Captive - FourTris

Forty-Seven

SEPTEMBER 14
2 WEEKS, 1 DAY

Cross country starts today. It is my fall sport. It signals that school has begun, that the leaves will soon drop, and that my schedule will be full again.

Al and I will be captains this year, him of the boys, me of the girls. He's better than I am, but I'm the only senior girl on the team this year, so I win by default.

We jog side by side through the outdoor halls and courtyards of the school, toward the woods and trails behind the football field. There are twenty-seven runners behind us, their footfalls sounding out a rhythm that pushes me forward with each beat. We keep an easy pace, talking all the while. Those who fall back will be cut. If Al and I can talk and they can't even run, they are not cut out for this.

It doesn't take long for us to hit our stride.

We have been on this team for three years together. We have worn down these paths with our own feet, first as gangly, slow freshmen, and now as the veterans who hold the team together. Today, the sun is shining in its full glory, a last day of summer weather before fall defeats it.

"I got Wintle for history," Al says as we enter the woods and the shade of trees.

"Ouch." My feet are making pleasant little crunching noises now as they fall upon the first leaves of autumn. I know I should hate that an entire school year stretches out before me, but on days like this, I just revel in it. In the promise of a new year and new sports and crisp weather and winter holidays.

"I know. And I got Mr Knight for English."

"Double-ouch," I say. My breathing is steady. My muscles are warm. I'm happy and comfortable and ready for a long run.

Al glances back at the runners behind us. Some of them are already thinning out, and we've only gone two miles. "There will definitely be some cuts next week."

I nod and look over at him. His cheeks are flushed with the blood pumping through him and his dark hair has lost its perfectly gelled look. It's a mess, thanks to the wind and the branches we duck under.

Sometime over the summer, he grew up. He doesn't look like the kid from junior year, arms and legs too long and scrawny for his body. Now he looks fit, and healthy, and good.

And as he looks back at me I can't help but wonder what he's thinking. Have I changed?

"You keeping up okay?" he says.

I grin. "Absolutely. I could sprint the next two miles."

"Is that a challenge?" he asks, returning my smile. His Adidas track pants are swish-swish-swishing with each stride.

I glance back at the rest of the team, wondering if they can handle picking up the pace.

Half of them can. And that's enough. "Yes."

And then I take off. I crank it up a notch and my legs are flying now, leaping over twisted tree roots and splashing through puddles, and I can hear Al's thundering steps behind me, and it pushes me harder, faster, until the forest streams by in a blur of brown and green. Everything disappears, and all I can hear is my breathing and my heartbeat in my ears, and it is just me and the run.

When the trail forks, I take the left path, the longer one, knowing it's not part of the plans but unwilling to turn back toward school. I can still hear him behind me. He's keeping pace.

But he's not passing me.

We run on and on, until we are miles into the woods and I know we have to stop. My throat is turning sore with the cool air and my legs are beginning to feel the push.

And when we stop, and I finally see him, his face is reddened with exertion and his T-shirt is damp, but he's grinning a smile as wide as my own. "We lost them all. I'm betting they took the right turn. The turn we'd planned on. Peter probably took them that way after we lost them."

I grin sheepishly. "Can't say I blame 'em. We must be three miles from school if we cut through the trees. Four if we follow the path."

I lean against a tree, one foot propped up on it as I regain my breath. My chest is rising and falling, expanding as large as it will go as I rake in more oxygen.

"I say we follow the path. How long are we going to have weather like this? We can walk back. It won't take more than an hour or so."

I look up at the sky through the canopy. It's a vibrant blue. It must be barely four thirty. Plenty of time for a long walk, and it might end up being the last one of the season.

When I look down again, he's closer.

Standing in front of me, inches away. He's still breathing a little hard. His eyes are looking straight at me, intense.

"What are you—"

And then he kisses me. It's salty, the taste of his mouth mingling with his sweat, and he still breathes heavily through his nose. I'm so stunned I don't move. For just a second, I actually want this, until finally I come back to focus and turn my head away, and our lips part.

For one millisecond, I regret it. For just a moment I think I might turn back to him and throw all my good sense away and kiss him.

But then I think of Tobias, and I know I can't do that. "I ... uh, I'm kind of seeing someone."

Suddenly I'm breathing hard again. Why does it feel so wrong and so right at the same time? Why couldn't we have done this last spring? Why didn't Al just call me, or stop by Subway this summer? I'd even told him I could give him a free sandwich, knowing I'd have to pay for it after he left.

But he never stopped by.

He turns around, so his back is to me, and I don't know what he's thinking. He just stands there, one hand cocked on his hip, staring down at a nearby stump. Why isn't he looking at me? "Who?"

"You don't know him. He doesn't go here. It's only been a couple weeks, but it's getting serious pretty fast."

"Oh."

And we just stand there like that, me staring at his back. "Al, I'm sorry. Any other time—"

"We should get back. It looks like rain." His voice is curt. He doesn't want a conversation. He doesn't want my explanation, he just wants this over.

It's a lie. There's no way it's going to rain.

But I don't correct him. I just stare at his back for another long, silent moment, trying to find someway to make sure what happened didn't just ruin our friendship, and yet I know there are no words that can fix this or make it so that it never happened. So I just follow him back down the path.

"Okay. Sure."

And for more than an hour, we don't talk.

A/N

Well done to txnisha who correctly guessed what happened in the woods!

Anyways, I think there will roughly be about five more chapters left or something like that— just a heads up!

Have a nice day/night.