It’s early enough in the day for the fog to still sit on the field, providing River the needed privacy to hide. He sits atop the bleachers, playing with the zipper of his varsity jacket and allowing his mind to wander to more pressing matters than the next class he’ll be missing.

Nimble fingers ghost across his wrists, his lips pinched in quiet contemplation. Footprints slap wetly against the condensation-covered grass, bringing the jock to hastily pull his sleeves down.

“Aren’t you s’posed to be in class?” he smiles nervously.