“What friends?”
He shrugs, heading toward the stairs. “People from school.”
“What people?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because you’re seventeen and you were being all quiet with the door like you were trying not to get caught.”
He sighs and shakes his head, pushing his hair back. “I’m fine, Nate. I’m just tired. I wanna go to bed.”
“Look, I get it. I was your age once. I just want to know you’re okay.”
He doesn’t answer, heading toward his bedroom without another word.
I watch him until he disappears, my heart feeling heavy in my chest.
This ain’t like Alex.
After practice, the school parking lot is mostly empty, with only a few scattered cars and a group of kids still lingering at the edge of the lot smoking.
And Layla, leaning against her beat-up Honda Civic, scrolling on her phone.
I’m walking to my truck, keys in hand, my mind still on Alex and his weird behavior from a couple nights ago. We haven’t talked about it, and he’s been normal, but I’m worried.
About what, I’m not sure.
Alex is a good kid. I know I should trust him. But something feels off.
“Well, well,” Layla says, sliding her sunglasses up onto her head, pulling me from my thoughts. “If it isn’t Coach Wesleyhimself, looking like he’s got something on his mind. A rare occurrence.”
I force a smirk onto my face. “Always got something on my mind. Usually ain’t worth talking about.”
I lean against Layla’s car since it’s been a few days since we’ve caught up. She’s a good friend.
We started teaching the same year and have been friends throughout the last, hell, almost a decade.
“How’s the ole ball and chain?” I ask, referring to her husband, Grant.
He doesn’t like me much, and the feeling is mutual. Guy’s a dick.
She raises her eyebrows. “I thought I was supposed to be the ball and chain.”
I scoff. “No way. It’s definitely him in your case. Weighing you down, not wanting you to hang out with the coolest person in Rosehill.”
She snorts. “You wish.”
“I don’t gotta.”
“Something’s bothering you,” she says, her gaze narrowing, like she sees right through me.
“It’s Alex. He’s been, I don’t know. Off.”
“Teenage boys are always off.”
“Yeah, but he’s not usually sneaking in late and acting like I’m the FBI when I ask where he’s been. Shit, I don’t remember a time that boy didn’t tell me exactly what he was doing in way too much detail.”
“You think something’s going on with him?”
