He says his name is Evan Peterson. He works for a private agency that collects old cars. Vintage, he calls them. I think about the old 1973 Dodge Polara that my mom used to have. My anxiety pangs from inside me. This man is talking to me but I'm not hearing anything he's saying. I think for a moment about my medication. Did I take it this morning? I don't think so. I try my best to pay attention to him, to what he wants. He's interested in buying my car. Not sure why because it's a complete lemon, but he offered me $15,000 for it. Apparently there were a limited number of Pacers that were made by AMC and now they're discontinued. That gives it some sort of value, I guess. Either way, he offered me cash on the spot and of course, I accepted. $15,000 is a lot of money for someone like me.

Rowan was absolutely floored by what happened. I mean, I was too, but she was just astonished. It felt good to be acknowledged by her. It gave me some distraction to what has been going on. I offered to buy lunch, after the gym, of course. Rowan offered to drive me there. That was a good trade, considering I just sold my car. Luckily, my apartment was pretty close to the gym so she didn't have much time to grill me about what's been going on. I'm not avoiding it but I don't want to look stupid on front of her. She is my best friend, after all.

She pulls her hybrid car up to the sidewalk, in front of my tiny apartment. I hop out and tell her I'll be out in a flash. In a flash? Where did that corny phrase come from? Flash, like the superhero? No idea. I hop up the steps and unlock all the locks on the door. Once inside, I head over to the bedroom where I slip on some leggings and running shoes. Of course, I keep the band tee because I want everyone at the gym to know what my choice in music looks like. Haha. I pull my hair back into a ponytail and throw on some deodorant. Can't have my pits stinking up the gym. Not completely sure why, but I spritz on some perfume. I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, for a moment. I pull at the bags under my eyes. When did I let myself slip? I used to be fit and confident.

In a rush, so as to not keep Rowan waiting, I make my way into the living room where my small dining room table sits. I could've sworn that this is where I left my laptop. I used it this morning to print out my article, yet, it's nowhere to be seen. Maybe I misplaced it or took it to the office with me? Maybe I left it there by accident while I was talking to Rowan? I reach for my phone. Wait. I dropped my phone while I was running away from that maniac. I'll have to go back and look for it after Rowan drops me off.

I collect my thoughts and go back outside, locking the door behind me. Once in the car, I ask Rowan if I can use her phone. I dial the number for the newsroom and wait as it rings and rings. I was just there a few minutes ago. Why isn't anyone picking up? On the last ring...

"Bellevue Bugle, this is Josh. How can I help you?"

"Hey Josh. It's Harper. Did I leave my laptop at my desk?"

"Wait, who is this?"

"This is Harper. Harper Torres."

I subconsciously raise my voice the second time, as if he's hard of hearing. Rowan gives me a casual side eye, as if I'm crazy for yelling. I guess Josh wasn't hitting on me. He doesn't even know my first name.

"Oh, yes. Sorry about that. I'll check right now. One second."

I wait, somehow knowing that it wouldn't be there, but just needing to check.

"Nope, I don't see anything. Sorry."

"That's okay. Thanks for checking. I'll see you next week."

"Before you go. I looked over the article and it's amazing. I love the way you compared the mayor to Bill Clinton and his secretary to Monica Lewinsky. I have no corrections. It's going to layout now."

"That's amazing. I'm glad you liked it. Thanks Josh."

"No, thank you. Have a good night."

"You too."

I hang up, proud that Josh likes my article but puzzled by my missing laptop. I put Rowan's phone down in one of the cupholders.

"What did Josh say?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought I left my laptop at work, but I guess not. He says I did a really great job on my article though. No corrections. It's going straight to layout."

"Dude, that's awesome! I'm so proud of you! I've always told you that you were an amazing writer. I hope my article turned out to be half as good as yours did."

"I'm sure it's amazing."

We exchange smiles as we pull into the parking lot of the gym. It's filled with mostly Volkswagen GT's (the staple car of the tool that works out while looking at himself in the mirror). At least in Bellevue it is. Rowan grabs her gym bag, and we head to the locker room so that she can change. There is hardly anyone there, probably because it's the middle of the day. Most people are at work. Not us.

She peels off her work clothes, slowly and deliberately. She has no idea that I'm watching her every move. The long, slim lines of her body. She removes her bra and I quickly look away. She's my best friend and I would never want to jeopardize this relationship. But there is something deeper. I want more.

"Done.", she says, stuffing her street clothes into her bag.

I look back at her. She's beaming with excitement, ready to exercise. She's wearing a matching outfit: neon pink sports bra with neon pink leggings, waist high. She's absolutely gorgeous, with the personality to go with it. She's one hell of a best friend and one hell of a woman.

"Great. Let's go.", I reply.

