Free True Intentions by Lisa Kuehne

doors. Although I'm nervous, I'm also happy to get an opportunity to talk to him, finally. I need to get some things off my chest and hopefully get over my drug addiction.
    He takes me to an unfamiliar area. We must be in the teachers' area outside the school. There are a few picnic tables set up with a great view of the forest, and only a small field of cut grass separates the school from the tree line.
    The area is perfect—totally secluded.
    He steps up onto the bench of the rectangular table and turns to face me. He sits down on the table, pulls out a ripe, Granny Smith apple from his tattered, navy backpack, and immediately takes a small bite.
    "I'm all ears," he offers, chewing on the piece of apple.
    Why am I so nervous?
    I know I can't just sit and drool over him; I have to say something.
    "Okay, I screwed up," I throw out.
    He looks up and makes eye contact. I pause, unsure of what my next line should be. Although I'm not sure how long I'm stalling, I sense he's growing impatient.
    Think of something. I tell myself.
    I'm starting to panic.
    "I never told you thank you," I continue my unplanned speech. If truth be told, I'm absolutely clueless how to get the answers to all my questions.
    "It wasn't because I'm ungrateful, but because I don't know what to thank you for," I openly confess.
    The uncertainty in his expression gives me no insight on what he might be thinking, so I continue my babbling.
    "That is why I called you a rapist the other day. See, after you sent me away, I read in the paper about another girl. She was attacked in the woods by the dog bakery the morning before you stopped me."
    I want to make sure he doesn't think I am totally crazy for accusing him of assault.
    "So, I thought maybe you were involved somehow, like maybe you were the lookout or something." I'm practically stuttering at this point, my voice weak. The worst part is I'm unable to look at him; instead, I'm keeping my eyes on the ground and kicking dirt with my tennis shoes.
    Sam appears amused. He grins arrogantly while taking bites of his apple. I had expected him to jump in with a comment or two by now. But, so far, nothing. I wait, but silence lingers in the air. He doesn't say a stinking word. The longer he stays quiet, the more my tension increases.
    Why isn't he responding?
    I can't go on without knowing his thoughts.
    "Aren't you going to say anything?" I snap, realizing I sound desperate.
    I start hyperventilating.
    This is not going well . . . . Why do I panic when I'm around this guy?
    Instead of getting angry and starting another battle, he laughs. "What do you want me to say, Ava?"
    He does know who I am.
    That at least gives me a slight self-esteem boost.
    I shrug.
    Okay, saying I love you, Ava would be awesome, but I'm dreaming.
    "Would you like me to agree with you and confess I am a rapist or a lookout?
    Would that get you to finally drop this issue?"
    "No."
    I know for certain, I don't want to hear those words.
    "It would make me wonder why you didn't attack me."
    I hear the sadness in my voice.
    Am I crazy?
    Talk about sounding like I have low self-esteem.
    I practically just begged to be assaulted.
    Why can't I think coherently—just once!

    He stares at me for a moment, probably waiting for me to run away. Then he pulls his arm back and throws what remains of his apple over me and straight into the woods. The apple core glides through the air for an extended distance, although it doesn't appear he put much effort into his throw. He looks back at me for another moment, as though he is studying me with a greater depth than I fully understand.
    "Did I mention I think you are the most utterly absurd girl I have ever met?" he reminds me, and rightfully so.
    I nod. And although my mind tells me to look away, I resist and look into his beautifully wild, teal blue eyes.
    I feel butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and my head is about ready to explode from the adrenaline.
    I take a couple steps toward him. Before I can