“Soon?” I asked plaintively, looking up at her. A green and white taxi sailed past us, but Jane didn’t even look towards it. My feet were killing me, and the night felt too long. I just wanted to go home, put on sweats, and curl up in my bed.

“We need the exercise anyway,” Jane hedged my question. Maybe I needed the exercise but Jane could’ve passed for a supermodel easily.

“But my feet hurt.” It was my turn to sound like a petulant child, but I couldn’t help it. It was late and I was tired. I don’t know why I ever agreed to her shenanigans. They were always much more fun for her then they were for me.

Being the less sexy sidekick wasn’t a very glamorous life.

“Beauty is-”

“-pain, yeah, yeah, I get it,” I grumbled, cutting her off.

Jane lit another cigarette, and we walked in silence. I knew she was sulking about the club and trying to plot some exciting adventure to drag me into, but I wouldn’t fall for it this time. By the morning, it would probably hurt to even stand, and while I hadn’t officially checked yet, I was certain the blisters on my feet were at least the size of quarters.

Even though I was mostly just concentrating on the pain in my feet, I felt them before I saw them. There was suddenly this weird sensation of being followed, and the sound of the traffic from Hennepin Avenue had faded enough where I could start to hear the footfalls echo behind us. Jane seemed oblivious, but I didn’t want to say anything. Either I would let onto them that I knew they were there, or I would just once again confirm Jane’s suspicion that I was certifiably insane. Instead, I just quickened my pace, which pleased Jane as she easily met it. Her constant complaint in life was that I was too slow and she had to spend the majority of it waiting for me.

Then the footsteps behind us started to hurry up, becoming heavier and louder, and there was the sound of heavy breathing and hushed male voices.