Risk and Rebel

3: LESS THAN FIVE SECONDS

After school had ended Thursday I was bombarded with a bunch of rapid-fire text messages from Mickey. Though usually we would've spent the time after school together doing something-or-other, Mom had needed my help to get my brothers wrangled so they could go to their friend's birthday party. So I'd headed home, and Mickey had as well ... and now, my phone was vibrating non-stop.

Part of why it was taking me so long was because she'd given me an excerpt from one of her notebooks — emailed it to me, actually — and given it was the first I'd ever read any of her work, I was dedicating my attention to reading it. That was soon cut off after I realized what time it was, and I began changing ... which was around when the vibrating began.

When I finally snatched my phone off the nightstand and headed down the stairs, I saw all of the messages I had been sent — in under five minutes.

TEXT FROM MICK: I'm waiting in the car

TEXT FROM MICK: I just saw your mom drive off

TEXT FROM MICK: Where aaaareeeeee you

TEXT FROM MICK: You know, no other boy needs this long to change.

TEXT FROM MICK: Did you trip and fall???

TEXT FROM MICK: Are you having issues with your spandex again??????

TEXT FROM MICK: Did you fall

TEXT FROM MICK: and now you can't get up?

TEXT FROM MICK: SHOULD I CALL LIFEALERT

TEXT TO MICK: How many times do I have to tell you I am not an old man?

No sooner had I sent the text than did I exit my house. I took less than thirty seconds to lock the front door behind me, then I was heading toward Mickey's Charger. On my way there — a less than a minute long walk, with her car in view — my phone buzzed again.

Against my better judgement, I checked it as I opened the door to her car.

TEXT FROM MICK: 6000 more times oughta do it.

I gave her a look as I climbed into the Charger, shutting the door after me and beginning to buckle before she could peel away from the curb. "I don't think I have the patience to tell you that six-thousand more times, Mick."

"I don't think you have the patience to do anything six-thousand times," she retorted with a teasing smile. She'd already taken off by now, and though she was probably a faster driver than most (actually, I take back the probably) she was still one of the best drivers I'd ever ridden with. I wasn't sure why that was, and even though she frequently devoted her skill to her father's teaching, I knew her dad definitely didn't drive like this.

Mickey drove like she was taking part in The Italian Job, with gold bars waiting at the finish line and an armored chopper on her tail.

"You have even less patience than I do," I pointed out, a smile on my lips. "So what's that say 'bout you?"

"That I couldn't stand to do anything three-thousand times, obviously," she scoffed.

"Obviously," I nodded in almost somber agreement.

"But really, what took you so long?" she demanded, glancing at me fleetingly.

"I was reading what you sent me," I answered honestly, watching her for her response.

It was as I expected. She hummed, briefly bit her bottom lip, and then changed the subject. "Oh, by the way," she said, tossing her phone over to me without looking. She was lucky I was coordinated enough to catch it. "I need you to text my mom and tell her I left. I forgot to."

Though I wanted to change the subject back and tell her that I really had enjoyed what she wrote — honestly, I was shocked it wasn't part of a published book — I settled for doing as she asked. We'd have time to talk about it later. "Right," I murmured, opening Mickey's iPhone instinctively and setting to work.

That was when everything went terribly, terribly wrong. It all happened in an instant — I swear, I only looked down to text Gina Davidson for five seconds. Mickey was driving, and I could hear her distantly begin to resume our conversation about patience ... when her words morphed to an indistinguishable shout.

Several different things happened at once then.

First, I was thrown forward somewhat by Mickey braking. My seatbelt restrained me though, and I didn't even make contact with the dashboard — but Mickey's phone went flying from my hands.

Second, there was a combination of loud noise, between Mickey's shouting, and her slamming a hand down on her horn. Those sounds hardly had time to register in my ears before they were drowned out by something much louder: metal smashing into metal with a sickening crunch that I knew I'd never be able to forget as long as I lived.

Immediately after that, my world was a blur, and something in my subconscious recognized that the car was spinning. Stunned by the fact that we had just been slammed into by another car, much less the fact that the impact had brought this on, all I could do was hold onto my seatbelt and the door. My eyes were blown so wide I was certain I couldn't have closed them even if I had been in my right mind, and within seconds after the spinning began, I heard another loud slam.

It felt for a split second as though we were flying, and the car flipped over sideways onto its roof. Everything came to a grinding halt soon enough, Mickey's Charger upside down, with she and I dangling from the seats, held up by the seatbelts.

All of this happened in less than five seconds.

At the end of the five seconds, my brain was buzzing so much it all but stopped entirely, my heart racing so fast I thought it would explode out of my chest. Overall, I felt like I was going to throw up. My ears were ringing — though I couldn't remember getting hit in the head — and while my first instinct should've been to check myself for damage, I instead said, "Mickey?"

The fear leaked out in my voice more than I would've liked. I was still in a daze, and my entire head still felt like it was spinning, but that didn't stop me from turning as much as I could in my current position. "Mickey," I repeated, louder now, when I realized her eyes were closed.

Blood was dripping down onto the roof of the car from where she was suspended, and panic gripped me harder than it had before. "Mickey!" I shouted even louder, scrambling for my own seatbelt to release myself. I dropped to the roof with a thud that resounded through my now aching body, but I ignored that, shifting Mickey as much as I dared.

She still wasn't answering. Blood was coming from a thin line in her hair, dripping down her cheek. I scrambled to find her pulse, but discovering it brought me very little relief — her breathing was shallow. Between the seat and the steering wheel, it was hard for me to get a good grip on her, and I was freaking out.

Then the sirens began. I wasn't sure how long it had taken me to unbuckle myself, nor was I sure how long I'd been trying to fight through the furnishings of the car to situate Mickey in a way that didn't look so gruesome ...

As loud voices started commanding onlookers to "Get away from the car! Back up!" I felt a new wave of dizziness come over me. A man — from the looks of him, a firefighter — pulled me out of the car via the smashed passenger's side window.

I could distantly hear him asking me if I was all right, calling over paramedics, saying I was covered in blood, likely bleeding ... then I threw up.