Girlfriend Material by Melissa Kantor

lungs. My legs were tired, and it had been long enough since my last run that they were starting to ache from the strain, but it was a good ache.
    My sense of contentment would, no doubt, have faded eventually, but seeing Sarah headed down to the beach along the same path I was headed up made it disappear faster than a bug scuttling out of the way of an approaching shoe. I could have stepped to the side to avoid her, but the path was about six inches wide, and tall beach grass grew up along either side of it.
    I wasn’t about to get Lyme disease just so Sarah could get to the beach faster. “Hi,” she said, clearly surprised to see me. “Hi,” I said. I was glad I’d caught my breath down on the beach and wasn’t still panting from my run. My voice was cool, collected.
    Sarah was wearing a pair of running shorts and a jog bra, and her hair was up in a high ponytail. “Did you just go for a run?” she asked.
    Considering I was wearing sweat pants and running shoes and that my face was, I knew, bright red and drenched in sweat, I didn’t see what else she thought I would have been doing. No, Sarah, I’m just back from enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee . Yesterday I might have felt obligated to say something about how I liked running on the beach or how long it had been since I’d worked out, but remembering Sarah’s irritated “Fine” from last night, I wasn’t in the mood to make small talk.
    “Yeah,” I said.
    “I’m going for one now,” she said. “I’m supposed to be training for field hockey, but I’ve been kind of lazy about it.”
    “Oh,” I said.
    My terse response seemed to unsettle her. “So, I was going to invite you to the Fourth of July barbecue at the club tonight,” she said.
    Oh, I bet you were, I thought. But I didn’t say anything.
    Now my silence was definitely making her nervous. She ran one hand up and down her thigh a couple of times and bit her lower lip. “But it looks like it’s going to rain.”
    I looked up at the sky. In fact, the gray looked a little lighter than it had an hour ago, as if the sun might actually break through after all, but I didn’t say that. In fact, I didn’t say anything.
    “So I don’t think they’ll have it. If it rains, I mean.”
    “Probably not,” I said. I liked the effect my failing to utter more than two consecutive words was having on her.
    “Um, are you like, pissed at me or something?” she asked. For the first time since she’d seen me coming up the path toward her, Sarah looked directly at me.
    I always say no when people ask if I’m mad at them. If you say yes, then you have to say why you’re mad, and that usually involves getting into something you’d rather not get into; whereas if you say no, the thing you’re mad about usually passes without some big awkward confrontation. Plus I think people want you to say no when they ask if you’re mad at them. I mean, if someone thinks you’re mad at them, you probably are, and if you’re mad at someone, they probably know why, and the only reason they’re asking is because they feel guilty about whatever it is they did, and they’re hoping you’re not going to confront them. Once they’ve asked, they can feel all superior, like, Well, I asked her if she was mad and she said no, so what was I supposed to do?
    Even though I knew what she was doing, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. Yes, Sarah, I am mad at you actually. And you know why? Because from the second I arrived in your time zone, you’ve made it crystal clear that I’m what stands between you and a good time.
    “No,” I said, hating myself. “I’m not mad.”
    “Oh,” said Sarah. “Good.” She looked up at the sky. “Well, if it doesn’t rain later, you should come to the barbecue.”
    This was my moment.
    Like I’d ever accept an invitation from you, Sarah.
    Like I even want to come to your stupid party.
    And then I heard the following words come out of my mouth: “Great.