Page 37 of Running With Lions

Sebastian’s brow furrows. It’s not the answer he expected. Then again,nothingabout Emir has been predictable.

“Oh, come on, man,” Zach says. “Everyone needs a story.” He stops, causing Sebastian to groan, before he considers Emir. “What are you? Brainiac? Band geek? Art geek? Goth? You’re definitely not part of the jock crowd.”

“I’m not a stereotype.” Emir glares as if he might just drop Zach, but he doesn’t, and Sebastian is relieved.

“Okay, but you’re very,” Zach says, then takes a deep breath, “quiet. It’s scary. How are you going to make friends with us?”

“I’m not here to make friends.”

Things are seconds from going nuclear. Sebastian tries to walk a little faster, but it’s difficult since neither Zach nor Emir is cooperating. He’s tired and confused by Emir’s constant hot-and-cold vibe. All he wants is his bed and for everyone to shut up.

“Are you playing the weird-kid angle?” asks Zach, hacking a laugh at Emir’s scowl.

“I’m not playing anything—”

“When we were kids,” Zach barrels on, “you didn’t say awordunless Bastian was around.”

“Zach,” warns Sebastian, because he doesn’t need this right now.

“No, no,” Zach says. “What’s wrong with the rest of us? I don’t get it. I don’t getyou, Shah.”

Sebastian almost drops Zach trying to read Emir’s face. He’s red all over and breathing hard; his eyes are glassy. His jaw works as though a mouthful of profanity is going to fly out, but he doesn’t say anything. He glares straight ahead. It’s a girl-from-The-Exorcistvibe.

Zach swings his arms off both of them. He stumbles, then regains his balance. Puffing boozy breath, he smirks over his shoulder at Emir. “Here’s a tip, Shah: We’re a family on this team—”

“Zach, man,please,” Sebastian begs.

But Zach continues, “If you want in, you better learn there are more guys than your superhero Bastian.”

Zach sways side to side, then stumbles up the porch. He thuds his shoulder into the door a few times before it pops open. Then, it smacks shut.

Sebastian turns, whispering, “Emir,” but it’s useless.

Highlighting his shaking shoulders and red face, moonlight haloes Emir. Tears haven’t drowned his eyelashes, but they’re threatening. “I need to get to bed,” he says in a broken voice.

“Wait, just let me—”

“Here’s a fun fact: Everyone in high school is a dick,” Emir snaps. He waves a hand around. “Your friends aren’t excluded.” He wipes a finger across his left cheek, giving Sebastian just enough time to pull something poignant out of his ass.

The words never come. At least, not until Emir stomps off, head hanging and fists shaking.

“Thank you.”

11

Camp Haven is a ghosttown the next morning. Most of the team sleeps through breakfast. Their buzzes give way to headaches, exhaustion, and fits of nausea. Guys creep zombie-like into the rec room for a monster FIFA tournament on the Xbox. A handful hide behind sunglasses from any threat of light.

Sebastian skips his morning run. He hardly slept last night. He declines Kyle and Gio’s invitation for a round of ping pong. He’s no good to anyone when his mind is drifting, lost at sea without a buoy. He’s drowning in Val and Mason, Zach’s attitude, the team, and Emir Shah.

Why is it so hard to get the one person whodreadsseeing you off your brain? It should be a piece of cake.

Sebastian’s brain is so stuffed full of shit that Emir just circles around the surface like flotsam in a clogged drain.

The lake is a good place to free his thoughts. Sunlight glints off the water, gold against azure. Robins and sparrows chirp their sweet anthems. He presses his phone to his ear, flops on the wooden dock that stretches a few feet into the lake, and dips his toes in the cold water.

“Bumble Bee!”

Sebastian winces. One day Lily will realize the nickname is childish and tragic and finally stop calling him that.

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