Despite the gray clouds and rain, she scurried about with some extra spunk in the morning. While ignoring her friends' texts, she added some extra makeup, put on her cheer uniform as it was a game day, a pair of boots for the rain, and a light, matching coat. She hustled out, saying bye to her parents and sisters as she left with a granola bar.

  Bri said as her older sister ran out. “We shopping tonight?”

  “Can’t, Friday.”

  She planned to hang out with Liam and others in their friend group tonight after the football game, but she hasn’t confirmed. She always does, but today might be different, and she will play her Friday night by ear.

  As she drove, she had to check her excitement. Timothy might say something about the Summer, might hold it against her. He might not be the man with integrity she’d imagined him.

  She spotted Timothy looking out the window in his driveway, waiting for her as the rain pattered on the car’s roof. It took him some effort, and she watched him take a deep breath before running out the door. With the awkward arm-over-the-head method of blocking the rain, he got into the back seat and closed the door.

  “The back?” She reached over and opened the door. “Come on, up front.”

  He went back out and jumped in. “Thank you.”

  “No worries.”

  He reached into his bag and pulled out two homemade breakfast burritos wrapped in foil. “Are you hungry?”

  It was surprisingly thoughtful, an unexpected and friendly initiative from his mother. After threatening her while Timothy was in the bathroom, getting breakfast made by her was shocking. “Wow, thank you.” She only had a granola bar, to her, this should be alright to eat. She was quick to take a bite. “This is really good. Your mom is a good cook.” He was about to say something before she spoke up. “Look at you, getting breakfast made and a car ride to school from two women.” She winked. He gave a simple nod as a response, and her gauge of how hard it would be to break him out of his shell rose a little. And Kayla was too kind to make her breakfast, Sarah thought.

  After a couple of turns with continued silence and a finished breakfast, he reached out a hand, offering to take the empty foil. She handed it over and placed both his and hers in his bag.

  “What kind of music do you like?”

  He thought about it as her hand hovered over the dial.

  “Retro wave.”

  “Never heard of that.”

  He pulled out his phone. “Can I sync this?”

  She tapped through the touchscreen, and the music began to play on the car's speakers. Despite the lack of words, he seemed glad he got to share something. A synthesizer and a saxophone kicked in with poetic lyrics. It reminded her of the 80s, same mood, but more modern.

  “Whoa, Timothy. Great music for a couple at sundown.”

  He looked straight. “I wasn’t, I don’t know.”

  She chuckled. “All good. But girls like that type of stuff. Keep that in mind.”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you study for the quiz?”

  “Yeah.” He continued to stare through the window.

  “How do you think you’ll do?”

  “Fine.”

  They turned a corner, and Timothy pointed. “You can let me off here.”

  “What?”

  “I can walk the rest.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Won’t you get embarrassed? And your boyfriend will get mad.”

  “Liam gets mad at everything. And you’re not an embarrassment.” She wanted to scream, You’re a hero.

  But is he? He still hasn't mentioned anything. He hasn’t asked for anything from her. He even gave her his mom’s breakfast burrito. At this point, she’d need to be forward about it. What if he crosses her?

  Before they got out, she had to ask. “Are you going to do anything?”

  “What?” He stared at the glove compartment.

  “With what you did last month. Over the Summer.”

  He continued to stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Without any tells, she wasn’t sure if he was honest or not. She saw what he did. She’s grateful but scared. She continued, being blunt about her experience with men. “Is there anything you want from me?”

  “No.” He got out and went straight for the school’s double doors.

  Nothing at all? That’s a first. Not a better spot on the cheer team, not to send a nude via text, not a ‘show me a smile,’ not asking for a phone number. Nothing. He wanted nothing, unbelievable. Catching up to him in the parking lot, a smile formed on her face. He really doesn’t want anything? she thought.

  Their peers' heads turned, and hands went up to cover their whispers to one another as they walked side by side. She hopped over a puddle like a kid, keeping pace with him. They stopped as they made it under the awning. He dried his hands off and held the door open. He has some gentlemanly manners, she thought. He got caught at the door, holding it open for more students as they poured in out of the rain.

  She waited for him. “I need to get to my locker. Meet at my car after school?”

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  “You’ll drive me home?”

  “Or anywhere you want,” she waved as she walked away.

  Waving and weaving down the hall, she made sure to say hi to all of her friends and those she rarely speaks to. She’s a morning ray of sunshine for many in the school and tries to live up to it.

  A boy her age ran up to her. He was tall, slender, and had short dark hair with mutton chops as he was still learning about male grooming. He hugged her.

  With her arms clenched over her chest, she said, “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Damien,” he said. “Got back from studying abroad.”

  She smiled. “Good to see you again, Damien.”

  “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Sure.” She walked off, wondering who he was. Then she recalled a boy in a science class sophomore year. Right, she thought. They’ve never spoken before.

  At her locker, she recited her combination out loud and opened it. A buzzing sensation jolted through the side of her bookbag, and she kept ignoring her phone as she grabbed her books from her locker. The metal exterior of the lockers rattled with each phone message when she placed her bag against it on the floor. But a slam near her locker was louder.

  “What the Hell?” Liam surprised her.

  “What?”

  “You drove Duck Face to school?”

  “Timothy.”

  He grew upset. “Are you two friends somehow?”

  “Trying to be. No need to get mad.”

  He rolled his eyes so much that his head went with it. “He’s a loser. You even spoke to him yesterday.”

  She got next to him, wrapped her arm around his, and put one hand up the sleeve of his football jersey. “I’m allowed to be friends with whoever I want.”

