Excerpt:

I’m so caught up on my walk home in the fantasy of owning a cat and going on vacation that I don’t hear anyone behind me until someone gives a gentle tug on my ponytail.

I whip around, expecting Mariana with an excuse as to why Tatum canceled, but instead, I stand face to face with Ethan Morrow, and he’s wearing a grin that makes the dimple in his left cheek stand out.

“Hey, Slip!”

“PJ,” I remind him, my pulse speeding up as I realize Mariana’s not here to rescue me from whatever Ethan wants. I glance around, looking for his friends. Why is Ethan here?

“Right, sorry. So, hey, I don’t usually see you walking after school. You headed home?” He starts walking beside me, and I move forward again, keeping pace.

“I don’t usually walk at this time,” I answer. “Cross-country practice, you know. But Coach Burns is at a conference and couldn’t find anyone to fill in, so she gave us the week off.”

“Ah,” he says as though I’ve unlocked the mysteries of the world for him. “It’s probably not good for the stamina to take too long a break.”

I view him from the corner of my eye, hating how my heart is thumping faster just talking to him. Why is my pulse racing? I have no reason to panic right now, and yet my entire circulatory system is thundering like the hooves of a racehorse just out of the gate.

“I’ll run later,” I reply. Maybe if I don’t say a lot, it’ll get awkward, and he’ll take another route home.

“I have to get my run in later. You wanna go together? I’m right up on Park Street with my mom now. You live over on Lenox, right?”

I halt in my tracks and stare at him. Why does Ethan know where I live? Is he…did he…does he want to hang out with me? Like, a date? Wait, running isn’t a date. Exercise isn’t a date.

“Uh. Yeah. But, you know what? I might skip today entirely. My hamstrings were a little tight this morning.” I make a show of stretching my legs a little as I start walking again. “Thinking about just soaking in the bath tonight instead.”

Ethan flushes, and I realize I’ve just invoked the image of my naked body in a tub full of bubbles. He was probably picturing candles and all.

“I mean,” I stutter. “I have a ton of chemistry homework, too, and I’m not even sure I’ll finish it all, and I have to be home to…feed…the cat.”

Oh God, that pressure. I’ve been so good for so long. My chest squeezes. Not now! I tap my fingers furiously against my thumb with my right hand while scrambling for my phone with my left. The breathing app. If I can get the breathing app open, maybe I can— 

I slam into my body just as I’m leaving the front entrance of Feris Alweather, and for a second, my balance falters. I grab the door jamb to right myself and breathe hard.

None of it happened. No embarrassing conversation with Ethan Morrow and no invocation of nakedness.

I turn and take the way Mariana and I usually walk home, adding five minutes back to my travel time, but avoiding Ethan and the ridiculousness that ensued. Whatever it was.

I mean.

He couldn’t have been asking me on a date. Not really. Right? Running isn’t a date. It’s getting sweaty and gross and breathing hard and…oh. Oh no. Now there are other images in my head that involve that kind of thing, and it’s not two people practicing for cross-country.

I shake my head and pull myself out of thoughts of Ethan. I’ll get home, log online, and search for a cat. Clearly, I need a cat to keep me company. Obviously, being alone too often has taken its toll on the fragile state of my mental health.

Then, once I’ve found the perfect shelter cat to print out and stick to the fridge door, I’ll reheat the stir-fry from the freezer, start my chem homework, and—

I nearly jump out of my skin when there’s a tug on my ponytail.

“Hey, Slip!”

I know exactly who it is before I turn this time, and yet the shock is just as great when I see Ethan Morrow standing in front of me, that stupid grin on his stupid face.

“PJ.” My name comes out nearly a whisper.

“Right, sorry. So, hey, I don’t usually see you walking after school. You headed home?”

I blink. What is Ethan doing here? He was supposed to walk the other direction.

I narrow my eyes. “Are you following me?”

“Uh. No?” And he looks genuinely confused, not at all embarrassed like he’s being called out.

I shake my head. “Sorry, I gotta run.”

I tighten the straps on my backpack with a tug, then start a light jog.

But I haven’t deterred him.

“So dedicated,” he says, picking up speed and keeping pace beside me.

Despite its locked-down straps, my book bag thumps against my back a little with each step. So does Ethan’s.

“Just trying to keep myself in shape for the meet at the end of the month,” I say.

“Well, we should—”

I don’t let him finish his sentence. I bolt.

I can’t let him say it.

Ethan’s taken by surprise, so I’m able to get a head start, but, sprinter that he is, he catches up a moment later.

“Hey! That’s not fair. You didn’t say go.” He gives me a smile and races a pace ahead.

My pulse is still hammering, but at least this time there’s no squeeze in my chest. Running usually keeps that from happening, which is why I joined the cross-country team to begin with and why I run four miles a day on the days I don’t have practice.

I’m not going to slip this time, which means I’m going to have to give Ethan a whole different kind of slip. It doesn’t take long for him to get winded, so I bolt ahead until he falls behind and eventually gives up, hands on his knees as he leans over and catches his breath.

“I won’t let you win next time!” he calls from behind me.

There won’t be a next time. I’ll make sure of it.

By the time I unlock the front door to our tiny house, my back and book bag are covered in sweat, and my hands and face are clammy.

I drop my bag by the door, head straight for the kitchen sink, and shove my head under the faucet, letting cold water cool my neck. I take a few sips while I’m at it. When I’ve regained some sense of myself, I turn off the water. Mom would kill me if she knew how long I let it run.

I squeeze the extra water out of my ponytail before standing straight. Then I lean against the cabinets and slide to the black and white linoleum until my butt hits the floor. I rest my arms on my knees and drop my head against the cabinet behind me with a thunk. Droplets of water from my cheeks and chin fall to the front of my cotton t-shirt.

I finally let myself ponder the question I can’t let go.

Ethan Morrow shouldn’t have been behind me when I took my normal route home in version 1.2. So why had he?