“K, get back here!” Jennifer hissed at Caleb’s retreating back, but he was already gone, swallowed by the late-afternoon shadows between the houses. Traitor. Absolute traitor.

  The convenience store bell jingled. Martin emerged, clutching three cold soda cans. He jogged across the quiet street, condensation already beading on the aluminum.

  “Here,” he said, handing one to her. The cold shock against her palm was grounding. He looked around. “Where’s K?”

  “Oh,” Jennifer said, the lie springing to her lips with practiced ease. “He got a call. Something urgent at home, I think. He just… took off.” She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance.

  “Huh. So, you heading home now too?” Martin asked, popping the tab on his own can.

  “Uh, no,” she said quickly. “I’ll… walk with you a bit more.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  They fell into step, the silence between them thick and awkward. Martin drank his soda, his eyes on the cracked pavement. Jennifer stole glances at his profile. His face was a careful blank, the usual playful glint in his eye utterly absent. A question formed in her mind, stark and simple: Has he smiled once today?

  She searched her memory—the classroom, the walk, the brief chase. Nothing. Not a real one. The realization was a cold stone in her stomach. She opened her mouth, the words I like you perched on her tongue, heavy and terrifying.

  But the moment passed. The street ended, his house came into view, and the courage evaporated. They exchanged a quiet “see you tomorrow,” and he was gone.

  As Martin pushed his front door open, the interaction replayed in his head. Jennifer’s odd insistence on walking further, her nervous energy, Caleb’s abrupt exit. It didn’t add up to a normal day.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Hey, you,” Loria called from the laundry room, a basket of folded towels in her arms. “How was school?”

  “Fine,” he said, the universal teen non-answer, as he toed off his shoes.

  He was halfway up the stairs when her voice stopped him again. “Oh, by the way… how was the celebration with your dad yesterday? The scholarship dinner? I’m sorry I missed it.”

  Martin paused, one hand on the banister. He’d forgotten about the fabricated celebration—the cover story Loria and his dad had used for their hushed, urgent dinner to discuss… him. “It was great,” he said, his voice flat. “Really great. Should thank him again.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Loria replied, her smile audible but not seen.

  He continued to his room, closing the door behind him. The conversation echoed. Jennifer’s pitying company. Loria’s painfully bright tone. They know, he thought, leaning against the door. Jennifer knows what’s wrong with me. That’s what all this is. Pity walks. Pity attention.

  A bitter resolve hardened inside him. Well, I don’t need it.

  The pattern solidified over the next few days. Martin’s senses, heightened by anxiety, tuned into every glance, every hesitant gesture. Jennifer and Caleb were always there—lingering by his locker, joining him for lunch without being asked, forming a quiet, somber guard detail.

  Jennifer, especially, took to walking him all the way to his doorstep after school, even though it was out of her way. She did it on Tuesday, filling the silence with chatter about nothing. She did it again on Wednesday, the conversations growing more strained.

  On Thursday, Caleb made himself scarce after the final bell with a vague grunt about an errand. It was just Jennifer and Martin, walking the now-familiar, silent route.

  She was trying again, fumbling for a topic. “So, in history, did you think the essay question was…?”

  “Can you stop?” Martin’s voice cut through hers, quiet but edged with frustration.

  Jennifer halted, blinking. “Stop what?”

  “This.” He gestured between them, at the empty street. “Following me. Hovering. You and K both. Just… give me some space to breathe. Please.”

  The hurt flashed across her face before she could mask it. “Sorry. I just felt like if I could be around more, maybe…”

  “Yeah,” he interrupted, not meeting her eyes. “I don’t need it.”

  The words hung in the air, final and cold. Jennifer stared at him. Then, she nodded twice, a sharp, mechanical motion. She started snapping her fingers, a tense, rhythmic sound. “I need something to throw at you,” she muttered to herself, as if searching her mental inventory.

  Before he could process what she meant, she swung her school bag off her shoulder, unzipped it, and pulled out a thick hardcover textbook. With a grunt of pure frustration, she didn’t throw it at him, but down—directly onto the sidewalk at her own feet. It landed with a definitive THWACK, spine-up, pages splayed.

  She looked from the book to him, her eyes blazing. “You’re going to know what space feels like from now on.”

  Then she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving him alone on the sidewalk.

  Martin watched her go, a strange knot of guilt and relief tightening in his chest. He looked down at the abandoned book. A faint, surprised chuckle escaped him. He knelt, the concrete cool through his trousers, and picked it up. It was her advanced biology textbook. He brushed a speck of dirt from the cover.

  The space he’d asked for now stretched around him, vast and hollow, and it felt nothing like relief.