Always Near•

The click of my running shoes on the asphalt was a steady, rhythmic metronome in the predawn quiet. Six-fifteen AM. Mile three of five. The autumn air was crisp enough to sting the back of my throat, but I welcomed the burn. It meant I was moving, pushing, controlling the pace.

My earbuds were in, but I wasn’t really listening to the playlist—some over-produced pop thing Sloane had sent me last week. The beat matched my footfalls, but my brain was stuck on the same loop it always ran before seven AM: *college apps, student council, track times, Colton.* I clicked my tongue. My jaw tightened. *Stop it, Jade. You don’t have time for him.*

Around me, the houses of Oakwood Estates were still dark, their manicured lawns hidden in the gray fog of early morning. Somewhere a dog barked twice, then went silent. A motion sensor light flicked on in the Millers’ driveway. Their calico cat, Jasper, watched me from the porch with the same judgmental face it always gave me. I swear that cat knew things about me.

This was my favorite part of the day. No expectations, no schedules, no eyes on me. Just the cold air, the thud of my heels, and the clean, predictable mechanics of my own body. I passed the black mailbox shaped like a barn, the one that always reminded me of my grandma’s house in Ohio, and I let my pace settle into something a little easier. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. My breath plumed in front of me, a small, vanishing cloud.

*Focus on the stride. Keep the shoulders loose.*

I visualised my life like this run—a series of calculated steps designed to reach a specific destination. High school was a game of stamina, and I was currently leading the pack. Then a car turned onto the street behind me. Headlights cut through the fog, and for a second—just a second—I tensed. But it rolled past a moment later, some neighbor heading to an early shift. My shoulders dropped. *Calm down. You’re fine.*

By seven o’clock, I was showered, dressed in a crisp white button-down and tailored dark jeans, my hair styled into a sleek, low ponytail. No flyaways. No crooked part. I checked my reflection in the vanity mirror. No stray hairs. No smudged eyeliner. Pristine.

“Jade, honey! You’re going to be late!” my mother called from downstairs.

“Coming!” I grabbed my leather tote bag, double-checking that my iPad, planner, and color-coded binders were inside. Phone, charger, lip balm. Good.

When I reached the kitchen, the smell of dark roast coffee and toasted sourdough greeted me. My mother was standing by the island, tablet in hand, checking her calendar. My father was at the table, methodically folding the morning paper. It was a picture-perfect scene of domestic order. They had been divorced for two years, but they lived in the same neighborhood and shared custody with a clinical, scheduled precision that most married couples couldn’t manage. This week was my mother’s week, but my father had stopped by to drop off some paperwork.

“Your father and I have that charity dinner tonight, Jade,” my mother said, not looking up from her screen. “There’s leftover chicken in the fridge. Don’t stay up too late studying.”

“I won’t,” I said, grabbing a green apple from the bowl. “I have Student Council early this morning anyway.”

“Did you finish the draft of your college essay?” my father asked, lowering his paper. His eyes, sharp and analytical behind his reading glasses, evaluated me. “The early action deadline for Duke is only a month away.”

“It’s done, Dad. I’m having Mr. Harrison look over it today.” I offered him a reassuring smile. “It’s under control.”

“Good.” He nodded, satisfied, and went back to his stock reports.

I reached for a coffee mug. My mother looked up. “You’re not drinking coffee on an empty stomach, are you?”

“Apple, Mom.” I held it up. “Multitasking.”

She made a small, disapproving sound but didn’t argue. My father glanced at me over his glasses. “You look tired, Jade. Getting enough sleep?”

“Eight hours,” I lied. “Maybe seven and a half.”

He grunted, the way he did when he didn’t quite believe me but didn’t want to push. My mother tapped her tablet. “Don’t forget, I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow. Six AM flight. Your father will be on call if you need anything.”

“I know. I’ll be fine.”

My parents exchanged one of those loaded looks—the kind that used to mean a fight was coming, but now just meant *the schedule works*. I bit into the apple and silently counted down the seconds until I could leave.

I kissed my mother’s cheek and headed out the door, the cool morning air instantly resetting my focus. I heard my father call after me, “I mean it, Jade. Sleep.”

“Love you too!” I called back, and the door clicked shut behind me.

