I never was one to wake up early on a Sunday morning. My mom used to call it my lazy day. But last month, my dad challenged me. He asked me to run a 15K race with him. I'm a sucker for a challenge. And he knew it.

    I told him to bring it on.

    Running was never really my thing. It was my dad's. He's been running and racing for many years. He told me a 15K race was 9.3 miles. Then I panicked.

    That's when Sunday mornings became my training time.

* * *

    I awake extra early this morning. And I feel pumped! I'm eager to tackle this fine, spring day. I lean against Ralph, our oak tree. I need to tighten my running shoes. Years ago, my dad named this old tree Ralph. Don't ask me why. My mom wants him to chop it down. "But it's Ralph!" my dad argues.

    Silly parents!

    A beat up, blue sports car pulls into the driveway.

    "Hey, Max! Aren't your feet full of blisters yet?"

    Oh, great, I'm thinking. My best friend Franco is here to torment me. He's not into this running thing. He combs his fingers through his thick, dark hair, grinning. I roll my eyes. I know what that grin means.

    A verbal sparring match.

    "Don't you get blisters from tossing those pizzas?" I call out, laughing.

    Franco's family owns a pizza parlor. Franco has worked there on weekends for two years. I stop in there often. He's always tossing and dropping the pizza dough.

    "Not only do I toss pizzas. I eat them, too!" he jokes. He puts both hands on his belly. He calls it his starter belly. His dad has a belly like Santa Claus.

    "My dad will be out soon. Come on and run with us," I tease.

    "No way!" Franco chuckles. "I mean, no thanks!"

    My dad trots down the driveway. Franco is backing out. My dad waves to him. He tells him to say hi to his dad.

    A robin flutters out of Ralph's branches. My dad notices. He says, "Good morning, Ralph!" I tell him there's a nest with eggs in there, too.

    "That's awesome," my dad says, smiling. He's a nature lover. He hands me a water bottle. We set off on our morning run.

    We start running at a slow pace. I learned that from my first lesson. He also taught me to breathe from my belly. While running, we should be able to converse normally. We'll build up my distance running. Then we'll work on speed.

    During our runs, my dad and I talk a lot. We tell jokes. We talk about school. We talk about sports teams and girls. Running together has brought us closer. He seems more like a friend. Even when we don't talk, I like to run with him.

    Suddenly, he turns into a dad again.

    "So how are you doing with algebra?" he asks.

    I should have seen that coming. I have been struggling with algebra all year.

    "Lily is coming over after school tomorrow. She said she would tutor me," I reply.

    My dad smiles. Then he looks at me straight in the eye. "Good, good," he says with a silly smirk. He knows my friend Lily is smart. She can ace any test a teacher could throw at her. She's also what he calls a real cutie.

    I'll admit it. I do have a little crush on her. I always check the mirror before she arrives. I worry about my hair, my breath, my arm pits. She's fifteen, a year younger than me. She's pretty and popular.

    "Hmm, good, good," I say right back to him.

    It's been a good run today. We turn back into our driveway. My dad pats me on the shoulder as we part ways. My mom waits for him at the front door. For a moment, I watch the robin. It's pecking at its nest.

    I decide I like Sunday mornings, after all.

My classes all seemed longer today. I couldn't wait to see Lily after school.

Deep down, I hoped she felt that way, too. After dinner, my mom and dad drink iced tea. They sit on wooden chairs next to Ralph. They seem happy there, together. My dad has even carved their names in Ralph's trunk: Dylan and Mary Parker.

Suddenly, my heart jumps. I hear Lily's voice! I peek through the kitchen curtain. She's out there saying hi to them. She's also carrying an armload of books.

I hope I have time to check the mirror!

But Lily knocks on the door before I'm ready. And that startles me! Then I trip over the rug in the hall. She must think I'm a total goof.

"Hey, Lily!" I say. "Is it tutor time, already?"

Tutor time? Did I really say that? She laughs, but in a nice way. She's sweet like that.

"Where can I set these books?" she asks, smiling. She has the cutest dimples in her cheeks.

"Oh, let me get them for you!" I offer, eagerly.