We make our way out into the gym. There are lines and lines of equipment, everything that one could hope for. One that pays $20 a month, anyway. Ellipticals. Treadmills. Stationary bikes. Aerobic steppers. Weight machines. Abdominal crunchers. Everything you need to lose some weight.

Rowan hops on the treadmill first. She cranks it up, pops in her ear buds and starts sprinting. I watch as her long legs take each step with confidence. I mirror her, stepping onto the treadmill and turning it up to match her speed. It isn't long before I need to slow it down. I can feel my lungs popping, my breath wheezing, my legs shaking. I jump off the treadmill, hands on knees, trying to catch my breath.

"Too much for you?"

"No, I'm okay. It's just been a while since I've worked out, that's all."

"Well, we can go if you want. I'm getting kind of hungry anyway."

"No, that's okay. You wanted to come to the gym and I agreed. I'm just going to find another machine."

She looks into my eyes, as if trying to read what I'm thinking. She knows me. She knows me too well.

"I'm serious, Harper. Let's go. I'm hungry. And you know how I get if I don't eat."

She was right. She becomes an absolute bitch if you don't feed her. I mean, next level crazy.

"Okay. If you really want to, we can go."

I know she's doing it for me. I know she really isn't that hungry. But I can't say no to her. There's just something about the look in those emerald green eyes. I can't say no.

I follow her back into the locker room. She lets down her autumn hair, laden with fresh highlights. I know she visits the salon every time her roots start to show, and she has to put on makeup before she leaves the house, but under all that, she's truly gorgeous. I realize I'm staring as she pulls her car keys out of her gym bag.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

And that wit.

"Sorry. Got lost in space for a second. Haha."

"Let's go. I'm starved."

We head out to the parking lot. In my head, I laugh at myself for the total of seven minutes that I spent in the gym. I envied Rowan's figure. But there's not enough time to get into all that. I need to open the car door and get inside. Sometimes I find myself needing to think through my actions. They say that you don't even need to think about most of your movements because your brain already knows what to do. And it sends the signal to your feet or hands, or other appendages, to move on command. This was not one of those times. I needed to notify my brain that I wanted to be seated inside the car.

After consciously opening the door and climbing inside, Rowan and I drive to her favorite restaurant. A small Italian place on 33rd Street. They have the most delicious Veal Parmesan and incredible cannoli. I definitely should not be eating there, since I'm trying to lose weight, but I know she would throw a fit if I tried to talk her out of it. She also knows what I always get, so she'll probably call me out about that too. Am I saying this for me or for her?

I glance down at the tiny analog clock. 11:43. A little early for lunch but I just couldn't say no. It takes a minute or two for Rowan to find a parking spot. It's surprisingly busy but I guess that's the "lunch rush", as the wait staff might call it. We are immediately greeted by a perky, young blonde. Her voice is high-pitched and lilted as she asks us for the number of people in our party.

"2 please.", Rowan says.

"It'll be about a 10 minute wait. Is that okay?"

Realistically, would I have said no? Does anyone ever say no when they're asked that? I mean, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to eat here. Rowan quickly chimes in.

"Of course."

"And what name?"

"Uhh, Wilde."

"Great, Ms. Wilde. I'll call you when your table is ready. Thank you."

There are small benches lining the walls by the entrance with metal feet and red fabric. The fabric is somewhat worn, probably from all the butts. This is where my mind goes on one of its fun tangents. If over 100 people eat here per night and about 20 of those people sit on these seats and the restaurant has been open every night for the last 15 years and these benches have not once been cleaned, then that means that there are approximately a fuck ton of germs. I gross myself out enough that I excuse myself from Rowan to use the bathroom.

I really want to wash my hands but I also want to see how I look in the mirror. A few strands of my hair are falling out of my makeshift ponytail. The bags under my eyes are a little yellow. You can clearly see my double chin. This shirt has a hole in it. I'm definitely not satisfied with the way that I look. I put my hair up again, twisting it into a bun this time. I pull some concealer out of my purse and glop it below my eyes. I promise myself that I won't look down too often, so as to not accentuate my double chin. And I remind myself that when I get home, I need to sew the hole in my shirt.

I find myself obsessing about my appearance. I never used to. And if there's anyone on this planet that I don't need to impress, it's Rowan. She's my absolute best friend of over 15 years, and she's been by my side through everything. When the boy that took my virginity broke my heart. When we got into that terrible car accident. When I found my first love cheating on me with an old friend of ours. She's been there for me through thick and thin, and I am eternally grateful. But, most of all, I love her.

Just as I'm washing my hands, I hear a voice over the intercom.

"Wilde, party of 2. Your table is ready. Wilde, party of 2. Your table is ready."

Rowan pokes her head into the bathroom, clearly excited to eat.

