Free Going Long by Ginger Scott

was standing there in a gray T-shirt, Reed’s T-shirt,
and nothing else. Her hair was messy, and her face was smeared with
last-night’s makeup.
    “Can I help you?” she said with
a bit of a southern accent.
    “I…uh…I need to talk to Reed?” I
was questioning myself, like I had no right to be there. I was so thrown by her
presence and her lack of familiarity with me—even though we’d met just a
few days ago. “I’m Nolan?”
    I felt stupid and out of place,
instantly. It was the first time I’d felt that way in months.
    “Oh, right. Nolan,” she said
with a faint smile. I couldn’t tell if it was smugness or politeness, but
something told me it was the former. I was trying to look inside the house over
her shoulder when she leaned sideways to move her eyes in front of mine. “He’s
still sleeping.”
    She just stopped short there,
waiting for me to either continue to act the part of the asshole or get what
was going on.
    “We had a late night,” she
offered more, biting her lip a little like she was both proud and ashamed at
once. And that was enough. She was here because of Reed, wearing his shirt. And
I was pretty sure that smile was arrogance and not friendly in the least. “Want
me to tell him you stopped by?” she said, feigning manners now.
    My heart was pounding with
anger, and I was forming fists at my sides, digging my nails into my palms to
try to stave off slapping her. “No need. Thank you very much,” I said, turning
and marching back to my car, like a kid who was angry he didn’t get picked on a
dodge ball team.
    I heard the front door close
behind me as I opened my car door. I quickly got in and drove all the way back
to campus. I was completely numb, not able to feel, and I couldn’t recall
whether or not I stopped at a single stoplight or what exit I took from the
freeway. But somehow, somehow I’d made it to my parking lot at school. I leapt
up the stairs to my dorm room and threw my running clothes on. I was so angry,
and my rage was directed at everyone. I picked up my phone and typed out a text
to Reed.
     
    So much for never.
     
    I paced my room, debating
writing more, but ultimately decided to leave it short and sweet. My emotions
weren’t right, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry or scream obscenities and
punch something. If I didn’t do something to center myself, I was going to get
into trouble. I grabbed my gym bag and threw my phone, wallet, towel and iPod
inside.
     It wasn’t quite 10 a.m. on
a Friday morning; campus was blissfully quiet, and the gym was empty. As I
walked with purpose down the long trail that led to the recreation center, my
stomach rolled with stress and rage more than a few times. “Push it down,
Nolan. Push it down.”My mantra was the only thing holding me together,
not ready to fully download all that I’d lost over the last 24 hours.
    I climbed onto the treadmill and
wrapped my iPod armband tightly around my bicep, pushing my favorite playlist
and pounding my feet into the machine. I’d gone through all of the songs once,
letting me know I must have been running for at least 45 minutes, before I
slowed down to a brisk walk. As soon as my steps slowed, though, my mind went
back into action, my eyes flashing back to Dylan in that damned familiar shirt.
Then I started to think about last night, and before reality set in, I pushed
the up arrows on the treadmill and roared it back to a steady running pace.
    My playlist went through once
again, and I was panting heavily. My eyes were wide and focused on the window
in front of me, and I barely registered the blurs of color passing through the
reflection. People were here, in the gym with me. I pulled one ear bud from my
ear, and I heard the clanking of weights and the smashing of racquetballs
behind me. It must have been near lunchtime. “I should stop.”
    I was about to attempt a walking
speed again when things turned yellow—then black. The funny thing about
exhaustion is you don’t