Frederick Winters hand hovered over the iPod only briefly before he elected to leave it on the dresser as he headed for the door.

“Mom,” he poked his head in the kitchen when he got downstairs, “going out for my run.”

“Try to be back at a reasonable hour, Rick. Be safe!”

“Will do,” The boy tried to keep his eyes rolling from being apparent in his voice. Better than Fred, but still. Even dad called him Frost now. What were they thinking giving him a name like Frederick anyway? “Love ya mom.”

Stepping outside Frost took a deep breath of the cool night air. He was already going to miss it in a couple weeks when school started; he wouldn’t get to be out this late. Though it would get too cold for this soon anyway. At least it would be his last year. With a toss of his head he stepped down off the porch and started running.

The late-summer air was perfect that night. Not completely dry thanks to light rain that morning. The yards and gardens he passed were green and alive instead of the usual brown this late in the year. As twilight continued to fade stars winked into sight in the clear sky above. Frost started to laugh for the pure joy of it and stifled himself, not wanting to bother any neighbors.

He couldn’t help giving a kick to the ball as he dodged through a handful of kids, squeezing a street game into the end of the day. Frost heard one kid start to protest before a friend silenced him. “Can it! That’s the iceman. Coulda kicked it clear over the next block if he’d wanted.” That raised one of his eyebrows as he ran. Not at all sure where he had gotten such a reputation, or the nickname. Frost wasn’t sure he liked it, no offense to Bobby Drake.

It didn’t weigh on him long. He was too busy enjoying his run. Frost took a winding course through the suburbs he called home, a path he’d spent weeks working out that ran through or past every park in range. There weren’t many, but he loved the tree-lined paths of grass the most. Plus there were usually a few more stars visible from within, away from the street. Often he would unconsciously slow down on park grounds.

Not that he disliked the rest of his route. The feel of sidewalk beneath his feet was solid and perfect for a steady rhythm. Sometimes he’d run a little faster or slower to set the right beat and sing. Tonight he was in danger of wanting to close his eyes, feel and hear the air, his footfalls and everything around him without the distraction. Long habit, and a lack of traffic kept him safe when caution failed to keep eyes open and alert.