announces, checking me. âIâll get a ride home from Jen.â I nod for her to go and she squeezes me before leaving. âLater, Mr. President.â
Abe jams his hands into his pockets as she stalks away, like this has turned into a much bigger moment than he intended.
âHi,â I say again.
âHi,â he repeats, and my stomach tickles, suddenly hoping heâs about to ask me out. Maybe that kiss has made him see me differently, as not that girl on the Ferris wheel saying terrible things.
âI just, you know,â he says awkwardly, looking to make sure Lilithâs gone. âI know there was a bunch of us and all, but I want you to know you donât have to do that.â He nods outside to the trail.
Mud crawls through me, squeezing mush between my toes.
âDo what?â I dig my fingernail into the cement to chip away the paint.
âLet Lilith do that,â he says. âKiss you.â
My fingernail rams into a section of paint thatâs stuck hard; it wonât flake off.
âItâs not a thing,â I say sharply. âWe do it all the time. Plus, you all loved it?â
His eyes go dark, like outside, but I canât tell if thatâs an act or if he really enjoyed watching.
âYeah, but I donât know if you like it,â he says.
My insides squirm and I donât want to be here. I pound the flat of my palm against the cement like it might ground me.
âIâm not whoever you think I am,â I say. âIâm not who I was when weââ I hate this conversation. I hate that I kissed Lilith and he could see right through it. âJust forget it, all right? It was a stupid Lilith thing. Like always.â
âSure.â He nods, and I hate the straightforwardness in him, like he doesnât regret bringing this up and weâre allowed to go back to being candid with each other after two years of silence. Like that silence hasnât changed me. âHey.â He smiles, breaking the tension, tossing hair from his eyes. âAll I meant is Lilith likes the attention, being the drama queen and all. You . . . you donât have to do what she does.â
âIâm not Lilith.â
âExactly.â
âSheâs my friend,â I say, looking for the exit. âItâs just fun. I donât know why youâre making this a thing.â
âIâm not,â he says quickly. Only, this is a thing. Nobody wants me to have this power. âYouâre just better than that,â he says finally, and it feels like a slap.
I canât swallow and the air feels like itâs gone. Abe looks at his feet.
âRight, so, Iâll see you tomorrow in class,â he mumbles awkwardly, before heading down the hall, and I want to scream as he goes. Doesnât he get it? Iâm not better than Lilith. Sure, I donât have to be her, but I also canât be me.
Suddenly I wish it was Kurt in those woods watching me and Lilith, whooping with the others and playing along. Kurt, who doesnât know me. Kurt, who will let me reinvent myself. Kurt, who isnât afraid of this power.
Kurt
Running at practice feels like freedom.
We do drills. Then Coach splits the team in half and we scrimmage, like boys on the playground. Field slick with dew. Mud on our shins. Troy pops the ball, high, clearing it from one side to the next, and I speed to reach it.
Sprint.
Remembering what it is to want something, even if that wanting is to let go, trust my feet, and not think. It isnât a choice. Itâs instinct. And it only happens if I give in to it, if I commit. Itâs the point when I accept that bones could break and shins could splint, and I donât care, because that little bit of freedom is all mine and Iâm going to take it.
Hesitate and itâs over. One second and the other team gets the ball. Two seconds and your kneecaps tear off. Three, forget three,
Matt Witten
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