After Obsession by Carrie Jones, Steven E. Wedel

been in my office before?”
    “No,” she says. A carved nameplate tells me we’re facing John Everson, vice principal.
    “This young man comes to school and in his first week you’re both in my office for skipping class,” he says. “That doesn’t say much for him.”
    “It was my fault, Mr. Everson,” Aimee says. “I’ve been super worried about Courtney after … you know. They’re cousins. And I thought he might be able to help but I didn’t want to talk about it in front of her or in class or at lunch when everybody could hear. I’m babbling. I’m sorry. I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
    He nods for her to go on.
    “And I just thought it would be better if we snuck away for a second and the only place I could think of going was outside and Alan was so nice. He just did it because he’s kind like that. And now Court’s all hurt anyway.” Her voice breaks a little bit.
    His icy blue eyes flick to me and I nod. “Yes, sir. Courtney Tucker is my cousin. She’s with the nurse now.”
    “She wasn’t with the nurse when you snuck out of school, though,” he says.
    We’re both quiet for a moment; then Aimee says, “No, but we could tell she’s sick. Ever since her dad, you know, she’s been acting really strange.”
    “I see,” he says, then focuses more fully on me. “You’re the kid that beat Blake Stanley yesterday in cross-country.”
    “Yeah.”
    “From where? Oklahoma, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah. OKC. Does everyone know about me and Blake?”
    “This is a small school, Mr. Parson.” His beard splits in a grin for a moment, then he suppresses it. Maybe he’s not always the hard-ass he acts like. “Somebody outrunning Blake is a big deal. You’re the one who got worked up because we don’t have football.”
    “Yeah. Man, does everyone know everything around here?”
    “Get used to it,” Everson says. “I used to play football.”
    “Colorado?” I guess.
    “That’s right,” he says.
    “I planned to go to OU.”
    “Ah, the Sooners,” he says, and shakes his head. “We used to play them back when it was the Big Eight conference.”
    “I know,” I say. I consider saying something about how Oklahoma was always whipping Colorado, but the sound of sirens saves me from doing anything that stupid.
    “You two get to class,” Everson says. “I don’t want to see you back in here. Understand?”
    At lunch, I sit alone because it just seems like the right thing to do. Aimee sits with Hayley and Eric while Blake hangs out with the cross-country guys. Halfway through, someone plops a note written on a napkin in front of my face.
    “Don’t get involved with her,” it reads.
    It’s so melodramatic. I crumple it up and throw it away, then put my ear buds in and rock out, all alone in my own little world. Aimee catches my eye and waves. I can’t help it. I wave back.
    Coach Treat has heard about the friction on her team. Her hair’s pulled back in a high ponytail and she’s wearing shorts despite the cold. Her legs are pale enough to glow in the dark.
    “Same course as yesterday,” Coach calls. “Seven miles. Line up! Alan, you stay with me.”
    Coach Treat runs alongside me, taking long, easy strides. She’s good at this. Her upper body seems to glide, while I bounce up and down, my feet pounding the pavement much harder than hers.
    “You’re fast, Alan, but not steady,” she says. “Cross-country is about endurance. You’ll wear yourself out if you don’t learn to be lighter. You’re losing energy every time you stomp the ground. Take longer strides. Keep your torso straight up and down. Nobody’s going to tackle you. You don’t have to lean over a goal line.”
    I try taking her advice, but it feels like I’m trying to gallop. For a school without football, these people seem to know a lot about it.
    “One thing at a time, Alan. Focus on keeping your torso straight,” she says.
    I try it. It messes with my stride, but I keep it up.
    “That’s it,” she says.