"Carmen." I stare into my friend's bright blue eyes. "What food do you love, more than any other food in the world. We were running the mile in gym class, and it had to be under 9 minutes to pass. I may have been a motivated runner, but Carmen wasn't so much. By the second lap I had looped her.
Her eyes sparkle. "Popcorn."
I laugh. "Popcorn it is!" We run around the corner, approaching the 100-meter sprint finish. I peek at my watch. 8.14.
I begin to sprint, bellowing "POPCORN!" at the top of my lungs. Carmen, engaged in the fantasy of a bag of freshly popped popcorn sitting at the end of the track, sprints like never before. Her shoulders rotate back and forth as she dashes past me. "POPCORN, CARMEN!" I scream, slowing to a jog. I walk to finish my 5th lap, and there she is, sitting on the ground with a wide grin on her face.
"8.58." She smiles. "Next time, it'll be 8.57. And maybe they'll be a bit more popcorn, too." We laugh Some stories are never forgotten.
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