Jeremiah and I don't talk outside of the gym. We avoid making eye contact. We don't acknowledge the existence of the other. It's as if we've made an unspoken agreement to compartmentalize our workouts so that we only exist in the gym.
That's why, when he turns, I expect him to look right past me. He looks at me this time. For a split second, I forget to think, Stop breathing. I'm not sure why, but his stare is so intense that it makes me feel as if I can't think straight. Then, just as quickly, he's back with his friends, as if we'd never met.
Mom invites me to an after-school trip to the farmers' market, which isn't exactly my idea of fun, but it's the most exciting I've seen her in ages, so I can't say no. I'll pretty much do anything to help her forget about Dad.
"Layla says go fo
