Hopeless

school and the bitches already made your locker rain?” she laughs. “Impressive.”
    I lay the goodbye card on her chest that I wrote to her, then lean my head into her shoulder. “You think that’s impressive? You should have seen me work the pole in the cafeteria.”
    She picks the card up and brushes her fingers over it, smiling. She doesn’t open it because she knows I don’t like it when things get uncomfortably emotional. She tucks the card back to her chest and leans her head on my shoulder.
    “You’re such a slut,” she says quietly, attempting to hold back tears that we’re both too stubborn to cry.
    “So I’ve heard.”

The alarm sounds and I instantly debate skipping today’s run until I remember who’s waiting for me outside. I get dressed faster than I’ve ever dressed since the first day I started getting dressed, then head to the window. There’s a card taped to the inside of my window with the word “slut” written on it in Six’s handwriting. I smile and pull the card off the window, then throw it on my bed before heading outside.
    He’s sitting on the curb stretching his legs. His back is to me, which is good. Otherwise he would have caught my frown as soon as I noticed he was wearing a shirt. He hears me approaching and spins around to face me.
    “Hey, you.” He smiles and stands up. I notice when he does, that his shirt is already soaked. He ran here. He ran over two miles here, he’s about to run three more miles with me, then he’ll be running over two miles home. I seriously don’t understand why he’s going through all this trouble. Or why I’m allowing it. “You need to stretch first?” he asks.
    “Already did.”
    He reaches out and touches my cheek with his thumb. “Doesn’t look so bad,” he says. “You sore?”
    I shake my head. Does he really expect me to vocalize a response when his fingers are touching my face? It’s pretty hard to speak and hold your breath at the same time.
    He pulls his hand back and smiles. “Good. You ready?”
    I let out a breath. “Yeah.”
    And we run. We run side by side for a while until the path narrows, then he falls into step behind me, which makes me incredibly self-conscious. I normally lose myself when I run, but this time I’m acutely aware of every single thing, from my hair, to the length of my shorts, to each drop of sweat that trails down my back. I’m relieved once the path widens and he falls back into step beside me.
    “You better try out for track.” His voice is steady and it doesn’t sound anything like he’s already ran four miles this morning. “You’ve got more stamina than most of the guys from the team last year.”
    “I don’t know if I want to,” I say, unattractively breathless. “I don’t really know anyone at school. I planned on trying out, but so far most of the people at school are sort of…mean. I don’t really want to be subjected to them for longer periods of time under the guise of a team.”
    “You’ve only been in public school for a day. Give it time. You can’t expect to be homeschooled your whole life, then walk in the first day with a ton of new friends.”
    I stop dead in my tracks. He takes a few more steps before he notices I’m no longer beside him. When he turns around and sees me standing still on the pavement, he rushes toward me and grabs my shoulders. “Are you okay? Are you dizzy?”
    I shake my head and push his arms off my shoulders. “I’m fine,” I say with a very audible amount of annoyance in my response.
    He cocks his head. “Did I say something wrong?”
    I start walking in the direction of my house, so he follows suit. “A little,” I say, cutting my eyes toward him. “I was halfway joking about the stalking yesterday, but you admitted to looking me up on Facebook right after meeting me. Then you insist on running with me, even though it’s out of your way. Now you somehow know how long I’ve been in public school? And that I was homeschooled? I’m not gonna lie, it’s a little unnerving.”
    I wait for the explanation, but instead he just narrows his eyes and watches me. We’re both still walking forward, but he just silently watches me until we round the next corner. When he does finally speak, his words are preempted with a heavy sigh. “I asked around,” he finally says. “I’ve lived here since I was ten, so I have a lot of friends. I was curious about you.”
    I eye him for a few steps, then drop my gaze down to the