"Hurry up, slowpoke. Our table is ready."

We follow the hostess, who always seems to walk extremely fast or extremely slow, and she sits us in a windowed corner with low light. Kinda romantic, if you ask me. She hands us menus and says, "Paul will be your waiter today. He'll be right over. Enjoy your meal." We both peruse the menu, acting like we're going to order something other than what we always order. Finally, I settle on the Veal Parmesan and Rowan on the manicotti. Oh how she loves the manicotti. I've never met a skinny girl that can put away as much food as she can.

I'm looking for a way to start a conversation. Things should flow naturally with us but don't. She's just staring at me, waiting for me to say something. Anything. I decide to tell her what's been going on. Though, I'm not quite sure how to say it. Will she believe me? Will she think I'm crazy? What will she say? What will she think?

"Hey, Rowan?"

"Yeah?"

"I -"

"Good afternoon, ladies. My name is Paul and I'll be your server today. Have you been here before?"

Frustrated, I answer, "Yes, we have. And I think we're ready to order."

"Sure. Go ahead when you're ready."

"I'll have an unsweetened iced tea with Sweet N' Low and the Veal Parmesan."

"What kind of pasta would you like? We have linguine, spaghetti, angel hair -"

"Angel hair, please."

"And for you, miss?"

"I'll have a water with lemon and the manicotti, please. Extra sauce."

He smiles at both of us and takes our menus.

"Great, I'll put in your order now and I'll be right back with your drinks."

Reluctantly, I reply, "Thank you." If you can't tell, I hate being interrupted. Rowan looks at me and grins. "What were you saying?"

"Well, there's been something going on."

"Is that why you haven't been answering my texts?"

"Actually, I lost my phone, remember?"

"Oh yeah. You mentioned that. How did you lose your phone?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"Well I have nothing but time."

"Don't judge me, okay?"

"Of course I won't judge you. Just tell me what's going on."

"Well, last night I was walking in the park, just trying to get out of the house. It was like 7:30 but the sun was setting. It's my favorite time to go out because it gives me so much inspiration for my art. So I was probably halfway through the Coal Creek trail when I saw something coming up behind me. Whatever it was, it followed me for a while until the sun went completely down. I figured it was just another hiker or an animal. But when I started to walk faster, I noticed that it was keeping up with me. I ran and I ran, looking behind me and always seeing this black figure. Finally, I came to a parking lot. There weren't very many cars but someone happened to pull up and saw that I was freaking out. He called the cops and we sat in his car while we waited for them. When they finally showed up, they took our statements and they drove me home. Anyway, I have no idea what it was but since then, I feel like someone is always watching me."

By the time I finish my story, I realize that I'm tearing up. My hands are shaking. I'm sweating. A lot. Across from me, Rowan sits in silence. I can't read the expression on her face. We sit there for a moment, her mulling over my story, trying to decipher each and every piece. Neither of us see the waiter approaching and we both jump out of our seats when he begins speaking.

"Here is your unsweetened iced tea and some Sweet N' Low. And here is your water with lemon."

In unison, "Thank you."

"Your food should be out soon."

I nod and he disappears into the kitchen. I'm not sure if I'm even hungry anymore, not after reliving what happened. I wait for Rowan to say something. Anything. But she doesn't.

"Rowan?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay? You're not saying anything."

"I'm just taking it all in. I can't believe that happened to you. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little freaked out. And wishing I had my phone."

"Wait, so what did you tell the cops?"

"That a black figure was following me."

"But did you actually see someone chasing you?"

"No, but -"

"And it was dark out, right?"

"Yes, but what -"

"Did the guy in the car see anything?"

"Not that I know of. I didn't really think to ask him."

"So it was dark out and you thought you saw someone chasing you? Did the cops find anything? Did they find your phone?"

"No."

"Did you call your phone to see if anyone would pick up?"

"No, but I didn't have access to a phone."

She sat there for a moment, stewing in her own thoughts. What she said next caught me completely off guard. It hit me like a truck and it shattered something inside of me.

"I thought you were done with all this. With all this make-believe shit."

I couldn't say anything. I was completely dumbstruck. I couldn't do anything but plant my feet firmly on the red carpet beneath them. I tensed up my whole body, as if to keep it from exploding. We sat there for what felt like forever, never meeting each other's gaze. And then I did.

There she was. A look of terror in her gorgeous jade eyes. They were welling up with tears. On any normal afternoon, I would imagine staring into those green eyes, trying to read Rowan's soul. But on this dreadful fall afternoon, there was nothing but misery, in her eyes and in her heart. She felt something. Something she hadn't felt in a long time. She exits the booth and practically sprints out of the restaurant.

Dammit. I knew telling her was a bad idea.