The paramedics were quick to bundle up Jake and asked Nash and me a couple of questions about his location and how I found him. In the interim, I'd managed to get my racing hero back under control and calm the fuck down. It would do no good freaking out now – Jake was in safe hands.

When they finally left, Nash offered to drive me home. I hesitated, but he wouldn't budge, and eventually, I relented, telling him I needed to pick up supper. To my surprise, he obliged, and we'd gotten the food (that he refused to let me pay for) before he drove me home.

The ride was silent, and I felt very out of place in Nash's sports car, in the expensive leather seats and how clean he kept the whole thing. His car felt like a spaceship, foreign and dangerous, with so many buttons on the console, the luminous blue lights lighting up the darkness inside. The radio was off, and I hadn't asked to put on any music. Nash seemed like a guy who preferred the solacing silence.

"I never did say thank you," he says without looking at me.

"What for?" I angle my body towards him.

"Calling me to get Jake, you handled it well," Nash glances at me for a second. "Thank you, Carey."

"No problem," I clutch the bag of food tighter in my hand as if that would stop my heart's rapid heartbeat. "I should've called the ambulance, sorry I kind of freaked out."

He shrugs. "Nah. As I said, you handled it well. And the paramedics got there on time."

I study him for a moment, taking in the way the shadows highlight his sharp jaw and pale skin, the long lashes framing his blue eyes like black spiderwebs. I had a thing for Nash Cooper when I was in freshman year, and looking at him now, up close, makes me remember why. When he takes one hand off the steering wheel to switch gears, the movement looks sexy as hell, and I look away.

I got over Nash. I'm not going to have a relapse.

He pulls the car into the apartment block's parking lot and switches it off.

"Thanks for the ride," I say, lifting the brown bag in my hand. "And for the food."

"Least I could do," A small smile graces his lips, and I quickly exit the car before I have second thoughts.

**

Mum is already at home when I click the door shut behind me.

"Hey mum, got food," I greet, kicking off my shoes before I stride into the small lounge area of our apartment.

The space isn't big – rent is expensive in this part of town, and as a single mother, my mum does everything to stay afloat. She's a secretary at a hotshot law firm, working the whole day and pulling night shifts whenever she can. I'd applied for jobs, waitressing or babysitting, and whilst we need the extra money, Mum refuses to let me work. She orders that I excel in school, that that's all she wants.

That's what your dad would've wanted, she'd sometimes slip.

Her parents were the same as her – she says it's an Indian thing. Focus on your studies, excel at school. The adults would worry about bills, children had to worry about getting good grades. And I did do okay in school. I wasn't the brightest, like Nash, who took advanced courses and still performed brilliantly, but I was above average in all my classes.

Mum looks up from where she's sitting cross-legged on the couch, her laptop in front of her. Her glasses were on her forehead and her black hair, still pitch black even at forty-five, is in a messy bun. I'm lucky to have my pin-straight Indian hair after her.

I wasn't so fortunate in the skin department. Whilst she has bronze skin, a natural tan that most white girls would die for, I have my late dad's pasty white skin. My eyes are dark, a common trait in both my parents, same with the sharp facial features that make me come off as intimidating and my small build that balances out the whole thing. The hollowness in my cheeks showed how skinny I was, to the point, my collarbone was starting to jut out. I was not soft curves; I was bony edges.

I did not consider myself ugly, but that didn't make me drop-dead gorgeous either.

"Italian?" Mum sets her laptop aside as I sit next to her, plopping the bag on the coffee table.

"Yup," the brown paper crinkles as I set out our food. The pasta smells amazing, and the delicious glistening sauce makes my mouth water.

"How was your day?" Mum asks, facing me.

I lean back against the couch. My legs are still sore from the walk, and now that I have a modem of quiet, the image of Jake floods back to my mind. Why didn't I ask Nash what happened? He seemed so calm about the whole incident, as if finding his best friend bruised on a sidewalk was a normal occurrence. And as the person who found him, I had a right to know what was going on.

