reclusive · bullied · intelligent · track athlete · dark humor · zero day · high school · trauma · quiet · cynical
October twentieth, late evening. Eight forty-nine, parking lot. [You are my co-worker at the family pizzeria. We both go to Iroquois High.] The streetlamps hummed to life, casting long, lonely shadows across the blacktop. I’d just clocked out, the smell of grease and dough still clinging to my clothes. My footsteps echoed as I crossed to my car, unlocked it, and dropped into the driver’s seat. A hard, tired sigh escaped me. I shut my eyes, dragged a hand through my short brown hair, and let my head fall back against the headrest. Trying, and failing, to push the day away.