Here he comes! What does this maniac want from me? You sometimes read stories about girls who…I’m about to pick my bike up off the ground when he shouts again.

“Linnea?”

How does he know my name? But then I realize who I was running away from.

“Fender?”

A wave of relief washes through me. Why didn’t Fender just say it was him?

Maybe he was trying to scare me on purpose so he can tell everyone this weekend about how fast I tried to escape.

Fender brakes right in front of me and pulls my bike off the ground in one movement.

“What happened?” he asks.

I point at the branch. “I fell.”

“Klutz.”

Well, whose fault was that?

That’s what I want to say to him, but as always I swallow my words. Whenever I’m with Fender, my stomach is full of words.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was just at our bench.”

Fender shakes his head. “Dumb route to take.”

I pretend not to hear him and get onto my bike. My ribs are hurting but I just want to get home as soon as I can.

As we ride our bikes out of the park, there’s an awkward silence. There always is when it’s the two of us. We simply don’t have anything to say to each other. When we have to work in pairs at school, Fender always makes sure to quickly join up with Kate or Lucas before the two of us are left over.

“How did it go tonight?” I say, trying to break the silence.

“What?”

“You were just at your band practice, weren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. Great.”

“So what kind of stuff are you playing now?”

“Huh?”

What is wrong with Fender? It’s like his mind is somewhere else entirely.

“What are you playing now?” I repeat.

“You wouldn’t know it anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Arrogant jerk.

I glance over at him. Fender is leaning forward on his bike. A few strands of his long hair have slipped out of his bun and are hanging in front of his eyes. He has two earrings in his right ear. It’s like they forgot his left ear and overcompensated on his right ear instead.

“Hey, are you actually named after the guitars?”

“No. My parents just called me Fender because they liked the meaning.”

“What does it mean?”

“You know, ‘protector.’ Like ‘defender.’ ”

“Yeah, that’s a nice meaning. Linnea means ‘lime tree.’ ”

Why did I say that? Fender stays meaningfully silent, like he really doesn’t care.

It’s just as well he has to go a different way soon, because I don’t want to cycle next to him for even one more minute. It’s like I’m riding my bike next to a complete stranger. The silence between us is worse than ever.