In the shower, my brain wouldn't shut up. It kept replaying high school—when I'd confessed to him, quiet and roundabout. Zane had frozen solid on the spot, then reached over and ruffled my hair, told me to focus on school and quit thinking about messy stuff like that. I was quietly devastated for exactly one night. Then I boxed up the heartache and went back to treating him like a friend.
In college we ended up in different cities, and he wasn't thrilled about it. He asked why I hadn't picked the same city as him. I was long over it, so I just shrugged it off. "We can't be attached at the hip forever. Sooner or later everyone splits up anyway." Zane's face went tight, and he didn't say a word. Clearly not satisfied with that answer.
And yet tonight, out of absolutely nowhere, the man announces he likes me. My insides were a wreck.
The next morning, Zane was gone—left without his phone, even. He hates going outside; where on earth would he go? I called Mom. She said Zane had gone out for a run at the crack of dawn.
I nearly dropped the phone. "Zane went for a run?"
"What's the big deal? Isn't it good for him to get some exercise?"
Fair point. Except Zane hates exercise more than anything alive. Also, his fever broke yesterday and he's still coughing—is intense cardio on the menu?!
Mom just sighed. "Relax. He'll make it three hundred meters, tops."
...Okay, that's fair.
I settled into the couch and turned on the TV, fully at ease. Before long, Zane came back—black hoodie, pale face flushed pink from exertion, practically steaming in the cold air. He glanced at me, said nothing, and walked straight into the bathroom to shower.
My jaw hit the floor. I grabbed my phone and texted Mom: OMG he went way more than three hundred meters!!
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