Page 57 of Hateful
“It’s important!”
I roll my eyes.
“Just—what are you wearing on Saturday? To the race?” he asks.
Are you kidding me?This is what was so important he had to track me down?
For some reason, this infuriates me more than anything he could have possibly said. I stop in my tracks for a second. Ofcoursewhat Jasper is worried about is how he and his team are going to look in front of everyone else.
Here I was thinking he might actually have something heartfelt to say for once. I should have known better.
I glance around the empty hallways. What have I been practicing for if not something like this? I don’t want to talk to Jasper, so I take off running instead, climbing easily into a full sprint. Jasper shouts from behind me, but I already know he’s slower than I am.
I pull easily away from him and take the stairs two at a time up to my dorm.
Rafael looks up in surprise when I burst in. He and Neville sit cross-legged on the floor, each of them holding a handful of cards.
“Hey there, Alex,” Neville says brightly, if not a little confusedly.
Rafael, meanwhile, looks at me carefully. “How’d practice go?”
I pull off my hoodie and throw it into my hamper without saying anything. The motion seems to get the message across just as well.
Neville glances at Rafael, then back at me. “Maybe I should get going …”
“No, Neville, you’re fine,” I say with a sigh. He only seems to have one friend, and that’s Rafael. I’m not about to send him packing just because he doesn’t know I don’t have a dong. “Just be careful. Rafael cheats at cards.”
“Hey!” Rafael says indignantly as I pass by them. That, at least, makes me crack a smile.
* * *
When I roundthe bend on my run the next day, I immediately recognize there’s something strange about Heath. He’s just … leaning against a tree, arms folded, a frown creasing his brow as he stares down at his feet.
But it’s less about his posture, I realize as I draw close. It’s the expression on his face.
It’s pensive … and not necessarily in a good way.
“Hey,” I call as I jog closer.
He jumps, startled, and looks at me like he wasn’t expecting me—which is weird, since we literally talked about this yesterday.
“Why the long face?” I joke, even as I have to stifle the slight crack in my voice.Is there something wrong?
“Long face?” he repeats quickly. “What long face? My face isn’t long. I’m fine. Shall we go?” And then he starts off at a brisk jog down the trail before giving me the chance to reply.
No smiling. No flirting. Something is definitely wrong.
I go after him, staying a few paces back. What is it that’s bothering him? Is it something he doesn’t want to tell me? Something he’s embarrassed about? He’s uncharacteristically silent with no quips or jokes as we make our way to the break tree.
It’s been a long times since these runs stopped being silent. Now the quiet feels unnerving.
“Heath,” I say seriously as we slow to a stop beneath our usual tree, my eyes cutting over to him out of my peripherals.
“Hm?” He hovers near his usual spot without sitting like he usually does.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Why do you ask?” He scuffs his toe on the ground in front of him. His weight shifts back and forth, and I do my best not to focus on his thighs in the silky running shorts he’s wearing again. Those shorts shouldnotbe worn by teenage boys.