  Liam had zero control over her as she was far more powerful than anyone in the social totem pole of the school. If he was number two, she was number one, but above the clouds, looking down on him as he stood on the ground.

  “You doing charity for college applications?”

  “God, let’s just forget it.”

  One of Liam’s friends in a similar letterman jacket passed by and slapped Liam on the shoulder. “Getting cucked by Duck Face?”

  Liam flipped him off. “Eff off, Rory.”

  Sarah released him before they entered the classroom. Liam always played it cool with his dad as he walked in, acting like a regular student by changing his gait to walk straighter. Sarah went to her seat, and Timothy was sitting straight but also playing it cool, trying not to look at her.

  She finally checked her phone. It held a barrage of messages from the minute they drove into the school parking lot, and they all said the same thing.

  Did you drive Duck Face to school? One friend said.

  Everything ok, heard Duck Face was in your car? Another.

  Get to my locker now. Liam texted about five minutes earlier.

  Nerves grew in her. Their remarks scratched at her, cucked, charity, Duck Face, it’s been constant, and first period hadn’t started yet. Like an itch, she felt the instinct to react to scratch at each message, to feel better and set the record straight. But after seeing Timothy, what he did... Duck Face. She decided to chew her friends out at the after-game party tonight.

  But, like Timothy’s mom said. She’s called him that before. An apology is in order, a profusely obvious apology on the car ride home. As class started, her train of thought didn’t change. Would she treat him like this now if she hadn't witnessed…? Would she still call him Duck Face? Guilt and embarrassment were not common feelings for her. If she ever did anything embarrassing, everyone would laugh it off or say it’s cute. If someone accidentally bumped into her or didn’t do her end of a group assignment, they’d apologize even if it didn’t bother her. She can’t seem to remember a time when she apologized to someone.

  As Mr. Witman passed out the quiz, she found it hard to focus. Discovering guilt for possibly the first time during a calculus quiz, her mind went everywhere, everywhere except the quiz.

  Later, in gym, to Sarah’s chagrin, Liam kept getting in between her and Timothy when she tried to involve him. This time, it was flag football. Despite the rain recently stopping, the turf in the vast high school football stadium felt as if it didn’t rain at all. She’d always get a pass from some boy and try to lateral it back to Timothy. Each time, Timothy never expected it. He’d just stand there during each play. The first time she passed it to him, he dropped it. The second time, he caught it but got a flag pulled immediately. The third time, it bounced off his shoulder.

  The fourth time, Liam was ready to catch the lateral meant for Timothy. When he caught it, he hauled ass down the field, outrunning everyone with ease for a touchdown. Despite the 7,000-person stadium being empty, Liam did a celebration dance as if it were full, and he got his typical high fives and praise. And Timothy remained at the other end of the field.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Your boyfriend is fast.”

  She chuckled. “He’ll let you run next time. You’ll grow on him.”

  Timothy stared at Liam as the teams rearranged for the kickoff. “Not possible.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The whistle blew from the gym teacher. “Come on, you two, lineup.”

  From the far end, Liam stood watching his girlfriend lean in, her hair draping over her shoulder, and smiling at Timothy. It sickened him while watching the two of them all buddy-buddy alone at the end of the field.

  Afterward, in Western English, Mrs. Witman picked Timothy for a question. “How does Oakhurst's character represent the 'strongest and yet weakest' of the outcasts?”

  Timothy didn’t have to think about the answer. “He was a leader and came off as strong, helping everyone stuck in the storm. Yet he couldn’t keep it up and surrendered to nature by suicide.”

  “Nice try,” Mrs. Witmon said. “He’s a leader, but he has a weakness as well, his alcoholism.”

  “Every time,” Sarah whispered.

  She stepped to the side and looked up at Sarah. “What was that?”

  Sarah took a breath, straightening her posture. “You call Timothy, he answers, you criticize him. Every time.”

  Mrs. Witman paced back to her podium. “No, I don’t.”

  Did she just try to gaslight me? “Yeah, whatever,” Sarah said. “Alcoholism wasn’t a diagnosis back then, and everyone drinks, even George Washington. Committing suicide is a far greater act than drinking. It’s obvious it’s suicide, what Timothy said.”

  Mrs. Witman rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” she said, returning to her friendly tone. “Perhaps you’re right,” Mrs. Witman still didn’t give credit to Timothy.

  The teacher called on someone else to answer another question about The Outcasts of Poker Flat.

  After school, Sarah hurried to her car. She was happy that Timothy did as ordered, to meet at her car. He stood still, staring off into the distance like a statue, not glancing or changing posture as other students walked by.

  “You ready to leave?” She said.

  He bounced and turned, his body didn’t change position, but his direction did, instinctively to face her. “Yeah,” he made sure to get into the front seat this time. “Thanks again for driving me.”

  “Yeah, can you put that music back on?”

  As he did, she turned the volume down a bit. “Listen,” she began. “I’ve called you some names before. And I’m sorry.” She made sure to look him in the eyes with the last two words.

  “It’s ok.” He said. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “For what?”

  “Staring.”

  She chuckled. “That’s fine. Everyone stares at me, so I’m used to it.”

  He laughed a bit.

  “Are you going to the game tonight?”

  “No.”

  “You should. I can’t drive you as I have to head back to prepare to cheer. But let me know if you go.” At a stoplight, she pulled out her phone. “What’s your number?”

  He told her, and she sent him a smiling emoji. About thirty unread messages cluttered her alerts. She put her phone away and ignored them.

  “There’s also a party at my place afterward if you want to go. No pressure.”

  Once they reached his place, he stepped out of the car and said, “I’ll go to the game.”