Tomorrow at school, I'm going to corner him and question him. But for now, it would do me no good thinking about Jake and his pain. I heave a quick breath, and when I breathe out, I expel all those nasty images from my head. The last thing Mum needs to worry about is what I see tonight.

It wasn't a big deal.

Maybe if I kept saying that, I could convince myself it was true.

"Okay, I guess," I shrug my shoulders and bite into the food. "School is the same as last semester, nothing's changed."

"And the cheer team?" Mum asks.

"They're doing well," I say when I'm done swallowing a mouthful. "With Clarissa as captain, this year's cheer team have a chance at winning the cheer tournament. Coach Grey even agrees, and you know how hard it is to please her."

"Oh!" Mum asks about the team, but her hopeful eyes betray her. "Are Clarissa and you friends now?"

For so long she's tried to get me to interact with more kids and make friends – for so long I've resisted. She didn't understand how hard it was for me to talk to strangers, how phone calls made my palms sweaty, and my hands shake. Hell, she didn't know that I preferred being alone, free from others' opinions and judgment. I liked the quiet. I liked having to make my choices without outside influences.

Friends took that away. Opinions, voicing things and swaying the way you thought. And worse – you could never be yourself; you have to be a part of yourself, one that everyone else is comfortable with. You have to be sensitive, worry about others, learn to be dependable and dependent.

I wanted none of that bullshit.

"No," I scoff, and Mum sighs.

"Carey, when are you going to step outside your comfort zone and interact with others," she puts a hand on my knee. "You can't live in a shell your whole life."

My mood lurches. "I know that Mum. When I'm in college I'll start talking to people. Like-minded people who get me."

Mum doesn't say a word. She thinks I'm always going to be a social reject, a loner skimming the fringe of the crowd but not participating. And yeah, maybe all through high school I never bothered to make friends, but it didn't affect me. Ava Max's lyrics puts it nicely " I was there but I wasn't/ never really are that I wasn't".

The lyrics are true. I hated large gatherings and talking to people, I always felt out of place trying to make conversation. Whenever someone spoke to me, a feeling of self-consciousness washed over me, and I'd measure my words, careful not to say anything embarrassing or humiliating. Like walking on eggshells. It was a dreadful thing, and so I stayed out of socialising altogether.

Google says I have social anxiety for that. I'm not so quick to assign illnesses I have no solid knowledge of.

"And the football team?" Mum diverts the conversation, and I'm thankful for it. "How are they performing?"

"Pretty good. They have a good shot at state championships," I respond, thinking back. Nash wasn't at practice today – I wonder if it ties up with tonight's events in any way?

"Did they make it to state?" Mum asks curiously. She starts stuffing the paper bag with the used plastic forks and dirty containers that we're done eating in.

"Not yet. They have one more game in hand," I shake my head. "If they win that then they go to the championships."

"Well, no pressure or nothing," Mum grins. "Whose their quarterback this year? He's very good. With him on the front line, they're sure to make it."

I nod in agreement. "Jake Jayson is the quarterback, and Ryan Lake is captain. Between the two of them and Nash as running back, they're gonna crush the other team."

"When is their next game?"

"No clue."

"We should go for it."

I throw my mum a look. "We always go for the football game."

Mum shrugs innocently. "Well, maybe we should go for different reasons. There's a lot of cute boys ..."

"Oh my god! No!" I block my ears with my hands, horrified at her suggestion. "Mum!"

It was bad enough that my mother forced me to go to the football games to learn to socialise and somehow absorb the school spirit, but insinuating that I should date one of them? Really? All this time I thought she went for the games because she and my dad loved going to them together, but now, I'm rethinking that. Dad preferred watching his F1 on Thursday nights.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Mum throws a cushion at me. "I'm just saying even if you don't want a friend, you can still date."

"That would mean having a boyfriend, " I say emphasising the last part. "And guys are too much work. I don't have time for them."

"I should be proud of you for saying that."

"You should," I agree. "Which other teenage girl would rather spend her time watching 2000s movies on a Friday night than hanging out with friends."

"Apparently, my anti-social one that's who."

I throw a cushion back at my mother and she laughs.