The afternoon sun draped Oakwood Park in a warm, golden glow. Jeremiah, a high school junior, leaned his back against the rough bark of an old oak tree. He took a deep breath, savoring the fresh scent of cut grass and blooming hydrangeas. He had finished his track practice early and was waiting for his mother to pick him up. She was always busy, a woman constantly pulled in a dozen directions by her demanding job, but she had promised to be there by 4:00 PM. Content to wait, Jeremiah closed his eyes, listening to the distant laughter of children playing on the swings.
A prickling sensation at the back of Jeremiah’s neck broke his reverie. It was that distinct, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. He opened his eyes and scanned the park. Not far away, on a green wrought-iron bench, sat a middle-aged white woman. Her name, as he would later learn, was Sarah. She wasn't watching the ducks in the pond or reading a book; her eyes were fixed squarely on Jeremiah. Her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line, and her brow was furrowed with naked suspicion. Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably but tried to ignore her, looking down at his phone.