Page 4 of Run
“So, how long have you lived here?” He looks down at the water in front of us.
“Dad died two years ago. We moved in with Papa—well, his real name is Axel—”
“Axel?” the boy asks, shaking his head. “Of course, his name is Axel.”
I shrug. “We moved in with him a few months later.”
The boy whistles through his teeth, reaching down to pick up a small rock and hurling it into the water with a loudkerplunk. “How’s your stepmom? What’s she like?”
“She’s OK, I guess.”
The boy reaches down, picks up another rock, and tosses it into the water. He picks up yet another, this time displaying it for me. I pluck it out of his palm and roll it between my fingers before throwing it into the water and watching how the ripples stretch out and out and out until they disappear.
The sun has moved over the horizon, and I know Papa is probably sleeping now and it’s safe to go home. But I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here and sit with … my friend? Is that who this boy is? I’ve never had a friend before, so I don’t really know. I don’t even know his name.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Ethan James.”
“Ethan James,” I repeat, and he turns his head and looks at me with a small smile.
“So, is your name not really Arlene?”
“It is. I just hate my name.”
“Why?”
I give him a look. “It’s an old lady name.”
The boy—Ethan—laughs. He throws his head back and laughs as if I just told a really funny joke. I feel that familiar sadness and disappointment creep in as I remember that people are mean, and I shouldn’t have thought he was being nice to me.
Ethan reaches for me, but I pull back. “I’m not laughing at you—at your name. I’m laughing because you were funny just now.”
I keep looking at my feet and feel him knock his shoulder into mine. “Come on, Ari. I wasn’t making fun of you. Promise.”
“Ari?” I turn to look at him.
“Yeah. You don’t like your name, so I’ll give you a nickname.”
We stare at each other, and I try the name out on my tongue. “Ari.”
“How old are you, Ari?”
“Ten.”
Ethan pulls his brows up. “Oh, you’re only a year younger than me.”
I roll my eyes, grumbling, “I’m scrawny.”
He gives me a crooked smile, his lip scar on full display, and my cheeks heat up. Breaking our gaze and rubbing his palms on his thighs, he stands. “Well, I assumePapa—” he says the word with a sneer “—is sleeping now, so it’s safe for you to go home. And my own dad will have my hide if I’m not home for dinner.”
I nod, wondering how bad Ethan’s dad is.
Taking steps toward his shoes, he crumples over with a “Gahhhh!” as he steps on a sharp rock, and I can’t help but giggle as Ethan teeters his way over there. “Yeah, keep laughing, Red. Glad I amuse you.” He looks up when he sees me staring at him. “What?”
“Red?”
“Yeah, Red. You know, like your hair.”
