It was late afternoon when Thomas cut across the football field, his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. Practice had ended hours ago, but he hadn’t gone home yet. He didn’t feel like dealing with the tension waiting for him there. The bleachers were mostly empty—except for one person. A girl sat alone near the top row, sketchbook balanced on her knees, headphones dangling around her neck. Thomas slowed, annoyed that his quiet escape had already been claimed. He debated turning around, but her voice carried down before he could. “You’re on the cross-country team, right?” she asked without looking up. Her tone wasn’t teasing, just curious. Still, Thomas bristled. “Why?” he shot back, his voice edged with suspicion. She glanced at him, unfazed. “Just noticed you run a lot. Figured you had to be on a team.” She gave a small shrug and went back to her drawing. Thomas climbed partway up the bleachers, not sure why. “You new here?” he asked flatly. She nodded, sketching another line. “Moved from Bakersfield. My dad’s job.” She didn’t pry about him, didn’t ask why his knuckles looked bruised or why he seemed irritated at the world. That threw him off more than anything. After a pause, she tilted her sketchbook just enough for him to catch a glimpse—rough pencil strokes of the track, the bleachers, even him standing there. “You don’t sit still long, do you?” she said with a faint smile. Thomas rolled his eyes, muttered, “Guess not,” and started to walk away. But as he reached the edge of the field, he realized something unusual: for the first time in a long while, someone had noticed him without judgment. And that thought stuck with him longer than he wanted it to.