Boundaries

5

The morning air bit into my cheeks as I trudged to school on foot. With my bike destroyed, the journey took twice as long, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much it added to the already bad start to my week. Every step felt heavier, like I was dragging all my frustration behind me. My sneakers slapped against the pavement, each sound echoing my sour mood.

Halfway to school, my stomach dropped. There he was. Feral, leaning casually against the gate like he didn’t have a care in the world. He was laughing with Jack and the rest of the football guys. It was his second day, and already, everyone seemed to love him. I bet it was his stupidly perfect hair catching the sunlight in a way that made me want to gag. My first instinct? Turn around. My second instinct? Definitely turn around.

So, I did. I crossed the street without looking back, taking the long way through the back field. The grass was wet with morning dew, soaking through my sneakers, but at least I didn’t have to deal with him. Each step through the uneven, muddy terrain felt like a small victory—even though my socks were damp, and my feet were freezing.

When I finally made it to school, the bell was already ringing. I slipped in through the side entrance and ducked into first period, praying Feral didn’t see me. I didn’t hate him or anything—okay, maybe I did a little—but I definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near him, which was totally valid. As I slid into my seat, my heart was still pounding from the near encounter. The teacher gave me a look but didn’t say anything, probably chalking up my tardiness to my usual quiet demeanor.

For the rest of the morning, I was on high alert, practically glued to the walls as I navigated the hallways. Every time I thought I heard his voice—that slightly gravelly tone with just enough charm to make you hate him—my heart jumped into my throat. I ducked into classrooms, lingered unnecessarily at my locker, and even took the long way to get to second period. Avoidance became my new full-time job.

By lunchtime, the stress had worn me down. My stomach grumbled, but the thought of entering the cafeteria and risking a face-to-face encounter made me lose my appetite. Instead, I grabbed a granola bar from my bag and headed straight for the library. It was quiet there, and more importantly, Feral-free. I found a spot in the back corner, nestled between dusty shelves of old encyclopedias, and stayed there until the bell rang, feeling like some kind of fugitive. My granola bar didn’t last long, and I spent most of the time scrolling aimlessly through my notes, pretending to study.

After school, I trudged to the animal shelter for my shift. As I walked through the door, I gave myself a silent pep talk. “You’re here for the animals, not him,” I muttered under my breath. The familiar smell of cleaning supplies and the faint sound of barking greeted me, and for a moment, I felt like I could breathe again. That is, until Mr. Chen waved me over.

“Hey, Matthew,” he said, his tone as casual as ever. I greeted him before heading to the sink to wash and sanitize my hands. That was until he said:

“By the way, someone was asking about you earlier.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What? Who?” I asked, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant.

“The kid with the dog. You know, tall, kind of scruffy-looking, good hair,” Mr. Chen replied, smirking slightly. Which was a sight I might never be able to unsee.

I groaned internally. Of course, he’d show up here. Why wouldn’t he? This week wasn’t content with just being awful; it had to be a cosmic joke too.

“What did you tell him?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Relax, I told him you weren’t here.”

I did relax—well, only a little—and Mr. Chen seemed to read my reluctant expression.

“And if he comes by again, I’ll tell him the same thing,” he added with a knowing look. “I’m guessing you want me to cover for you.”

Honestly, sometimes I wished he was my dad.

“Thanks,” I muttered, relief flooding through me.

The familiar tasks at the shelter usually calmed me down, but today, my nerves were shot. As I made my rounds, I tried to focus on the animals. That’s why I was here, after all. When I reached the back kennel, Feral’s German Shepherd perked up, wagging her tail like her owner hadn’t just indirectly ruined my week. I couldn’t help but smile, despite myself.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered, crouching to scratch behind her ears.

Just then, I heard the sound of the shelter door creaking open, followed by Feral’s voice, low and gravelly, saying hi to Mr chen.

I froze.

Without thinking, I shot to my feet and ducked behind a stack of cages, my heart pounding in my chest. I tried to steady my breathing, my palms starting to sweat. The sound of his footsteps echoed closer, and I could feel my pulse in my throat.

Why do i react this way ?

I heard him discuss something with the owner before he walked into the kennel area, spotting his dog immediately. She bounded toward him, wagging her tail like crazy, and he crouched down to pet her, his face softening for a moment. I hated how effortlessly he seemed to fit in here. Even his dog—perfect, well-behaved, affectionate—seemed to make everything worse.

I peered around the corner, watching him interact with her. He looked up, scanning the room, but he didn’t seem to notice me. A flicker of something passed over me, a pang of sympathy for him. There was something oddly vulnerable about the way he was with his dog. For a brief moment, I didn’t feel the anger or frustration that had been swelling up in my chest.

I sighed, turning away.

“Is Matthew here?” Feral’s question caught me off guard. My breath hitched. Why was he asking about me?

“Nah, he’s out right now,” Mr. Chen replied casually, walking into view. “But he’ll probably be in tomorrow.”

Feral nodded, still focused on his dog "well i'll be here tomorrow then"

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. When the bell jingled again, signaling Feral’s exit, I finally stood up. The German Shepherd gave a soft bark, like she was laughing at me.

Now i just needed to quit my job.