Make A Move

Forest

"Connie! Oh, it's a good thing you're alright!" He sounded almost evil as he spoke with a grin. He had a slight British accent to his voice.
"Do I know you?" I asked, which may not have been the best thing to ask because he started laughing, and before he could start laughing really hard he said, "Probably not!" He calmed quickly and explained, "It's a little hard to explain who I am without giving exclusive information about myself away. I'm not sure if you're trustworthy or not. So for now, you can call me Forest."
Yeah, I'd much rather call you Insane.
Lindsay spoke up only to back out, "I'll leave you guys for a moment."
"Ah, thank you," he said, and I finished him with, "Lindsay."
And once she left, I went all out, "No, I'm serious. Who the heck are you? I don't know you, but you know me. Are you some sort of stalker that wants to take a little broken girl into your van for some candy? I want to know what your problem is. If I'm not trustworthy, neither are you."
He chuckled a little. "I'm not a stalker, as far as I'm concerned."
"As far as you're concerned?! You should know if you're a stalker or not!"
"Look. Look, and listen. I'm your age, around your age at least. I'm fourteen, fifteen as of tomorrow. I'm in eighth grade like you, but I go to a private school so I do not have to deal with all the shit-" he stopped and cleared his throat "stuff... that you have to deal with."
"Right," I started. "Don't private school consist of snooty rich brats that don't want society?"
"Not exactly. That's just stereotypical. They consist of people who can't decipher what reality is anymore because of society and f*cking idiots. It's not that we don't want to deal with society, it's that we can't deal with society or else death with be the only path to turn onto. Forget all the stereotypes you've ever heard about private schools, because they mostly aren't true."
"Mostly?"
He muttered something under his breath, then spoke up with a sigh, "Yes, mostly. Some of them you can only get into if you have tens of thousands of dollars. Which I do not have."
"And what's up with this whole "exclusive information" that I'm not trustworthy enough to be told?"
"Forest isn't my real name. I can't tell you my real name nor can I tell you anything about where I live, what I do, what school I go to exactly, and some other things. The stuff I just told you isn't anything to be hidden."
"And why can't you tell me?"
"You aren't trustworthy to me yet," he said plainly, which was not the answer I was looking for.
"No, I mean WHY. Not why you can't tell me, but why does it have to be hidden? Why is it secretive?"
"That's exactly what I CANNOT tell you."
"No, wait," I stopped, then asked the question I really wanted the answer to. "How do you know me?"
"Ah, I..." He paused. For a long time. He looked like he was thinking, concentrated on something confusing.
"Don't you dare tell me you don't know how you know me."
"Well, you see... I kind of have to, because I really don't know how..."