The next day, she decided to try approaching, a new concept for her. Say hello, ask how his day is, if he has any girlfriends, that sort of thing. It got her a little nervous and made her wonder if that’s how boys felt when they approached her.

  With Liam at his seat on the opposite side of the classroom, she wanted to introduce herself to Timothy while her boyfriend wasn’t around. That push out of the car he did to Timothy irked her. And Liam was practically halfway out the window to make the reach. God knows what he’ll do if she talks to Timothy if he is nearby.

  In her mind, she practiced not saying Duck Face. Timothy, Timothy, Timothy. Or does he go by Tim? She made it to her aisle of desks. Like yesterday, he spotted her at the end of the aisle and stared. A lot. His chest heaved. Her skin crawled a little. But she reminded herself of how well he spoke with Mrs. Witman yesterday on their first day of school. He can interact, he can speak, and he can do so with her as well.

  She tried to think of something positive about him. Positivity has gotten her far. Her friendliness (and looks) have won her prom and homecoming royalty three years in a row, beginning as a freshman princess to junior queen. His oversized wrinkled shirt matched his shorts and tennis shoes. But she spotted that his clothes matched. It looks like he does consider some style when out in public. Does he care about perception? Sarah and Timothy may have some common ground. Fashion.

  She walked to her desk, lifted her head slightly, waved, and said, “Hi, Timothy.” Heads turned, all boys. She never bothered to say hi to them.

  Blood flowed to his face. His typical heavy breathing skipped beat after beat, and he lifted his hand an inch off the desk in response. It’s not uncommon for her to get strange reactions from greetings. One student walked face-first into a locker when she said hi, and another tripped over a curb. But they all had strong reactions, large smiles, or a return wave with enthusiasm. Timothy had to muster every cell in his being to give that response, a wave half an inch off his desk.

  The design on his shirt was of an abstract saxophone with musical notes flowing out of the bell. “Cool shirt,” she said quietly. He didn’t respond.

  “His nose might bleed again if you ask him another question,” a boy nearby said.

  She rolled her eyes and gave Timothy another chance to respond, but he didn’t. Sarah left it at that and decided on a slow-roll approach to get him to talk to her. To learn what his angle is. A while ago, one student took her photos off of social media, deep faked them into porn, and threatened her to release them unless she went out with him. She posted the messages online, and he got doxxed by her followers, and he had to transfer schools. Would Timothy do the same? Threaten her?

  This wasn’t deepfakes, as Timothy knew. He knew something real. And what he did. There’s no way he doesn’t want anything in return. If Liam so much as gets her a flower, he expects a week's worth of sexual favors. Not that she minds, but everyone expects something. A boy who lends her a pencil won’t turn his head away unless she smiles with a thank you. The same is true if a boy holds a door open for her. It goes on and on.

  Gym class was the same. Instead of dodgeball, it was badminton with several nets around the gym. Sarah got roped into a team with Liam and didn’t get a chance to speak to Timothy.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Later, she didn’t sit beside him in Western Literature class. But she wanted to try as well. The girls and boys around her kept talking about their summer break, where they went on vacation. Everyone knew what Sarah’s vacation was like, as the entire school followed her socials. It was Europe, Mexico, the usual summer with her family. She didn’t get a chance to break away from the group before class started, but she’d try to hunt him down after class in the hallway.

  Mrs. Witman did something similar today. Picked on Timothy to answer a question on the books they were assigned to read over the summer.

  Under pressure, he was able to answer. “Technology is an inevitability, and John Henry, despite giving it his all, representing humanity, wins against the machine but dies in the process. His keeping the axe in his hand means he didn’t want to change, and keeping up with progress as a human is futile.”

  Western literature class seemed to be his forte. But certainly not gym. He does speak in complete sentences, she thought. Just not to her, and with heavy, deep breathing because of his bucked teeth.

  “Nice try,” Mrs. Witman said. “It’s about giving it your all no matter what. As an individual, it’s what makes us American.”

  The bell rang, and Timothy made it out of there like a bandit. Head down, legs pumping, he was the first to leave the room. Crap, she thought. She closed her book and rushed out while hoisting her bag. He went left. She went left, following him to the senior hall, and Timothy already opened his locker, hurrying to switch out books.

  She approached. “Hi.”

  Timothy dropped a book on the floor. Stared at her chest and did the elevator eyes by instinct. He quickly grabbed the book off the floor. Said hi as best he could in his mouth-breather voice and ran off.

  Well, that’s a first, she thought. Boys practically jumped over one another to have a conversation with her. She ripped a page out of a notebook, wrote a note asking Timothy to text her, folded it, and placed it in his locker.

  Class, lunch, class, class, class. Nothing, no messages from Timothy. She assumed he hadn’t been to his locker yet. She sat in the hallway by the locker room and waited, staring at her phone. She gave up and began doing homework before cheer practice. It was essential to focus on cheer, as the first football game of the season was Friday, and it was a home game.

  Later, as Sarah drove Liam home, he wouldn’t stop talking about how good football practice went. He didn’t miss a single throw and could run the plays with his eyes closed. Sarah kept a hand on her phone, hoping it would vibrate with a message from Timothy.

  Nothing.

  As Liam droned on, her mind went wild. Did she write her number wrong? Did he not see the note? Or worse of all, does he not care? Strangers seemed to care about her every move. If she had a technical question about an app or something in computer class, boys would appear, surround her, and each would try to interject, helping her with the problem.

  Did Timothy not care? He knew something. Something big. There’s no way. He’s diabolical, playing her like this. Of course, he cares. Of course, he has her number. And, of course, he’s going to do something.

  She sped home as soon as she dropped Liam off with a mission ahead of her.

  She opened her laptop, as this job needed a keyboard, and began searching his name online, nothing, no socials. She scrolled and searched, adding the town name Clearspring to the search.

  Timothy’s name appeared immediately, but only for one link, for a dog walking website. She clicked.

  He had one photo on his profile, smiling with his large front teeth sticking forward, kneeling next to two dogs, one large lab and a dachshund. It was kinda cute and strategic having a big dog and a small dog in the photo. The reviews were great. Perhaps she and he weren’t all that different. However, she doubts he has over two million dogs to walk to match the number of followers she has. She admired the photo all evening and wondered why.