Read Online What They Always Tell Us by Martin Wilson - Free Book Online

nothing.
    When he turns to look out the window, Henry is gone.
     
    Alex takes the same route tonight, starting at the same time. His muscles are a little sore from yesterday’s jog, but his lungs feel stronger. He focuses on breathing, on keeping his stride nice and steady, while also watching for Nathen. Running by the later golf holes, Alex can see the houses of Pinehurst, their lit windows, beautifully landscaped yards, driveways full of nice cars. The Rao house is on a street a few blocks away from the course, one story, flat-roofed and modern-looking. But he doesn’t see any sign of Nathen. And as he loops around the course, down and up and down mini hills, past the mucky pond by the fifteenth hole, closing in on the end of his jog, he feels a stupid clunk of disappointment. Why should he care if Nathen isn’t out jogging? And just then, Nathen zooms by him from behind, as if summoned by his thoughts. “Come on, slow ass!” he says, glancing back and shouting, barely breaking his pace.
    For the next ten minutes—ten minutes longer than Alex meant to jog—he follows Nathen, who glances back every now and then, checking to see if he is still following. It’s a struggle, his lungs start to burn, his legs want to give out, but he keeps on. Nathen follows the course at first, but then he veers off across a fairway and onto a makeshift trail through a small thicket of forest, then out onto a street Alex doesn’t recognize. It might be a part of Pinehurst, but who knows—it’s like Nathen has led him to a new world.
    “To the river!” Nathen shouts, continuing down the street, past more big houses.
    They run down a small slope and finally Alex realizes where they are—at the back entrance to Pinehurst, right on Rice Mine Road. Across Rice Mine is another small band of forest that borders the north bank of the river. When there are no cars coming, Nathen dashes across the road and starts running along the shoulder. Alex doesn’t care that it is late, that it is getting darker, and that he is now a good twenty-minute jog from home. He just follows Nathen, who has finally slowed a bit, allowing Alex to run alongside him.
    “Where are we going?” he says between breaths.
    Nathen smiles and finally veers left into a new, unfinished subdivision that has sprung up along the river. There are only a few half-built houses set on dirt lots, but all with views of the river. The exposed dirt here is orange-brown, fresh and wet-looking. Nathen jogs up to one of these skeletal houses and finally stops. “Good job, Alex.” He is breathing heavily, but not as heavily as Alex is. Now that they’ve stopped, Alex feels ready to collapse.
    “Thanks, I guess. But I may drop dead in a sec.”
    “You did good. I thought I would have left you in the dust by now, but you kept on.”
    Alex sits down on the curb, not caring if his sweats get muddy. Nathen sits down next to him.
    “You should consider joining the team,” Nathen says.
    “You mean cross-country?”
    “Yeah. Matt Jones sprained his ankle real bad, so he’s out for the rest of the year. There’s an opening now.”
    “I doubt I’m good enough,” he says.
    “You kept up with me, and we all know what a stud I am.” Nathen laughs like he is joking, but also like he means what he says. “Plus, I guarantee you that you’re better than some of the other guys on the team.”
    This doesn’t seem possible to Alex, but he says, “Maybe.”
    “I bet you can outrun your brother, even,” Nathen adds.
    “I doubt that.”
    “No, seriously. I bet you can.”
    “Maybe.” Maybe, maybe, maybe—can’t he say anything else? It’s like he has bubble-gum mouth again.
    Nathen leans back into the orangey dirt lot and clasps his hands under his head. Alex can see a peak of his underwear—black Calvins—and then his flat stomach, where his sweatshirt rises up from his hips. He veers his eyes away and stares straight ahead.
    “I can talk to Coach Runyon if you want,”