The student council room was already loud when I walked in at seven-thirty. The scent of damp wool coats and cheap donuts hung in the air. Someone had left the heater on too high again, and the whole room had that stale, overheated feel. I unbuttoned the top of my shirt just enough to breathe.

“Look, all I’m saying is that if we don’t get the deposit to the DJ by Friday, we’re stuck with Mr. Henderson playing eighties vinyl again,” Sloane was saying, her voice cutting through the noise. She was sitting cross-legged on the table, her dark denim jacket covered in vintage pins, her short, choppy hair styled with deliberate messiness.

“Okay, but eighties vinyl is objectively better than last year’s DJ, and you know it,” a guy named Marcus said from the other side of the room. He was leaning back in his chair, balancing a pencil on his upper lip. “At least Mr. Henderson doesn’t yell ‘put your hands up’ every five seconds.”

“Marcus, that’s not a real argument,” Sloane snapped. “That’s nostalgia talking. We need a DJ who knows songs from this decade.”

“Shut up, Sloane.” Marcus dropped the pencil and sat forward. “I’m just saying, if we’re short on funds——”

“We have the funds,” I said, closing the heavy wooden door behind me. The room fell relatively quiet as I walked to the head of the table. “I cleared the budget with the principal yesterday. Sloane, did you get the contract signed?”

“Sitting in my inbox, boss,” Sloane said, offering a mock salute. “Just need your final approval sign-off.”

“Perfect. Let’s get through the rest of the agenda.” I opened my planner, laying it flat. “Thea, how are the track charity run sign-ups looking?”

Thea, sitting near the window, looked up from her phone. She was already in her school track jacket, her curly hair pulled back with a thick athletic band. “We’re at eighty percent capacity. If we get the sophomore class to actually show up, we’ll hit our fundraising goal by next Tuesday.”

“I’ll talk to the sophomore homeroom reps today,” I noted down. “What about the Winter Formal theme?”

For the next twenty minutes, I ran the room like a small corporate board. I liked the structure. I liked knowing exactly who was responsible for what, and how to fix a problem if it arose. It was a stark contrast to the messy, unpredictable drama that seemed to plague most of my peers.

“Alright, so we’re between ‘Enchanted Forest’ and ‘Midnight in Paris.’” I looked around the table. “Thoughts?”

Sloane stabbed her pen in the air. “If we do Enchanted Forest, I’m not going. I refuse to stand under fake trees with glow sticks.”

“Thea?” I prompted.

Thea shrugged. “Midnight in Paris is cute. But my cousin went to a school that did it last year, and everyone just wore black and stood around trying to look moody.”

“Marcus, you’re on decorations. Which one can you actually pull off with the budget we have?” I asked.

Marcus scratched the back of his neck. “Midnight in Paris is easier. String lights, Eiffel Tower cutouts, some fake cobblestones. Enchanted Forest means I have to build trees out of cardboard and hope nobody crashes into them.”

“Fine. Midnight in Paris. All in favor?” I counted hands. Most went up. Sloane rolled her eyes but raised hers anyway. “Motion passes. Sloane, update the social media posts.”

“On it.” She was already typing on her phone. “You’re scary efficient, you know that?”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t exactly a compliment, Jade.”

“I’ll take it anyway.” I smiled, and for a second, I felt almost normal. Then the warning bell rang, and everyone started packing up. Sloane lingered, waiting for me to lock up the cabinet.

“You look exhausted, Jade,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. Her sharp eyes scanned my face, looking past the concealer. “Are you actually sleeping, or are you just pretending to be a robot again?”

“I slept fine,” I lied, clicking the lock into place. “Just a lot on my mind. The Duke application, track times, the formal…”

“Right. And a certain ex-boyfriend who cornered you in the parking lot yesterday?” Sloane raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

I exhaled. “It wasn’t a corner. He just wanted to talk.”

“Jade.” Sloane’s voice dropped, all traces of joking gone. “The guy stood in front of your car and didn’t move until you rolled your window down. That’s not ‘talking.’ That’s a red flag wearing varsity letters.”

I didn’t answer. I just tucked my planner back into my bag and smoothed my ponytail. “It’s fine. I’m handling it.”

“Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.” Sloane nudged my shoulder as we stepped out into the crowded hallway. “But if you drop dead of exhaustion, I’m inheriting your designer shoes.”

