Chapter 9: Catch and Release

The hallway was still buzzing as Freja threaded her way past clusters of students. Lockers slammed, voices ricocheted off the cinderblock walls, and the smell of cafeteria pizza lingered faintly. She spotted Darius at his locker, stacking a book inside and pulling out a folded hoodie.

All through lunch she had sat with him, Malik, Tasha, and the others, laughing when they laughed, smiling at the teasing that bounced back and forth. But underneath the easy rhythm of the group, something had bothered her. When she saw Darius joking or talking with the others, she recognized the warm, open person she had met in the library. With her, though, his attitude had shifted—never rude, but friendly in a more distant way, as if he had decided to place an invisible line between them.

It weighed on her. By the time her last class dragged to an end, she knew she couldn’t ignore it. If she didn’t ask, the distance would only widen, and she liked him too much to accept losing the connection they’d started.

“Darius,” she called softly, stopping just short of his locker.

He glanced up, expression neutral. “Hey.”

Her mouth was dry, but she forced the words out. “Can we talk? Just ... walk for a bit?”

He paused, watching her a moment longer than usual. The word talk seemed to hang between them, heavy enough that he closed his locker slowly. “I guess,” he said finally. “Where do you want to go?”

“Doesn’t matter, some place where we can talk, just the two of us.”

He gave a little shrug. “Alright. Let’s get out of here then.”

They pushed through the heavy double doors and stepped out into the late afternoon. The air carried a hint of chill beneath the sun, the kind that promised autumn wasn’t far. Yellow buses idled along the curb, their diesel rumble mixing with the chatter of kids spilling down the steps.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The rhythm of their footsteps filled the quiet, and Freja kept searching for an opening, her throat tight with the words she wanted to say. Darius seemed content to let the silence stretch, his gaze fixed ahead as they left the school grounds and turned toward the neighborhood.

“You play soccer today?” she asked, searching for something easy.

He shook his head. “Nah, we only practice Tuesdays and Thursdays. Coach says it keeps us hungry for the games.”

She laughed softly. “That sounds like something a coach would say.”

He grinned, just a flicker, then went quiet again, his hands shoved into his hoodie. The silence settled back in, more noticeable now that it had been broken. Freja examined Darius’ profile, his strong jawline, the way his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck. She wanted to reach out, to touch his arm, to tell him she was sorry if she’d done something wrong. She glanced at a group of sparrows fluttering down onto a patch of grass, searching for crumbs, and grasped for another thread.

“You ever been to D.C.?” she asked.

Darius tilted his head, thinking. “Couple times. Field trip in middle school, then once with my cousin when his church had a bus going down.”

“Did you like it?”

“It was cool. Saw the monuments, the big pool, all that. But mostly I remember how hot it was. Felt like the sun was sitting right on top of us.” He gave her a sideways smile. “You’d probably melt.”

Freja laughed, the sound slipping out before she could hold it back. “Maybe. I’m used to rain, not heat.”

“Baltimore summers’ll toughen you up,” he said, a little teasing.

“Guess I’ll find out,” she answered, smiling despite the knot still tight in her chest.

The laughter faded, leaving a softer quiet between them. It wasn’t comfortable yet, but it wasn’t as sharp as before either. They passed a corner store with posters sun-faded in the windows. The street emptied for a moment, and a man in a dark hoodie darted past them at a sprint. He clipped Freja’s shoulder hard enough to jolt her sideways.

“Hey, watch it!” Darius shouted after him, sharp and protective. The runner didn’t even turn his head, just kept flying down the block until he vanished around the corner.

Freja steadied herself, heart thumping. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, brushing at her sleeve, though her pulse betrayed her.

“People out here got no manners,” Darius muttered, still glaring after the man though he was long gone. He turned back to her, his voice softer. “You sure you’re good?”

She nodded, though her breath came quicker than she wanted. “Yeah. He just surprised me.”

A minute later, the trees of the park came into view and they soon came across the bench that Freja remembered as the place where she had her first kiss with Malik. For a moment it felt weird to sit there with another boy, one that she still cared deeply about. Freja stared at the dirt path under her shoes, then at the side of his face.

“So ... I guess this is the part where I say what I actually wanted to talk about.”

Darius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the ground. “Yeah,” he said, his voice even. “Guess so.”

Freja swallowed. The words she’d practiced in her head during last period now felt heavy and clumsy. “When we first started working together that first week, you were different with me. You were warm, easy to talk to, like you wanted to be there. Lately ... it doesn’t feel like that anymore.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re still open and joking when you’re with your friends. Just not with me.”