Second To You

Chapter 2

I hated going home after school that day; hated biking downhill in the rain, the water seeping through my coat, my backpack, and my shoes. Hated leaving behind some small part of myself—on that field, in the mud. Hated going back to my mom's house, the walls stuffed full of ghosts.

I listened to the wind rattling against the sides of parked cars as I pedalled past, their windows fogged with cold. If I lived any closer to school, I'd just wait out the rain, but biking home could take an hour or more on good days, and today was far from one of those.

So I counted the seconds between my breaths at each stoplight, hoping the storm would take pity on me.

Instead, at the next intersection, a dark car I didn't recognize pulled up beside me and opened its passenger side door.

"Jack?" called a voice from inside, soft and familiar. I thought it might be Harrison, in the driver's seat, with his curly brown hair and navy blue school uniform. I rubbed my eyes, trying to see past the water running down my face and over my nose. "Need a ride? Your bike will fit in the back."

I didn't even wait for him to finish asking before I said yes. I was cold, wet, and miserable; I would've agreed to almost anything.

Throwing my bike in the trunk, I hurried around to the passenger side door just as the light turned green. With a curse, Harrison motioned me inside, then the car pulled away just as the ones behind us began to honk.

"Sorry," I said, as I fell into the seat. The door shut behind me on my heels, clipping my elbow, a sharp zing shooting up my arm. Then everything burned, like it had after the race; like adrenaline was the only thing keeping me warm.

"It's okay," Harrison said, and he reached for the center console, turning on the heat. The sound of the rain battering against the windshield was so loud that the radio was only a faint whisper of music above the noise.

But here, so close to him in the confines of his car, I thought his voice sounded reedier. Higher. I turned to him, just as the vents in the dashboard blasted cold air right into my face.

Not-Harrison smiled at me, his dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes a perfect match for the boy I'd mistaken him for. "Want a snack?" he asked, and I realized he was younger than Harrison, maybe by a year or two. And his features were softer, somehow, around his eyes and mouth.

I thought idly about my odds of getting kidnapped, then shook my head. "That's okay," I mumbled. "It's...Laurie, right?"

The boy smiled, which made him look even younger, if that was possible. He had a dimple, deep and generous, on his right cheek, which set him apart from his brother—but otherwise they were nearly twins. "Yeah! Harrison told me you joined the team. I didn't know you lived the same way as us."

I nodded, then looked around, as if half-expecting to see Harrison himself hiding by the floorboards somewhere. But the car was empty, save for a handful of candy wrappers and what I assumed was Laurie's backpack, bright green and covered in stickers, on the back seat. "Yeah, I'm down on Wisteria. It's the little blue house."

The response had been automatic, polite, the words flying out of my mouth before I could stop them. Realizing I'd given too much away, my face heated. "But you can drop me off at the top of the street," I said hastily, the thought of him—or anyone—getting any closer to that house making my head spin. "That would be awesome."

"It's okay," Laurie said, all smiles again. By now, the air coming out of the vents had warmed, and he'd changed radio stations, so the music in the car was cheery and upbeat. It was like being stuck in the checkout line at the department store, boxed in by the people around me. "It's raining pretty hard. I'll just pull into your driveway.

Don't do that. Don't do that, I thought, but it was too late. We were already most of the way there, and in a few minutes, I'd be home.

I sat quietly in the front seat for those long minutes, my hands pressed together in my lap, watching as we passed the nicer houses on the street, Laurie babbling about his classes and complaining about the new suspenders we had to wear with the school uniforms.

"This is me," I cut in, and I pointed at the house next to ours, with the white picket fence and little green mailbox. In the darkness, it was hard to tell that the house wasn't blue, and Laurie didn't question it. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" I said.

"Yeah, bright and early," he replied, and he pressed a button on the driver's side door, popping open the trunk. "Sorry I missed congratulating you after your race this morning. But if you're even half as good tomorrow as you were today, we'll win nationals this year for sure!"

"For sure," I echoed numbly, overwhelmed by his enthusiasm. I needed us to win, more than I'd ever needed anything in my whole life, and knowing it was finally possible... "Thanks for the ride."

"You're welcome," he said, but he didn't say goodbye. He hesitated, his mouth falling partially open, some thought lodged between his teeth.

I opened the door, turning to go, the wind sneaking past me to fill the car. But Laurie reached out and grabbed my arm, his voice gentle.

"Don't be nervous," he said, as if he could guess why I'd been so tense on the ride over here. As if he could tell I was lying about my address, and my name, and could see through the thick black-out curtains in all the windows of my mom's house—

"You'll do great," he said instead, and my hands shook from relief. "On the team, I mean. I can see why Seb likes you."

"You can—what?"

But I'd already stepped out of the car, gotten away. And Laurie was pulling the door closed, blocking out the rain, and waving goodbye behind the glass.

So there was nothing left to do except grab my bike, pretend I knew how to breathe, and wave back.