Have you ever had a secret that you couldn't live with? The kind of secret that keeps you awake at night, wondering about what could have happened if you made the effort of reordering time? Sometimes, when strangers looks at me, it's almost like they see it, and part of me is glad, because then I won't have to tell them myself. The three hour span keeps replaying in my head, like a broken record.

At some point, I don't remember why, but I was there at the center of town, staring at the missing poster, then ripping off the black and white poster with her face on it. If Hayden saw this, she would laugh and take it off herself, studying the picture in front of her like it was another person, and in a way, it was a different person. The two pictures seemed a world apart, and the only thing they had in common was their name and appearance. Everything seems like a blur.

I make my way down the dirt road; there's no reason why I do. I just don't want to speak to anybody. The spring air makes me feel like I'm choking. The crunch under my running shoes makes me think of the not too distant summer, and it feels nice to think of something other than what I've been hiding from.

When I think about it too much, like a lot of things, I get this weird look on my face. My mother used to scold me when I made that face, since it made me look 'unattractive,' but that didn't stop me. I just needed to get out of the house; the food piling on the counter only made me feel sick. It's stupid. It's like, Your friend just died, want some gross casseroles and a hug? No thanks, creepy lady next door, I'm not a huggy person. If one more person asks me if I'm okay, I will be forced to punch them in the face.

It's a bit hilarious to me at times; I get off for the stupidest things. I've cut class three times, just running out of the school and into the foggy air of the morning, not thinking to turn back. Some people would look at me and make that silly clicking noise that a person makes when they're disappointed, and shake their head. Trust me, I could be worse. I could be Hobo Joe who begs for cash down at the supermarket.

It's Saturday and I just spent 20 minutes staring at the bulletin board at the center of town, wondering why they picked that picture of Hayden. They say it's a shame that she ran away, but I know they're relieved. Hayden wasn't a good person. She spent most of her time scaring younger kids and getting into bad things that I won't even go into detail on. Even with all that, she was my best friend. I was nothing like her; in a way, we were opposites. I'm the dirty blond cross-country girl; she's the punk rocker with dark brown waves down her back.

My mother disliked her. Actually, disliked is an understatement. My mother was the type that was stuck up, but I loved her like any kid who would love their mom. It doesn't change the fact that Hayden is gone. Hayden was like the wind, and now she's nowhere in sight. Everybody acts like it was a surprise, but it's obvious they're faking it. I know why, I know everything. It's because I have stolen something I shouldn't have, and that would be her journal. I'm not a bad person.

I pace the same road; it's my favorite road. At the end is a short tunnel that goes into the bigger part of town, and the dirt road stretching from the tunnel seems to go on forever. It's peaceful. It makes me feel like I actually do have some personal space. It's hard to think when I can't be free. The doorbell rings every give minutes. I might go insane. I still have hours of sunlight, and I want to use it before returning to my crowded home.

Back to the picture on the bulletin board; the picture makes me feel even sicker than the constant stream of people at my house. The picture only shows the ghost of her; the smile on her face is plastic and the black and white only makes Hayden look more lost. I've seen the posters everywhere, and every time I slam the breaks on my car and tear it off the pole or window it had been on.

"Hey, Blake?" A voice catches me off guard, and I swing around, almost knocking them off their feet. The boy standing in front of me moves backwards. "Uh, sorry." He's apologizing, for something I did. Of course, this was Jace. Jace is a mommy's boy, an awkward, shy kid. Together we were on the cross-country team, and we were the two bests. He was my only real competition. Lately, I have been skipping practices, so I'll bet he's happy to be number one. I do wonder how he has found me, but I don't even ask.

"What do you want?" I question him, making eye contact. This always makes Jace feel uncomfortable, and he has to look awake.

"Here." He pushes a plate with tinfoil over the top into my hands, but I know what it is. Jace's mother is an amazing baker, and part of me is delighted to have this food. Nothing is better than chocolate. "We're both really sorry." When he says this, I know he's being honest. His mother is the best mother I have ever met.

"Thanks ..." I trail off, and I feel bad. He's such a nice guy, and most of the time I had just been mocking him, with Hayden. I guess in a way I didn't want to face him before, he just makes everything so painful.

