Beasts and BFFs by Shannon Delany Page A

shouldered closer to me, forcing Sarah out of the conversation I was barely involved in. “Well? What do you think about that?” Expectation sparkled in her eyes. Or maybe it was challenge.
    “What? You expect me to talk now, too?”  I gasped.
    Her smile tilted at one end. “Talking helps regulate your breathing,” she said matter-of-factly. “You should start running with me.”
    “Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
    “I mean regularly. Go out for winter track since cross country’s almost over.”
    “There’s a reason I ride horses. They run for me.”
    “Smart alec.” Amy’s stride shortened by half and she looked at me.  “What--” She slowed to a walk, her eyes searching the path’s high perimeter of brambles and branches. “Did you hear that?” she asked, voice low.
    I stopped dead, bent over and panting. “Was it the sound of my heart exploding?”
    “Shhh.”
    Sarah’s hand settled on my back and she whispered, “You need to keep walking or you’ll get sidestitches.”
    “Sidestitches are the only things holding my guts in right now,” I hissed.
    “Shut up!” Amy shouted, clamping her hands over her mouth as soon as the words flew out.
    Above our heads a blue jay shrieked a warning and the rest of the birds sucked back their songs, leaving the woods a grim place.
    And I heard it. A rustling deep in the foliage. Branches popped and snapped as something bullied its way through the matted vegetation. I straightened and looked at my friends. Silent, we turned toward the noise.
    It grew louder, coming our way.
    “It’s probably just somebody’s dog.” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s lost.” Crouching, I peered into the tangle of thorns and vines and saw nothing but darkness. “Here boy--”
    “Don’t you dare!” Amy grabbed my wrist and yanked me up straight.
    “What?”
    “That’s way bigger than one of your dogs, Jessie,” Amy confided. “Way. Bigger.”
    Sarah nodded. “It sounds bigger than any dog I know of,” she agreed.
    Agreed. With Amy.
    “The only dogs you probably know of are those purebred monsters that live in people’s purses and can’t even breathe right they’re so inbred,” Amy replied.
    “Whoa. Amy. Tell us what you really think,” I fired back, eyebrows raised so high my forehead ached.
    “Fine. I will.” Hands on her hips, Amy faced us both.
    The mysterious beast in the briars suddenly seemed a lesser threat.
    “I think it absolutely sucks that you brought her along on our run,” Amy admitted. “I think you’re cutting her too much slack. I think you need to tell her the truth--”
    “Wait,” Sarah interjected weakly. “What truth?”
    But Amy rattled on, “--about everything because a friendship can’t possibly last with a girl like that . I think--”
    The jay screamed again.
    “ I think we’re in trouble,” Sarah whispered, eyes sliding back to the thicket lining our path.
    My lips pressed together and I wrenched my gaze from Amy’s enraged face. My sneakers ground into the hard packed dirt as I turned toward the trembling bushes.
    Beside me Amy’s sneakers scratched as she echoed my move.
    The thing in the bushes growled—a sound my body noted with a tremble.
    Amy’s lips formed a slow Oh . They pursed. My . Opened. God.
    “What is that?” Sarah asked me. “You live on a farm—what sort of animal sounds like that?”
    “Whatever it is, I certainly don’t raise them ,” I muttered. “I think we should--”
    “Run?” Amy asked.
    I glanced down the path. A hundred yards ahead the vibrant, living tunnel opened back up, hardpacked dirt yielding once more to mulch. Another fifty yards beyond and the mulch path dumped out at the parking lot. It wasn’t forever away but… Part of me wondered if Amy wasn’t considering the old horror movie standby as an option.  You didn’t have to be the fastest runner to escape doom in those flicks—you just had to outrun the slowest runner.
    Sarah.
    “No,” I urged. Besides, running would