I’m nearing the end of the trail when I hear footsteps thudding toward me. I stop and press myself against one of the trees to get out of the way of the runner and Butters chooses this moment to jump on my shoulders.

I let out a hiss of pain at his claws digging into my skin, but he’s purring as if he’s not inflicting pain.

The runner comes into view and I recognize him as the boy from the party I went to with Brie. He’s wearing shorts with a hoodie, even though it’s probably close to eighty degrees and the humidity is starting to pick up.

He’s got headphones in with the music blaring so loudly I can hear it where I’m standing. I wait for him to pass, but Butters decides to launch himself in front of the boy, yanking his leash out of my hand and nearly causing the boy to fall. He catches himself and somehow catches Butters midair. We both pause, staring at the cat that apparently has gone insane. Then, his eyes turn to where I’m half crouched, reaching for Butters’ leash.

He slowly pulls his headphones out of his ears and blinks at me. He swipes at a few beads of sweat on his forehead with one of his sleeves.

He sets Butters down, and the little jerk winds himself around the boy’s legs as if he didn’t just fly at him.

There’s a moment of silence where we’re both looking at each other. The only sound is Butters chainsaw purr. I briefly wonder if the boy recognizes me.

“Hi there, sorry about that,” I swipe my hair out from my face and shuffle forward.

“Violet, right?” he asks. I’m a little surprised he remembers my name and feel a little guilty that I don’t remember his.

“Gage, we met at Jonah’s party,” it’s as if he’s reading my mind.

I nod. Butters continues to rub himself all over Gage’s legs and I let out a sigh.

“Crazy cat,” I mutter.

Gage scratches Butters right in his favorite spot, and the stupid cat starts purring even louder; he’d rival a motorcycle now.

I try to think of something to say to either start a conversation or make my escape. It’s been so long since I’ve really talked with anyone. Ruby always did the talking for both of us.

“You look hot,” I blurt. He raises his eyebrows at me, and I feel my face heating. “I mean, hot as in temperature hot, not that you aren’t the other hot, just that you’re wearing long sleeves when it’s in the eighties.”

This might be why I don’t have friends, because apparently when I do talk, I have no filter. Or could it be him? I feel I know him, which is weird, since I don’t know him at all. I couldn’t even remember his name.

“Not that you can’t wear long sleeves if you want. My cousin wears a jacket everywhere she goes, and… yeah, sorry I’m not good at the talking thing.”

He doesn’t laugh, but a grin breaks across his face.

“I’m comfortable, read about what people wear in the desert.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t comment about me basically telling him he’s attractive.

If Ruby happens to be haunting me, she’s probably laughing loudly enough for every medium to hear her within the state.

“I have,” I tell him. “Read about them, I mean, but isn’t the desert more of a dry heat? Do you see how frizzy my hair is from this humidity?” I gesture to my hair, normally naturally straight but starting to curl and fluff. It’s always done that in the humidity.

His eyes cut to the mess trying to overtake my face and he pulls a hair-tie out of his pocket.

“This might help,” he says, offering it to me.

Butters meows to let Gage know he forgot to continue scratching him and butts his head against him.

“Umm… thanks.” I haphazardly pile my hair into a bun and watch as Gage reaches to give Butters more attention. There’s another heavy silence between us, and Butters seems too content to be an excuse to leave.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he prompts.

“Me and the outside don’t usually get along.”

“And now?”

Normally, I would brush off the question and make my escape, but I remember how he pulled me out of that party, how he seemed to know that I needed fresh air.

“It’s like I forget to breathe until I’m outside again.”

He nods.

“Sometimes I can’t sit still, or I feel that I’ll explode. So, I run. It helps.” He says.

Running.

I never would’ve considered running, but there’s a kind of beauty to the idea of it. I think of running through this very pathway, getting lost in the whisper of trees.

My mind shifts to a wolf running through the forest, chasing the moon it can never reach.

A part of me wanted to run away from the party. I wanted to run away at the funeral, from Ms. Rich’s office, from the stares… I want to run away from everything.

“How long have you been running?” I ask.

He shrugs, a breath of wind rushes through the leaves around us and Butters continues that rumbly purr.

“Long enough.”

“Was it hard?”

“For a time. I wasn’t in the best of shape when I started… for… various reasons. But it got easier, and now I can run for a lot longer and a whole lot faster. I was in a 5k a few months ago.”

“Are you in our school’s track?” I ask him, thinking of Brie’s boyfriend who runs track and wondering if they know each other.

“No, never had the opportunity, and well, I’m a junior now, no sense in wasting the time.” He says it in a sort of resigned way, as if he really wanted to be on the track team before, and now he doesn’t see the point in it.

For some reason, it reminds me of when I stopped dancing. He’s got the same look in his eyes that Ruby had when she quit, too.

She’d said it was no fun without me, but her eyes had said otherwise. Her eyes said that she felt guilty for having fun without me. His eyes hold that same sort of guilt, and a curious part of me wonders why. What is he guilty for?

“What would you recommend to someone that wants to take up running?”

I ask, instead of delving into that look of guilt. I know I could do a quick internet search and figure out all I want to know, but I feel like he wants to help.

I don’t know why he’d have any interest in helping me, and I’m not really sure I want it. But I think I want to talk to him, for at least the few extra minutes that it takes him to answer my questions.

He starts giving me a detailed list of things to buy and not buy, of what to look for in a proper running shoe, and where to start. I pick up Butters and we walk back the way I’d come, talking about running.

The longer he talks, the more comfortable I feel. But a part of me wonders why I’m still talking to this boy I don’t know. Why I haven’t made up a reason to head home.

And another part of me, the part most definitely still in denial, recognizes how lonely I am. It’s nice to talk to someone, even a boy I just met about a sport I may or may not try.

It was even nicer that he remembered my name for a reason other than being Ruby’s sister.