"Why don't you go to practices? Everybody misses you … especially me." Jace mumbles the last part, looking down at the ground, and I have to keep from smiling.

"I don't know," I answer, pushing back a piece of hair. "Just not really motivated."

"Yea-yea, totally get that," he lies, but I am glad he's at least trying. After a moment of silence, I suddenly feel sick of the closeness and it has to stop.

"Go home, Jace," I tell him, as if he's five. He seems to do whatever I say. I could have asked him to make me a sandwich and he would do it. Jace nods and backs away. His blue eyes stare at me innocently.

"Yea … Bye." He makes a hand motion and runs off. I wonder when he had gotten the idea in his head that we were friends, but I won't argue. I take long strides across the dirt road and make it to my car in mere minutes. I could have done better.


***


School feels like a blur. People literally fly past me, and I feel like slumping down to the floor, and wasting away, because I can. It takes me moments to remember what class I have to go to, and when I do, I find it impossible to just walk through the door. It feels like moving on, and I'm not ready. Too bad I have no choice but to take my seat. English forces me to actually work.

Sitting near the window, where the sunshine hits my desk, and I have a clear view of the parking lot. I hear a person sit next to me, and an awkward cough. I turn my head around to see the mighty Jace. The face he gives me almost makes me laugh. Jace looks like he had been caught, like a deer in headlights.

"Hi," he chokes out, obviously nervous. I smile, staring at the chalkboard ahead of me, and tap my fingers against the table.

"Hey," I respond, making him squirm, and he has no idea what to say. Jace is like a scared little bunny. I almost feel bad. Almost.

"I wanted to see how you were doing," he says casually, not making eye contact with me. "So, how are you?" The question forces me to think more than I want to.

"Better than ever," I sarcastically say back. The students buzz around us, paying no attention to our small exchange. The teacher writes a sentence on the board and launches into his lesson plan of how to correctly edit an essay, hinting at using this technique for our college applications.

"That's … funny," Jace mumbles back at me, and before I know it the teacher has turned around.

"Jace, would you mind shutting your mouth? You're taking away from the whole class's learning." The teacher's words are harsh, but I smirk anyways. I try not to laugh, but I fail miserably as I burst into loud laughter.

"Blake, get out of the room," he hisses, and I don't even argue. I'm already halfway out of the room, my books in my hands, when he finishes the sentence.

"Thanks for giving me an excuse." I slam the classroom door behind me, and I don't look back as I walk down the disgusting halls. All of this doesn't matter anymore. It seems like it never did, and I only just noticed now.

Once I get to the door it's obvious I'm not coming back, at least for the rest of the day. They'll probably call my mother, and I'll be caught in some sort of an intervention about my behavior. I pray she's not reading those books that convince her all I need is her love and that I'm truly out of control because I'm disobeying her beliefs.


***


I don't go home because I'm afraid of what I'll find. Whether it is an angry mother, or a pile of neatly wrapped pre-made foods, I feel completely sick to my stomach. I lace up the running shoes I had in my bag. I make myself sit on the grassy part next to the dirt road. I always come here when I am angry, sad, or when I'm feeling really any kind of emotion.

The wind tangles my hair and when I move it from my face, I see a boy in the distance. I mentally curse to myself; it's Jace. He's like some sort of stalker now. I'm both flattered and annoyed. I choose to feel both. I stand up and move forward to meet him at the halfway point of the road.

"Skipping school?" I try not to look at his face. I ponder the scene before me. The clouds move in slow motion, and I wish I could slow down this very moment too.

"School is over; it has been for an hour," Jace informs me, and I wonder why I hadn't noticed the fact of time passing. When have I been so out of it? Where have I been, then, for the past house?

"Oh." There is a frown on my face now, and my expression is on the grim side. I hate and love that he said that, hate that Jace was the one to tell me, and love that I have wasted so much time.

"You're being really weird; people are concerned." I scoff at his comment and shrug my shoulders, not exactly caring about that.

"Well, let them. I'm going through some … stuff." My tone is flat and more on the monotone side. I am not amused by what he said. I just want him to shut up.

"Does that include blowing off everybody? The coach is really angry with you." The world seems to be spinning, without actually spinning. Who cares about the coach? I'll catch up later.

