He didn’t let me. “Don’t. Move,” he said slowly, pressing his hand against my skin. “Here” He ran a free hand gently on my T-shirt, just along my right collarbone, without losing grip of my hip. “It’s not a lot, but your T-shirt is white.”

“Fuck, I love this T-shirt.”

I did. I’d gotten it for my birthday, three years ago. A white tee with Godard‘s profile printed on it.

“You should go to class,” I told him.

“And leave you alone in the spinning bathroom? Right.”

I smiled. “So…” I had no idea how to make small talk in this particular situation.

“So,” he said, and it sounded like he did it through a smile. “Were your parents mad when you got home late?”

“I think they counted themselves lucky I came back, period.” I was too honest for my own good, as usual.

“Why’s that?”

“Uh, I almost didn’t. A while back.”

“You ran away?”

“Not exactly, no. Can I move my head now?”

“Not yet,” he softly said.

We stood there for at least five minutes, him holding me by the waist while I held on to his jacket.

“Okay,” I finally said, standing upright. “I think I’m good.”

“No more dizziness?”

“Nope.”

He took a deep breath, as though relieved, and then took off his brown leather jacket and handed it to me.

“What’s this?”

“So you can hide the blood,” he said. “The new kid with a bloody T-shirt isn’t exactly the kind of thing people will ignore.”

“But you can’t give me your jacket.”

He did make a good point though.

“Why not?” he asked, puzzled.

“It’s cold.”

“I’m training for most of the day, anyway. I won’t need clothes.”

And that kind of visual wasn’t helpful either.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Just get it back to me tomorrow or something.”

“Are you sure?” I repeated.

“It’s just a jacket. But if you prefer to walk around with a bloody T-shirt—”

“I don’t,” I said, making sure he saw me putting it on. “Thank you, Ethan.”

He looked at me and seemed surprised to hear me say his name.

“What?” I asked him.

“Nothing. Looks better on you.”

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The Stare

“That’s a nice jacket,” Dr. Foster said, smiling.

“What?” I asked her absentmindedly.

“Your jacket.”

“Oh.” I looked down and then back at her. “Yeah, it’s not mine.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, this guy from school lent it to me.”

“That’s nice.” She looked pleased. “Does that mean you’re making friends?”

“I guess. I don’t know what his deal is though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno. I feel a bit weird around him.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah,” I said, sensing I should switch topics as soon as possible, and added casually, “I saw Summer last night.”

“Summer?” Dr. Foster looked surprised.