“Deal.”

Before we could reach my locker, a tall, broad figure blocked our path. Colton. He was wearing his varsity jacket, his dark curls slightly damp from a morning workout, carrying a gym bag slung over one shoulder. He looked every bit the popular athlete, but the tightness around his mouth gave away his mood.

“Jade. Hey,” he said. His voice was too loud, drawing glances from a group of sophomores nearby.

“Hey, Colton,” I said, keeping my voice even and polite. “I’m late for AP Lit.”

“It’ll take two seconds.” He stepped closer, ignoring Sloane entirely. “My mom asked if you were coming over for dinner this Sunday. She bought those gluten-free pasta things you like.”

I felt a familiar, heavy tightness in my chest. We had broken up three weeks ago, but Colton was acting as if we were just in a minor rough patch. “Colton, we talked about this. I’m really busy with college prep, and… it’s not a good idea for me to come over.”

“It’s just dinner, Jade. Don’t make it a whole thing.” His tone shifted to that defensive, slightly angry edge I had grown to dread. “We can still hang out. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course we’re friends,” I said, trying to de-escalate. “But I need some space right now. I have to go.”

I stepped around him, but his hand caught my forearm. It wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but it was firm enough to stop me. “Jade, wait. Just tell me if you’re seeing someone else. Is it that guy from the cross-country team? The scout?”

“Let go of her arm, Colton,” Sloane said, her voice dropping an octave, deadly serious.

Colton looked at Sloane, his jaw clenching, but he released my arm. He looked back at me, his eyes dark with a mix of hurt and frustration. “Fine. Whatever. See you at practice.” He turned and walked away, his heavy steps echoing down the hall.

I stood there for a beat, my arm still tingling where his fingers had been. I watched him go until he disappeared into the crowd near the gym. Then I looked at Sloane. She looked back at me, arms crossed.

“What a prick,” Sloane muttered, watching him go. “Seriously, J, you need to block his number.”

“It’s fine. He’s just processing,” I said, though my skin still felt hot where he had touched it. I checked my watch. “We really need to get to class.”

“Jade.” Sloane grabbed my elbow gently, turning me to face her. “Promise me you’ll text me if he pulls anything else. I’m serious. I’ll have my brother come to school and make a scene. You know he would.”

I couldn’t help the small laugh. “I know he would. But I’m okay. Promise.” I held up my pinky. Sloane hooked hers around it.

“Pinky promise? Are we five?”

“Shut up.” I pulled my hand back, but I was smiling. “Let’s go before Mrs. Keller gives us both detention.”

We pushed through the crowd toward first period. Sloane kept talking—something about a new piercing she wanted—and I let her words wash over me, grounding me in the normal, noisy chaos of high school. By the time I slid into my chair in AP Lit, I had almost convinced myself the hallway moment wasn’t a big deal. Almost.

Track practice that afternoon was a welcome escape. The sun was beginning to set, casting long, orange shadows across the red rubber track. The air was cool, the wind picking up from the north. I changed quickly, laced up my spikes, and stepped out onto the lanes. The smell of fresh-cut grass and damp earth filled my lungs, and for the first time all day, my shoulders dropped.

“Focus on your breathing, Jade!” Coach Miller called out from the sidelines, stopwatch in hand. “Three more intervals!”

I pushed myself hard, the burning in my lungs drowning out the memory of Colton’s grip on my arm. Beside me, Thea matched my pace, her breathing heavy but synchronized with mine. We finished the final sprint, bending over with our hands on our knees, gasping for air.

“Good job,” Thea panted, handing me a water bottle. “You were flying today. Trying to run away from something?”

“Just trying to get my times down,” I said, taking a long drink. The cold water felt amazing.

“Right.” Thea wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I saw Colton hovering by the locker rooms earlier. He looked like he wanted to punch a wall. You okay?”

“I’m fine. We’re just trying to figure out how to be exes at the same school.”

“Well, if he starts bothering you, let me know. I can accidentally trip him during the hurdle trials,” she offered with a dry smile.

“Thanks, Thea. I think I can handle him.”

“Handle him?” Thea snorted. “Jade, you’re like five-four on a good day and he’s built like a golden retriever crossed with a tank. There’s no ‘handling.’ There’s only ‘seriously, let me trip him.’”

