When Jonah got home from school, he tossed his books down on the sofa without stopping and headed straight out the back patio doors. He had to release some of the pent-up energy and tension inside of him. He felt claustrophobic, as though if he didn’t get away from the confines of his life he would explode. His long legs ate up the ground as he crossed the back yard and entered the line of trees. He didn’t slow down even though his legs got caught in the underbrush and sharp limbs pulled at his clothes and slapped his arms and face. He strode through the low hanging branches for ten minutes before he crossed a trail. Excellent. He turned onto it and broke into a run. It didn’t take long to work up a sweat and, after a few minutes, he pulled off his damp shirt. He ran for half an hour and passed no one. God, this was great. He had never run so far, for so long, without encountering another human being. His opinion of Lake Placid rose. The last two days had been hard. He had been completely anonymous at his high school in Manhattan. He was accustomed to melting into the background amidst thousands of other kids. Everyone’s interest and curiosity here was nearly unbearable. He felt like he’d been walking in a spotlight for two days.
It had been a long time since anyone in school had bothered to be friendly to him. And the pretty, green-eyed girl…she’d been the worst. He’d seen the pain in her eyes after his rejection. She had seemed more kind—more sincere than most. She’s actually seemed hurt. Most girls just got ticked off and did that snooty hair flip when their egos got bruised. What did she say her name was—Lyla, Lily? Lyra. That was it.
He slowed his pace, finally beginning to feel a release of the pressure in his head and muscles. His feet were beginning to hurt too. He should have at least taken the time to change into his tennis shoes. He turned around and headed home. Home. He could get used to calling this place home. Except for school, which he should have realized would be bad, he already liked it here better than the city. The constant press of people and incessant noise, intermingled smells of fried food, car exhaust, and garbage—he hadn’t realized how much he had hated living in New York until he’d left. Manhattan was better than where he came from, though, so he supposed he had just overlooked its defects.
Back at the house, Jet was in the kitchen.
“Well, there you are. I saw your books, but couldn’t find you.”
“Yeah, I just felt like a run.”
Jethro raised his eyebrows taking in Jonah’s bare chest, blue jeans, and boots, but didn’t say anything.
“I’m going to take a shower; then I’ll help with dinner.”