Silent Runner

I ran my fingers through my shoulder length blonde hair distractedly. I wondered if I would ever feel like I actually belonged at this school as I often did. I was a foreigner in these halls, these clothes, in this life. I doubted that would ever change. It wasn't that I was new, I had been here for four years, but I had come from a polar opposite environment.

I looked around the wide hall with few students in it. The clean rows of blue lockers that, if we were honest, were overkill. I knew kids who hung two or even three spare outfits in their lockers to change into throughout the day.

I rolled my eyes. Everyone here had more money then they could ever spend, not that that kept them from trying. I took a stilling breath, before having to face my next class.

“Ethan.” Mike Britten said, clapping my shoulder from behind.

I bit my lip in a semi-successful attempt to hide my startled reaction. I managed to not hit him, but I still jumped. Also, the taste of iron in my mouth made it clear my anxiety was worse today then average.

“Hey, what’s up Mike?” I forced a smile as he leaned against the locker next to mine.

“I heard you were taking Britney to spring formal, how did you swing that?” He raised his bushy eyebrows in a failed attempt to hide his resentment.

His brown hair was a dark muddy color that matched his eyes almost perfectly. His skin was just a couple shades lighter giving him a monotone look. His personality, as well as most of my peers, was very confident and self assured to the point of ignorance.

“That’s not true. She asked, but I’m not going.” I rolled my eyes, noticing the sea green color in the mirror that had been permanently attached to my locker door. The bright blue frame was decorated with sand and shells, and was as tacky as could be. Despite my greatest efforts though it would not be removed.

“Oh,” Mike said happily; drawing my attention, and irritation, back to the current conversation.

It was just like Britney to pretend she got what she wanted as always. Just another rich, entitled, brat. The school was bursting at the seams with those, but I wasn’t interested.

As the school’s fastest track member, this happened every time there was a dance. At St. Mark’s track was the top sport. Football was too dirty for most of these kids; the few who did play, had to play for the local public school. My only real friend Marcus did that.

Even to him though I was weird, an outsider. I was the only one in this school who knew what it was like to really need something, but not have it. The only one who knew what real hunger was. I didn’t come from here, and I didn’t belong here.

“Well do you mind if I ask her then?” Mike’s tone was less acidic now.

I just shrugged, “Be my guest.”

“Cool thanks man.” Mike said, turning to strut to his own locker.

By the end of my final class, I was so glad the school day was over. Even more glad it was Friday. Track tryouts were in ten minutes and I couldn’t wait. I ran everyday but something about running against others was more fun. Though it would be even more fun if at least one of them had the slightest chance of overtaking me.

I allowed myself to hope that this year someone would. As usual my mind fought to squelch the hope, I ignored it. I had to constantly remind myself it was okay to be hopeful. I don’t have to protect myself so thoroughly anymore.

I closed my locker and headed out towards the track carrying my new track shoes. As always when I took the time to look at my brand new clothes; I would realize that, from the outside at least, I did look like just another rich kid. It was an uncomfortable and disturbing realization.

No, it wasn’t me, just the clothes. Unlike them I didn’t care how I looked. In fact I would be more comfortable in thrift store hand-me-downs.

However my aunt, and guardian, would be appalled at the idea of that. She had given up on taking me shopping over a year ago instead doing all of the shopping for me. I would simply find new outfits or shoes already cleaned and put neatly away.

Despite the clothes and everyone wanting to be with me, it all felt like fraud. High school felt like a play and I wasn’t sure what role I was in anymore. It sucked sometimes; but with everything I had been through these last five years, I was just glad the worst was over.

Now I readied myself at the starting line on the track field. Both girls and boys double checked their make-up and hair before joining me. I would never understand the fascination with looking perfect. Some days it took everything in me to act sane, nevermind my looks.

“Run like your life depends on it.” The coach, an older gray haired man with a wildly receding hairline, called as always.

I clenched my jaw as the kids around me chuckled and rolled their eyes. I had to remind myself that, out of this group, I was the only one who truly knew how that felt.

They continued lining up around me, and something caught my eye. I was pulling my hair back, into a quick ponytail at the base of my neck, when I noticed two beat up blue tennis shoes step up to my left.

I slowly allowed my gaze to rise looking over a short thin girl. She wore a ratty old pair of sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt that was deep purple and well worn. Her long curly black hair was pulled tightly back into a ponytail. With her dark hair and dark eyes her fair skin seemed almost translucent.

However it wasn’t any of this that caught my attention. It was her expression that froze me in place. Her mouth was a firm and serious line. Her dark eyes held so much anger and deeply hidden, nearly impossible to see, pain. I knew how to see this because she wore the same expression I had seen in the mirror for years. I had seen it millions of times before the court sent me to live here with my aunt and uncle. Family I hadn’t even known existed.

As the whistle blew, we ran. She stayed right beside me, keeping pace easily. I quickly realized that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one who knew what it meant to run for your life after all.