"I'm better than most of the runners, it's not like he'll kick me off, I'm too important," I snapped back at him. Can't he see I want him to go away and leave me alone?

"You're being cocky," Jace pointed out, shifting his weight to his other food. I am being cocky, and I hate that he has to point that out. "Why don't you stop being so bitter and see how Hayden being gone affects all of us." As soon as he says her name I feel like I have exploded; I didn't want her name to be said. The rest of the student body wasn't her friend; they didn't know her at all. They all pretend to; their attitudes and overall point of view isn't real. None of it is.

"How can they be sad over this? They hated her! The rumors, the lies, non of them liked her! And they have the nerve to be surprised when they notice she's gone? All of them are basically the reason she left without saying goodbye. I lost my best friend because everybody was a jerk to her." I feel out of breath now.

"Hayden wasn't very nice either --" I put my foot down now, and cut him off, going into another rant.

"Maybe if you had taken some time out of your stupid life to get to know her, you would have liked her!" I yell, and I'm not even half down with getting my feelings out. I take an object out of my bag and literally throw it at Jace. It was Hayden's journal. The journal that I stole the day after she went missing from her mother's house, the journal that explains every miserable detail of her entire life. It makes everything make sense.

Jace looks extremely shocked, and I don't blame him. For a moment, I mistake him for a scared little kid, holding an object he was supposed to not touch. I don't feel awful for this, instead I feel even angrier with him. I take a deep breath, putting my hands behind my head, and turn away from him.

"She didn't just wake up one morning wanting to have an adventure. She hated this place, and you all made it worse," I finish, not only angry with everyone involved, but Hayden herself. She left me here, all alone.

"Just because she decided to run off doesn't mean you can quit your life here," Jace replies, shrugging. "People like you, you have talents and skills and you're just going to throw that away for nothing? That's stupid and you know it."

"Shut up." I can't think of a better reply, and it hurts. I hate this feeling in the pit of my stomach, I hate that he's right.

"Promise me you'll come to the race," he pleads, stepping forward.

"I don't care about that anymore," I say coolly. I've said this before, but maybe it was only in my head.

"You're lying, you do care, and when you come to your senses, it'll be too late, now promise me."

"Fine, I'll think about it." My mind is already made up, but he believes I'll go, because I suspect he believes in the good in people, or unicorns, or whatever floats his boat.

"See you there." Jace reaches forward like he's going to touch me, but changes his mind and turn away, backtracking off the path.


***


I walk down the cemented road toward my house, and the hoodie around me blocks out the misty air. I fotgot her name, for what seems like a nice period of time. All I knew was the road and myself, running alongside it. I sound like a cheesy campfire story, the kind that a 6th grade teacher reads after an angry, angst-y, violent kid finally realizes he's a complete jerk and changes his ways. That's not me, though; it will never be me. I am exhausted from the entire day.

I finished the race first, at least by a few yards. I remember arriving and not seeing Jace there. I felt betrayed and before I knew it he was, or course, there, in the stands with a poster with my name, Blake, on it. He gave me a smile and waited for me to take my place. I should have known he let me win the race, but I was oddly okay with it. Now I am here, walking to my home. Mi casa. I feel free.

I held the trophy in my hands, like the proud person I am. I was beginning to see life as if it could be normal again. Days ago that seemed impossible; the world seemed against me for no reason. Maybe I should have been nicer to Jace. Maybe I should have been a lot of things, but I don't care. All things come to an end, good or bad.

I see my house in the distance, and I have to keep myself from laughing. I am defined as a strange person, and I tend to confirm those suspicions. This is one of those moments, but nobody is watching, so it feels okay again. There are red lights in the distance, matched with blue ones. Hayden's lonely house stands next to mine, reminding me this is never over. I recognize the police cars, and both my mother and Hayden's stand together. I'm not close enough to see their expressions, and I am afraid to at this point. I stop walking down the road to my house.

I stop, and I feel like I am choking again. I don't even want to go see. I turn my heels around, and I run for my life. I run like I have nothing to lose, but I have everything to lose. My best friend has been missing for a long time, and somewhere in my mind I know I will never be the same, no matter how much time has passed. My name is Blake, and I am the product of the aftermath.