The Steps by Rachel Cohn

I come on holidays, too, because now it’s become a habit. If I’m going to be a professional footy player one day, I have to train every chance I get.”
    I tested him. “Wouldn’t you rather be playing on your PlayStation instead of getting up so early in the morning to work out?”
    Ben stared at me very seriously. “I’d much rather be playing footy or working out than be locked up inside playing on some dumb machine.”
    I had to turn around so he would not see me catch my breath. He joined me as I walked toward the oval.
    â€œDo you work out?” he asked.
    â€œI go running with my mom sometimes in Central Park,” I said. “And I love to swim and rollerblade.”
    â€œCool,” Ben said. Without either of us inviting the other, we started jogging side by side along the pavement ringing the oval. “I’ve always wanted to visit New York. Seems like a fantastic city when you see it in movies or on the telly. Dad says maybe we’ll go there for my sixteenth birthday. He’s been saving for years for us to take an adventure somewhere.”
    â€œYou should go!” I said. I turned around to run backward so I could face him. “It’s the coolest city. You’d have to go to the Empire State Building because every tourist does that, but after you should go see the Chrysler Building, which is way cooler. It has this arch tower with art deco windows, and I think it’s probably the most enchanted building in all of Manhattan. And you could go running around the reservoir in Central Park like Madonna does and go ice-skating at Rockefeller Center and of course you’d have to go to the Village to play pickup basketball, and then there’s always lots of football or baseball games you could get in on in Riverside Park, maybe you could even teach the guys there how to play Australian footy.”
    I was talking a mile a minute, like I was Angelina. As I talked I gestured wildly with my hands I was so excited, and of course, running backward and flailing my arms about, not to mention my shoelace, which had come untied, I tripped and fell on the grass.
    â€œOwww!” I cried out. Could I just die right now?
    Ben stopped his jog and sat down on the grass next to me. He leaned in to touch my ankle, to see if it was okay, but then got really shy just before his hand reached my shoe. He pulled his hand back suddenly.
    â€œYou ok, klutzy?” he said instead. His smile and deep green eyes made me forget all about the sharp pain.
    â€œWant to know a secret I haven’t even told Lucy?” I said.
    â€œYeah!” he said quickly.
    â€œMy friends at home call me Whoops.”
    â€œWhoops?” Ben said.
    â€œOn account of I’m always falling and . . .” I hesitated, not sure whether I could trust him with this information. Then I decided I could, and I finished, “Because my full name is Annabel Whoopi Schubert. My middle name is Whoopi.”
    Here’s how I knew I loved him. He didn’t laugh.
    â€œCool,” he said. I think that was his favorite word. From the way he pronounced the word, I bet he listened to a lot of hip-hop music.
    I stood up and tried to start running again, but the pain in my ankle was too intense. “I think I’d better go home and put some ice on this foot,” I said.
    â€œI’ll walk you,” Ben said. I dare you to find one boy at the Progress School that chivalrous. I dare you further to find one with an Australian accent as sweet sounding. My ankle was hurting less already, but I hung on to his arm as I limped back to Granny Nell’s anyway. Hanging on to arms is what Brittany Carlson does to Brad Dufus the Third, and even though she is the last of my idols, in the boyfriend department at least, I figured I could learn from her.
    Ben’s arm muscles were Australian Grade A buff!
    â€œYou’ll be okay?” he asked me as we reached the gate to