Page 42 of Freestyle (Boys of Frampton U #2)

Alberto

N o one listens. Not really. Not when I say things, not when I warn them, but she did. Rowyn. She heard me once. Just once. Third Tuesday in October. She dropped a pencil, and looked me in the eye like I was real. That’s all it takes.

People like her... they’re soft inside. Pretend-tough, but I see through that. I always have. Since sixth grade. Since the dog. Since Mom said I stare too long. Since they told me I shouldn’t feel nothing when it all went quiet. Since she told me to be her friend.

They act like I’m broken.

I’m not broken. I’m awake.

She looked at the pony like she used to look at me. It makes me feel things. Soft and hard. Thinks rage equals love. Thinks stepping in now makes up for ignoring me before .

Too late. Too late. Too late.

The phone texts were art. Smiley face included. :) She didn’t block me, that means something. It means she wants the conversation.

I watch her sit on the fountain like she’s waiting for a date. My heart skips. No, thunders. No, stops.

This is the part where the story gets interesting.

I brought the brand. Cold like freezing rain.

She’ll understand once it’s done, once it’s etched. My name without letters. Just pain.

But it’s not really pain. It’s permanence.

I want her to stay. Stay.

And then—crack.

Fists. Fury. Shouting. Soldiers.

They think they win, but she felt the burn.

She felt me .

She’ll never not feel me now.