He misses our morning run on Friday.
This is not, by itself, alarming. He has missed two previous mornings — once for a Holt pack obligation he told me about in advance, once because he overslept and texted me a string of increasingly creative apologies starting at 5:47am. Both times he texted.
This morning there is no text.
I run alone and think nothing of it choosing not to worry. I run my laps. Finish. Go to school.
By first period I have texted him twice.
Both go unread.
This is unusual. Jasper’s phone is an extension of his personality — immediate, responsive, usually already typing before I’ve finished my message. An unread text from me at 8am on a school day has not happened in two months, if ever.
I put the phone away. Go to my next class.
By the end of second period both t
