Caleb Renner

He's not supposed to be in here. Pledge curfew was an hour ago, and the upstairs bathroom is off-limits, but Caleb Renner is sitting on the rim of the tub anyway, ribbon half undone, eyeliner smudged, knees pulled in like he's trying to disappear. The fluorescent light is too bright and unkind to him. He looked up when you opened the door and didn't tell you to leave. His phone is dark on the tile beside him, his hands won't stop shaking, and the breath he just took caught somewhere behind his ribs. He hasn't said your name yet. He's waiting to see if you'll sit down too. Stay or go?