I'm trying so hard to be a gentleman. Then I plop them smack down on the kitchen table. Thump! She winces, but just a little. I offer her a chair. She sits in it. She pulls another chair next to hers. "Sit here," she says.

We talk a little before we study. I get lost in her deep blue eyes. Her brown hair falls softly over her shoulders.

I wonder what she's thinking about me. Sometimes, girls kind of scare me. I don't really know how to talk to them. But, I think that I dress cool. I work out at the gym. And people tell me I have a cute smile.

Lily pulls a book from the pile. She hands me a pencil and a worksheet. "Let's get started, hon," she says, sweetly.

She called me hon! YES!

My dad comes into the kitchen. He's wearing his running shoes. He grabs a water bottle. Then he winks at us.

"I'm going for a short run, kids. I'll see you later."

I know what he is doing. He is giving us some privacy. He's cool like that.

"Don't get lost, Dad," I say, joking.

The kitchen door closes behind him. I hear him trot down the porch steps.

This is my chance. So I say it.

"Now where were we, hon?"

Studying with Lily is great. And sitting close to her is great, too. Under the table, I feel our knees touch. Suddenly, the phone rings in the living room. I don't want to move an inch. Luckily, my dear mom comes to the rescue. "I'll get that, Max." I hear her pick up the phone. "Hello. Who is this? An accident? Dylan? No!"

I can hear her voice rise. And it seems all high-pitched. Something is very wrong. My heart starts to pound. "Mom, what's going on?" I call out to her.

She rushes into the kitchen. She's holding her head with both hands. Her eyes are filled with tears. "Your dad was just hit by a car!" she cries. "They've taken him to St. Luke's!"

"Oh, my God!" I shout out to her. "Is he going to be okay?"

"That's all I know, Max! I'm sorry!" she cries. "We need to get to the hospital right away!"

My head is spinning. This can't be happening! My mom, Lily and I rush out the door, panicking. Lily grabs my hand. She whispers, "I'm going with you."

We all hop in my mom's car. Three doors slam at once. I ask my mom if she's okay to drive. She nods. Her lips are clenched. In a daze, we ride to St. Luke's Hospital.

The emergency room is like a beehive. Nervous people are buzzing all around. A nurse tells us to be seated. But we can't seem to settle down. Across the room, my mom is pacing. She doesn't even look like herself. Doctors are being paged on an intercom. Why doesn't a doctor come out?

"Try not to worry, Max," Lily says to me, quietly. She looks afraid. She's holding onto my arm. But her eyes tell me that she's here for me.

"Thank you for being here," I say to her.

Suddenly, three doctors rush out of an examining room. They are talking amongst themselves. One of them shakes his head. Then he stops to look around. "Is someone here for Dylan Parker?" he asks.

I feel like I've been hit by lightening. I step forward, unsteadily. My mom clutches my arm for support.

"Where is Dylan? How is he? Can we see him now?" My mom chokes out her words.

The doctor doesn't have to say a word. I can tell by the look on his face. The news is not good. Gently, he pulls my mom and I aside. "I'm very sorry to have to tell you this," he says. "Dylan's injuries are critical. We've done all we can do for him."

Shaking, my mom covers her mouth with her hand. "Is he . . . will he . . . ?"

The doctor steps slowly away from us. He reaches for a door behind him. He opens it. He waves us in. "You can see him now, Mrs. Parker."

"Oh, Dylan!" My mom cries out loud.

The man on the gurney is so still. His face is swollen. It's covered with bloody bandages. There are monitors hooked up to him, beeping. At least he is still alive.

"Dad," my voice cracks. My knees are shaking. "Can you hear me?"

His hand twitches slightly. My mom grabs on to it. "I think he's trying to say something," she says, softly.

His lips barely move. His words come out strained. "Mary, Max. I love you both." His breathing is labored. I hear him struggle for every breath.

I brace myself for the worst.

Beep, beep, beep, skip, beep, beep, skip.

The monitors set off an alarm down the hall. I'm terrified.

My father gasps. His eyes are now locked on me.

"Don't . . . stop . . . running," he whispers, painfully.

All at once, the lines on the monitors go flat.

Beeeeeeeeeeep . . .