ss

he closet door, vibrating

at all. My boots hit the sticky floor and I keep going, past the

the neon sign is ju

n the parking lot, and sal

the whole explanat

*

akes me up befor

mouthful of toothpaste, not looking over. "

and I know it's thin, but neither of th

ake a face. "You look like death.

Love that

ost l

the tread, branching, white, like it grew there while

and get dressed before ei

*

. Don't be late. Now I'm crossing the quad with p

t by the library, red and gold,

s. DULUTH | EXH

lf serious, half bored, one of them landing a beat late e

d down. The tightness in my ches

*

de to. Not a campus shuttle. A full coach, dark gray, Duluth c

t just

his bag straight into another kid on the sidewalk and doesn't look back to see if he's

them steps

turns, slow, and finds me across maybe sixty feet of frozen grass, like

kind of smile you give so

r, something that feels like hearing a word in a

crawls under it. Old iron. Wet fur, li

on the papers unt

't kn

n't I bre

n a patch of ice and I catch myself,

a step

ht, wide and sudden, and I realize I'm n

e it's taken. His scent gets to me before his voice does, black tea, wet earth, the air right a

't say a

em he didn't expect to run into today. A beat passes, then he lifts two finge

e bus doors hiss shut and th

e turn

insi

t wa

de, J

ds. Fla

scattered around my boots. I'm angry that he gets to decide how much I'm allowe

arm up, even tucke

*

oth hands buried in a bin of skate guards, grumbling about s

e you saw a g

t co

rybody's cold. Coun

to read it back. My hand drifts to my throat at some point, and I catch myself rubbing the sp

*

Silas

pping, somebody's music too tinny through a phone speaker. Diego sits a

carving

the back of my mother's journal, on a page she turned so fast I barely got a

ay. I get my ph

d under the noise of guys packing gear.

nough to understand my mother's voice went q

decide, right there, no

*

essie

ked me to run towels, and saying yes was easier t

the Duluth guys drives a Golden Wolf into the boards a full s

the rest, but his head keeps tur

equipment cart, towels

hard, and looks straight into the tunnel. Straight at me. He doesn't smile

f my hands and hit th

can't hear them over the crowd

kate

e cold of it soaking through my hoodie in sec

e. Not grabbing. Steadying, fingers s

back. His hand stays three seconds, maybe four, then he's gone, m

. I didn't kn

*

door propped open, everybody long gone. I cut t

walk past

I s

lines crossing at one end, with an arced arrow in the middle. Something about the pattern

to, though. Same tight pull behind my ribs

one b

he same symbol, carved into older wood,

t, thre

ound

hts buzz somewhere overhead an

hing clicks. Sof

in a

But right where the overhead light cuts off near the bench leg, a shape is still pulling back in