runs for an hour

As an adult, I could see that our efforts were about as obvious as they could possibly be. Justin had known, I was certain—now. But back then, Elaine and I had been sure that we were masters of deceit.
That scheme’s trappings were sure as hell turning out to be handy that day. My strides slowed but turned longer, steadier, machinelike. I was sixteen. I didn’t wind down for almost an hour.
When I finally stopped, the terror had faded, if not the heartache, and I found myself in an entirely unexpected position.


Ghost Story Chapter 31, Page 332