ he says eventually.
I gulp, raising my chin. ‘Thank you.’
I feel my heart sink ever so slightly as he runs away, and yearn to catch up and make immediate amends.
But it’s for the best. That random outburst of bitterness is probably a pretty good sign that we need some space.
Plus, I was only holding him back and it’s better that I get through this run on my own.
Although, I don’t feel too alone.
I feel eyes burning my skin and in my peripheral vision find the woman who looked and laughed at me before. She spots me staring instantly, but she doesn’t remotely shy away. Instead, she rises to the challenge, jogging over and flashing me a smile and a raised eyebrow.
‘First time?’ she asks unabashedly.
She matches me step for step, braided ponytail swishing from side to side.
I look down at her shoes – bright white and very high-tech.
The kind of chunky shoes in sports-shop windows that cost a small fortune.
She’s dressed like a pro, controls her breaths like a pro, so why is she lurking at the back of the pack?
‘Promiňte, myslela jsem, ?e jste Angli?an,’ she says.
I stare back blankly. ‘I’m sorry I—’
‘So you are English?’ she presses on.
I nod lightly, then gather all my strength and up my pace, pulling ahead to try to catch her out, but she adjusts effortlessly, never leaving my side.
‘Oh, so you’re just quiet.’ She giggles, watching closely.
‘Try out of breath.’
I stare down at the cobbles, ploughing along and waiting for her to gain traction and leave me to the back of the pack yet again. But as I look up, I catch her still in my peripheral vision. A soft smile resting prettily on her face.
‘What’s your name?’ she asks.
‘Amorie,’ I say breathlessly.
‘I’m Mala.’ She looks me up and down. ‘Shall we take a break?’
‘We’ll lose the group,’ I say, the worry seeping through.
Although it seems like I may already be too late. I glance ahead, noting the rows of coloured buildings, the morning sun seeping through, but no runners. They’re so far gone I wouldn’t know where to turn. My heart drops.
‘They do the same route every day,’ she says breezily. ‘End at this juice bar – I know where it is. I also know a shortcut through the park. We could grab a pastry, maybe still get there before them.’
I object meekly. ‘But . . . the run.’
She gives me a once-over. ‘You don’t look like you really like to run.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘Is it that obvious?’
She smiles back at me. It’s playful, warming. I feel a fizz shoot up my stomach and culminate in a grin. It’s enough to make me slow my near crawl of a jog to a halt, as she mirrors me happily.
Now that we’re stationary I have the opportunity to properly take her in, in all of her glory.
She’s taller than me – toned, yet curvy, with braids running down her back, wearing a set of coral leggings and a matching sports bra.
The colour pops against her smooth, dark-brown skin, the peeking part of her stomach revealing her flat, sculpted midriff.
I try not to stare, but she’s mesmerising – almost too gorgeous for words. Far too gorgeous to be talking to me.
‘Come on, this way.’ She gestures first with her head, then makes her way across the square.
I follow dutifully, trailing a few steps behind at first before mustering up the courage to walk alongside her. She greets me with a smile, waiting for me to catch up, before reaching out her hands at the new greenery around us.
‘Pretty, isn’t it? You missed the cherry blossoms, but the green is still fun and bright. People get so sad when the blossoms fall, but I look forward to it. It’s a reminder that spring’s over to make way for summer. What’s your favourite season?’
She’s chatty. Chattier than me, anyway. It wouldn’t be that noticeable if she didn’t make me so bashful.
‘You don’t talk much, do you? Is it my English?’ she asks without shame or doubt.
‘No, your English is great,’ I quickly assure her. ‘Better than my Czech.’
‘So what is it, then? Are you still out of breath? Here.’
She unhooks a bottle from her carabiner and shoves the water towards me, and while I don’t mean to look at it like a vial of poison, the flummoxed side-eye is most certainly there.
It doesn’t unnerve her – only makes her smile wider as she opens it, takes a dramatic sip for herself and offers it again.
I still can’t seem to speak. I don’t know if it’s the lack of breath or the dazzling, hypnotic look in her eye.
I take the bottle from her, silently sipping as she watches me just as intensely.
My eyes don’t leave hers. Not even as hers not-so-subtly flick down to my lips, pursed around the bottle top.
I keep sipping, glugging, even. I’m drinking all her water.
I didn’t realise how thirsty I was until I started.
It’s almost finished – I should stop, it isn’t even mine!
But I can’t. I’m in too deep. My body begs me to continue.
Eventually I pause for air, handing the bottle back and hoping she doesn’t notice the pathetic dribble left inside, but it’s too late. Her eyebrows raise at the new lightness of the bottle, igniting shock before it melts into something far more amused.
‘You were thirsty,’ she says.
I nod. She giggles again, this time whipping out her phone.
‘Forget the shortcut – I’ll order a car. Let’s go get you something to drink.’