One Little Chance (Sweet River)

Chapter 6

DECEMBER 23RD, 2023

M om and I finally put the scrapbooks away so I could get started on the morning of preparation ahead of me. The first thing on my to-do list was a shower.

I was still trying to steady myself—nothing about today felt real. It felt like I was walking around in a snowy dream.

This is real, I repeated to myself. E njoy it . I opened my hands to the hot water prickling my skin while steam and eucalyptus filled my senses. I lathered up a loofah of bubbly soap, brushing it against the moon-shaped scar on my knee that had never fully faded. I couldn’t see that scar without smiling. I wore it like a tattoo ode to Jordan. I ran my finger over the raised skin, and it took me right back to the memory.

I had taken running seriously since I was four years old, always keeping up with the boys, and always up for the challenge of a race. Jordan and the other neighborhood kids would show up on my doorstep and call for me to come play, and I’d race out full speed.

This only got stronger with age. Jordan, my best friend, always tagged along. He was one of the best runners—with a natural budding athleticism that everyone could see even at eight years old. That didn’t scare me, though. It made me go faster.

One December, when we were both twelve years old, the two of us were in a kid’s race for a local charity to buy Christmas presents for the children’s hospital. Jordan and I were taking the lead, side by side. Sneakers thudding against gravel. The cold sting of a chilly winter morning. Rhythmic breathing as I steadied my pace.

My mind was on the prize: the winner of the race always got a photo on the front page of the Sweet River Gazette, a special medal, and a giant candy package of my eight-year-old sugar plum dreams. Jordan and I had been arguing over who would win since it was our first year old enough to race. I’d been imagining every piece of delicious Christmas candy in that winner’s basket with my mouth watering.

Now here he was, taking the lead, with bright red fuzzy antlers on his head that jingled with his every stride.

I tried to push myself further when my sneaker hit the path the wrong way and bam! I hit the ground knee first. I grabbed my knee in pain, but also shame, as Mom called out my name from the sidelines and other kids passed right by me.

No. No. Not now. My eyes were squeezed tight, shocked little tears pooled in my eyes as I lay there on the pavement.

I felt his warmth hovering nearby before I opened my eyes to see him. “Take a tumble, Sophie?” he asked, trying to make light of my predicament. I appreciated it more than he knew.

“Just a small one,” I whispered, trying not to cry as he knelt down beside me.

“It’s your knee?” he asked, reaching for it, gently wiping away the smear of blood. He helped me wobble to my feet, the two of us realizing with relief that it wasn’t a serious injury. Jordan swooped me into his gangly pre-teen arms and carried me across the finish line. My stomach filled with butterflies because to me he was a knight in shiny sneakers—and antlers.

Neither of us won. But I knew Jordan could’ve won.

He could’ve crossed the finish line, then come back for me. He could’ve been so focused on the goal that he didn’t notice if I fell or not. A different person might’ve assumed I was fine and kept going after a quick, Are you okay?

But Jordan always noticed me even if he was steps ahead.

At a victory breakfast with our families, everyone cheered as he called us, “The two fastest losers of the race.” He laughed when he said it, and I could practically feel the hearts springing out of my eyes as I watched him.

He’d made me fall in love with him a little bit right there on the running path.