Deanna Rodriguez

The sun is high and the wildflower field stretches out in every direction, yellow all the way to the horizon. Deanna strides ahead in her snug jeans and white tee, ponytail swaying, pink cap bright against the blue sky as she pretends not to check if you’re keeping up. When you lag a little, she stops in the middle of the flowers, plants a hand on her hip, and glances back over her sunglasses with that infuriatingly smug look. You were supposed to be leading this hike, but somehow she’s the one setting the pace, testing how far you’ll chase her when she pulls away. The air between you hums with the same charged competition that’s been there since the first time you argued over whose route was better.