Harper pounded away on the elliptical with the setting on “Around the World.” I could totally climb Kilimanjaro if it felt like this, she thought. In the mirror, just two feet away, she saw that there wasn’t a lick of sweat on her. Pride rushed her. Only fat people sweat.

“Oh, my God, did you see this? Do you follow her?” P asked. She glanced down at the recumbent bike beside her where P lounged. One foot casually rested on the foot pad, the boat shoe in pristine condition. He held up an Instagram of girl who had to weigh at least ten pounds less than Harper. She was in wheel pose in front of the Taj Mahal.

“Don’t know her,” Harper said.

“Consider yourself lucky. What a vapid bitch, that whole yoga at monuments thing is so played out.” P went back to his iPad.

Harper raked her nails across the thin hair at her temples. You have to stop wearing top knots, she thought. On the gym’s security cameras, it had nearly looked like she had male pattern baldness. It’s messed up that being ‘underweight’ and so-called malnourished means you lose the hair on your head and grow it every freaking where else. Rogaine, I need to order more Rogaine on Amazon. And the good biotin.

“—outstanding.” Shit. Was P still talking?

“Huh?” she asked, and pretended like she’d been enthralled with her workout.

“Hello?” he said. “Aren’t you listening, or are you too busy staring at yourself? I said that was some outstanding work the other day. The other designer is all about it, thrilled to move forward. And my boss at the shop is nuts about it. The runway show is a go.”

“That’s great!” Harper said, though even she heard how underwhelmed she sounded. Sean had seemed to come around towards the end, but he’d been a lot more hostile than she’d thought.

“Did I tell you?” P asked, his voice rich with the gossip. “One of the models might even get a tattoo during the show. That dumb one, Gemma? Freaking stupid, but if she wants to play tribute, who am I to say no?”

“I’m glad it’s working out for you. And everyone,” Harper said. She snuck a look at calories burned, though she knew those numbers lied. There was no way you burned six hundred calories in 40 minutes without even sweating. It still made her feel good, though.

“But, babe? We need to talk about Sean,” P said. Hearing his name made her chest rumble. “He’s a total hunk of a man. Totally bankable.”

“Hunk?” Harper said with a laugh. “Bankable? P, you need to update your verbiage game or people will start suspecting you’re not the twenty-eight-year-old lamb you pretend to be.”

P huffed. “Twenty-five, bitch. Just like you.” He teased, but it still stung. P really didn’t get how important it was for her to stay on the lower end of the twenties for her career. “But, fine, you got me. I’m jealous, okay? But he’s super straight. Like, straight-straight. So if I can’t have him, I’m glad you get him.”

“Oh, please, I’m not even close to having Sean,” Harper said. It felt like the elliptical got easier, and she increased the resistance. “We’ve only kissed once.”

“That’s cute! All junior high innocent,” P said. “So what’s the next step? Oh, sweet Jesus, you need to see this ho’s outfit she wore to Coachella.”

Harper sighed. “I don’t know what the next step is,” she admitted.

“Oh, you really like him!” P said. “Don’t worry, baby, I got you.” She looked down and saw he’d switched to Google. “Okay, these are the top three bars TimeOut lists as places guaranteed to get your date ‘wet, hard or otherwise ready to go.’ Oh, I’ve been to all these! Guaranteed is a bit of a stretch. You should—”

“No, not a bar,” she cut him off. “Oh,” he said and gave her a strange look. She ignored him. There was no way in hell she was going to gossip about Sean’s sobriety.

P kept scrolling through Google. “Hey, what about that nostalgic old amusement park?” he asked. “That’s cutesy, right? Have you been?”

“Which one?” she asked. The effing elliptical machine was going easier again. It was bound and determined to cheat her of a calorie burn.

“The one at the pier,” P said. “Oh, think about it, that would be so adorable! It’s even listed as one of the best places to make your date kiss you. Huh, I guess this list was written by a child or something. But still, it’s true.”

“That might not be such a bad idea,” Harper said. It was reminiscent of the night at the playground. But then again, it’s not like he’d kissed her there, either.

“Oh, seriously, Harp, that’s so cute!” P said. “Think about it. You could go roller skating and hold hands. Couple skating! I remember that from, like, sixth grade. Don’t you tell anybody that,” he warned. “I don’t think kids do that these days. And then the Ferris wheel for your kiss! You have to, promise me—”

“Okay, okay!” she said. “God, you’re more into this than I am.” For that, she was grateful. If she could act like P was the one who pushed her into it, that gave her ego and heart a little extra armor.

“Text him. Right now, I demand it,” P said. “As your pseudo-boss.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know! For the show, the runway show that I managed just for you, you have to do what I say.”

“Yeah, only at the show and rehearsals.”

“Consider this a rehearsal, then.” He said. “Go on, I know you have your phone up there on your international trek.”

“Ugh, okay,” she said. She picked her phone out of the cup holder and scrolled to his name. “What should I ask him?”

“Uh, ask him to go to the amusement park. Do you have dementia or something?”

“Fine,” she said.

“Add like a cotton candy emoji and an eggplant or something,” P said.

“Shut up.” She shot Sean a simple text before she could chicken out or P could offer more “helpful” suggestions.

Harper was surprised that he texted back immediately, but with no mention of her invitation. “How’s my sweetheart?” he asked.

She turned pink. “Oh. My. God,” P said. “What is it? What’d he say?”

“Nothing,” she snapped.

“Jesus, you really do need to get laid. Put the claws away.”

She went back to the phone and saw the ellipses.

“Today’s my only day off, but if you’re free I’m down,” Sean added.

She blushed and handed the phone to P. “Don’t reply,” she warned.

He looked at the phone. “Whatever you say. Sweetheart. Now get your ass off that thing. We need to get you ready. How do you feel about crop tops?”

“Does it really matter how I feel?” Harper asked. She looked at the number displays. If I could just get in ten more minutes …

“No, not really,” P said.