I laughed, the sound surprising me. “Point taken. But I don’t want drama.”

“Babe, drama follows Colton around like a puppy. You dated the guy for eleven months. You don’t just ‘not want drama.’ You can’t opt out.” She slung her arm around my shoulders as we walked toward the bleachers. “I’m here for you, though. Even if you’re a little too put-together for your own good.”

“I’m not that put-together.”

“Please. You color-code your binders by subject and semester. You laminated your study schedule.”

“It’s practical.”

“It’s terrifying.” Thea grinned. “But I love you anyway.”

We sat on the bleachers, pulling off our spikes. The wind picked up, sending a few dry leaves skittering across the track. I watched the far end of the field, where the trees lined the edge of the property. Something moved back there—a shadow, maybe a person standing just beyond the fence. I squinted. It was gone.

“Jade? Hello?” Thea waved a hand in front of my face. “You totally just zoned out.”

“Sorry. Thought I saw something.” I shook my head, forcing a smile. “Probably just a deer or something.”

“Probably.” Thea didn’t look convinced. She zipped her bag slowly. “You’re being weird. And not the normal ‘I’m secretly a robot’ weird. The ‘I’m actually freaked out’ weird.”

“I’m fine, Thea.”

“Sure.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Walk home with me at least? It’s getting dark.”

I agreed, but something cold settled at the base of my spine and stayed there.

Dinner with my parents was a quiet affair. They discussed their respective business ventures in polite, measured tones, while I pushed my food around my plate. My mother asked about school. My father asked about my essay. I gave the same rehearsed answers I always gave. No one asked about Colton. No one tried too hard to dig.

“Are you feeling alright, Jade?” my mother asked, pausing with her fork. “You’re very quiet tonight.”

“Just thinking about my AP Lit essay,” I said, offering a practiced smile. “It’s a tough prompt.”

“You’ll do fine, sweetheart. You always do,” she said, satisfied with the explanation.

“Your teacher still assigning Faulkner?” my father asked, folding his napkin. “Duke admissions will want to see critical analysis in that essay. Not just plot summary.”

“I know, Dad.” I stirred my water with my fork. “I’ve got it.”

He nodded, and the conversation drifted back to something about a property acquisition. My mother made a small comment under her breath that my father pretended not to hear. This was our family now—separate but still cooking in the same kitchen every other week, like two planets orbiting me. It was fine.

At nine, I said goodnight and headed upstairs. I heard the front door close as my parents left for their event. The house settled into its own quiet. The floorboards creaked. The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere far off, a dog barked twice.

I sat at my desk, the lamp casting a warm circle of light over my history notes. I read the same paragraph three times and didn’t remember a word. My eyes kept drifting to the window. Outside, the wind was picking up, rattling the glass.

*Stop it. You’re being paranoid.*

I got up and checked the window. It was closed, but the latch was old and slightly loose. I pushed it shut, ensuring the lock clicked into place. I pulled the heavy curtains closed, blocking out the darkness of the backyard. For a second, I stood there, my hand still on the curtain. I could have sworn I’d heard something outside earlier—maybe the neighbor’s fence, maybe a branch. I stayed still, listening. Nothing. Just the house breathing around me.

I climbed into bed at ten-thirty, my body exhausted from the run and the practice, but my mind was still wired, ticking through my checklist for tomorrow. *History essay. Homeroom announcements. Track warm-ups.* My phone sat face-up on the nightstand, dark and silent.

Then it buzzed. A low, vibrating hum that seemed disproportionately loud in the quiet room.

I reached out and picked it up.

**New Message**

*From: Unknown Number*

My thumb hovered over the screen. It was late. Probably Colton, or a wrong number. A strange, cold prickle of unease ran down my spine, a sudden, instinctual warning. I looked at the screen for a long moment, the blue light reflecting in my eyes. The bubble preview showed only three words.

I didn’t open it. I pressed the power button, turning the screen black, and placed the phone face down on the nightstand. I pulled the heavy duvet over my shoulders, closing my eyes, waiting for sleep to take over the rhythm of my thoughts.

But for a long time, I just lay there, listening to the wind outside and the half-imagined sound of someone breathing on the other side of the glass.