JANE ARRIVES TO THE bench with a skip in her step, her tray clattering loudly as she drops it on the table, eyes wide in excitement. 

“Did you guys hear?” she grins as she slides beside Noah, legs crossed and swinging.

The group at the table sans Gina look up from their lunch, midly intrigued.

“Hear what?” Andy asks between wolfish bites, mouth as wide as he can open to cram a humongous sized sandwich.

Her gaze sweeps across their faces. “About Parkinson.”

At the mention of his tutor, Owen straightens in his seat. “What about him?”

“He’s quitting,” she says without expanding on it. When the silence stretch for too long with Jane patiently picking at her fries, Owen breaks it.

“Quitting what?”

“His extracurriculars,” she lifts her head. “Withdrew his STEM presidency application. The teachers were shocked, the principal got involved, his parents were called and student-parent-teacher conference held.”

Their intrigue dissipates.

“Is it that serious?” Kass asks and everyone but Jane at the table shrugs.

“It is,” Jane emphasizes her point by slapping a fry into a slab of ketchup. “The most brilliant student quitting? The school had an aneurysm.”

“By the way, isn’t it mandatory to be in at least one club?” 

Jane almost leaps in the air at the interest in Noah’s voice. “It is. Which is why he didn’t quit STEM. You know, for the science thingamajig. But he’s Parkinson. Overachieving Einstein. He volunteers, he tutors, he cycles, he’s in a hundred clubs. Why is he suddenly quitting? We’ll be seniors next year.”

The table shares glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “I guess it is serious,” Laurel mutters.

“Exactly,” Jane snaps her fingers triumphantly. “It was all very dramatic.”

“How did you know?” Owen fires at her. “We haven’t heard anything.”

Jane leans in, voice dropping low. “It was done very hush-hush. They can’t have the other overachievers get ideas.”

“You didn’t hear anything?” Laurel turns to him. “Parkinson said nothing to you?”

Owen shakes his head. “No. He tutors, we study. That’s it.” 

Unfortunately. If they were the besties Owen wants them to be, Parkinson would’ve told him ages ago. He wouldn’t be hearing it secondhand from a very pleased Jane. 

Jane jumps back in, not done yet. “I happened to be there when the teachers were talking about it in the teachers’ lounge. Ms. Sterling looked sick. She said she tried to counsel Parkinson but he was having none of that.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Gina’s arrival. Noah shoves Andy away, making room for Gina to sit beside him.

“Are we talking about Parkinson?” Gina asks, settling into her seat.

Laurel points a fork at her. “Yeah. You heard too?”

Gina nods, her expression serious. “We’re in the same STEM club. Our supervisor, Mr. Brown kept picking on Parkinson but he sat there and said nothing. Gave nothing away.”

Crossing his arms on the table, Owen leans in Gina’s direction. “What do you think happened?”

“Who knows? Lucas is upset because of the election. It was supposed to be him and Parkinson running. He had such big ideas on how to make the club vote him but now, he says the election will only be a formality he’ll win.”

“What about you?” Noah asks. “Aren’t you running?”

“No, no,” Gina replies, shaking her head. “Track and field take most of my time.”

A moment of thoughtful silence falls over the table before Jane speaks again, her voice tinged with morbid speculation. “Maybe he’s sick.”

“Parkinson,” she clarifies as if they’d forgotten what they were talking about seconds ago. “That’s probably why, right? Maybe he’s terminally ill.”

“Don’t say that,” Owen snaps sharper than intended hoping she’ll drop it.

She holds her hands defensively. “I’'m not wishing him bad. I’m just saying that it could be. Think about it. Overachiever drops out of his clubs. Very soon you’ll see he’s flunking his classes, absent, making picking fights. I mean, what does he have to lose? His life is ending.”

“Jane!” Owen exclaims, smacking the table as he jumps to his feet. “That’s a cruel thing to suggest.”

Jane and the rest of the table stare up at him in surprise. A flush of embarrassment creeps up his neck, aware that he probably looks silly getting so worked up over something unconfirmed.

“I need to go,” he mutters, grabs his tray and heads off, hearing Laurel chastise Jane, but the words fades as he put distance between himself and the table.

The rest of the day pass by in a blur for Owen. At basketball practice, his head wasn’t in the game. Coach warns him twice, and he barely manags to end practice without hurting anyone.

In the locker room, the usual post-practice chatter grates on his nerves, staring into space, lost in hazy annoyance only realizing that Harold, a teammate, had been talking to him when the boy gives up and walks away.

“You alright, buddy?” Noah asks, sliding beside him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Owen answers, unconvincingly, “I’m fine.” 

“Baby Red needs a pick-me-up,” Guy swings from behind a locker and offers him a vape. “Have at it.”

Owen accepts without a word. Guy takes the seat beside him in silence, passing the vape back and forth. But Owen can’t sit still. The worry about Parkinson gnaws at him, refusing to let go.

Abruptly, he stands up and heads for the showers. The hot water does little to calm his racing thoughts, his brain firing like tennis balls. His life is ending playing in an endless loops.

He ends the shower in a rush, dressed and hightails it out of the locker room, panic driving him to search for Parkinson, roaming the now empty school halls and coming up futile.

Parkinson is nowhere to be found, neither is Oyin. If only he had his number, his unanswered questions and worries will be cleared. Because it can’t be. It absolutely can’t. There’s a better explanation. There has to be. 

Owen mentally searches through his conversation with the boy checking for hints of illness or life-altering and like Parkinson himself, he comes up empty. The only thing he knows are, frankly, nothing.

He’ll get to the bottom of this. One way or another. Parkinson isn’t ill. He won’t allow it. Not when fate finally answered his prayers. Not when… Oh, fuck. Parkinson is fine. He has to be.