Second To You

Chapter 3

Laurie's words still echoed in my head the next morning, in that long, empty hour before dawn, when the sidewalks were as cold and dark as the sky, when there was nothing to do but stare out my bedroom window and dream of sneaking out, sneaking away, without ever needing to come back.

But today wasn't like any other day. Today, I slipped quietly towards with the front door, trying not to wake my mom as I slid between leaning towers of white shoe boxes, bright blue IKEA bags, and clear plastic bins piled so high I could hardly see the light from the ceiling bulb reflected on the floor.

It was a little after six in the morning. As I started my trek across town on my bike, the seat still a bit wet from a night spent out in the rain, I snacked on whatever I'd managed to swipe from the kitchen cupboards the night before, weary of the two-year-old expiry date on the wrappers, but not letting it stop me.

There should have been nothing on the road, at this hour. No one at the school. This time had always been mine, the quiet meant to be filled with my off-beat humming and the thrum of my bike chain, steady as a heartbeat.

For once, I was wrong.

In the school's otherwise empty parking lot, the grids of freshly painted asphalt winking at me like falling stars, I found a flashy, blue-grey sports car waiting for me, the driver's side door cracked partially open, a dark figure leaning against the hood.

Serious and severe, Sebastian King cut an imposing figure in the pre-dawn light, his short, black hair almost wild, his phone in his hand, his fingers flashing idly across the screen.

There was no mistaking him now, after meeting him. Even in his school uniform, the navy blue pants, blazer, suspenders, and white undershirt—he'd never look like anyone else. Maybe it was his height, or his long legs, or the harsh glimmer that came over his eyes when he focused on something. Either way, as I jogged over to meet him after locking up my bike, it seemed obvious that he'd been born to stand out.

"Morning," I said, and Sebastian lowered his phone, his eyes flashing up to take me in. He wasn't subtle, but then, he didn't need to be; I'd dressed to impress. Instead of my ratty running shoes and graphic tee, my muddy canvas shorts and grass-stained socks, I'd left everything from yesterday behind, donning one of the brand new school uniforms my scholarship had paid for.

I looked just like him, at a glance. Even down to the buttons I'd done up on my blazer, leaving the shirt underneath pressed and flat, the collar perfectly ironed. I deserve to be here, I hoped it said. I earned it. I fit in.

"You're early," he said, and he was right; practise didn't start until eight, but I'd come at seven. I'd just...had a feeling. And I'd wanted to get out of the house.

"So are you," I said carefully, and he nodded, expectant. "But you didn't just come to meet me, right?"

At that, he shrugged, and finally stepped away from the front of his car so he could open the driver's side door fully, pulling out a plastic bag and something wrapped in brown paper. He handed me the bag first, and when I looked inside, I found a new pair of shoes nestled at the bottom.

They were—easily—the nicest things I owned. Owned now, anyway. The only other things that came close were my new school supplies, bought with the money that was never really mine to begin with. Some office administrator from the Academy had come by my mom's house, leaving everything extra covered by my scholarship in a large garbage bag on the front lawn: some fancy sketchbooks, monogrammed pencils, a graphing calculator, a leather backpack.

But, for the first time, holding these shoes, I didn't feel like a charity case. I felt...worthy.

"Did you buy these?" I asked, and immediately regretted it. I could see the tag on the shoes looped into the laces, the price scratched out in black sharpie, like on a Christmas gift. Obviously, he'd bought them.

But then Sebastian smiled. Smiled. Like he wasn't supposed to. Because he apparently didn't know how.

"I cheated," he finally admitted, after a beat of silence. "I had a few extra pairs lying around. We looked like the same size. But someone bought them, at some point."

Ah. I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse. But at least my silly fantasy, of imagining him driving to the nearest mall, carefully picking out a pair he thought I might like, that might fit me, was null and void. The reality of it grounded me, in a weird way.

"This is for you, too," he said, brandishing the other gift in his hand. "But try the shoes on first. If they don't fit, you'll need something else."

I put down the plastic bag, then my backpack, aware of how closely he was watching me. These simple things—untying my shoes, straightening my socks, balancing on one foot at a time—had never seemed so unnatural.

Sebastian caught my arm as my body teetered, my one leg bent awkwardly in the air with one new shoe half on and half off. "Maybe you should sit in the car," he said.

I tried not to think about his hand, his firm grip, his warm touch, once he'd let go. Or the click of his tongue as he unlocked the door, the car having locked automatically as he stepped away.

I sat down, the leather squeaking, the red stitching on the doors and around the seat reminding me that everything in sight—even the steering wheel—was worth more than everything I had in emergency savings, in a bank account my mother didn't know I'd opened. I tried not to think about it.

"Yeah, it's a perfect fit," I said, and that was only partially a lie. We were the same size, but it was obvious Sebastian favoured a slimmer shoe, where I liked mine a bit wide. It would do, though. And the arch support alone was incredible.

He considered my response, then nodded again. I wasn't sure how anyone could get through life with such piercing eyes, dark and bottomless. When he looked at me again, I held my breath. Waiting.

"That's good," he finally said, and I looked away, distracting myself with my other shoe.

Once they were both on, I moved away from the open door of the car, demonstrating. "Really, it's great," I said. "Thank you."

Those last two words caught in my throat, my voice breaking. It was an embarrassing reaction, unexpected and awkward, but when I coughed, those emotions were gone.

Sebastian held out the other thing, whatever it was, and didn't say anything. I opened it.

It was a breakfast sandwich, wrapped neatly in silver foil, the brown paper stamped with the name of a restaurant I didn't recognize.

"Oh," I said stupidly. "That's really nice of you."

And again, Sebastian smiled. It knocked all the wind out of me, seeing him shrug afterwards, oblivious.

"I want to race you again," he said. "It's only fair."

"To feed me first?" I asked, and took a bite. The bagel was still warm, the cheese gooey, the egg cooked through. I usually skipped breakfast, since I hated opening the fridge at home and seeing whatever else my mother had stuffed in there—old receipts, broken bottles, thrifted, oversized clothes—but I didn't tell him that. "You didn't need to bribe me."

Reaching into the pocket of his blazer, he locked his car again, after taking his backpack off the passenger seat. He almost seemed too tall for the car, when he straightened up. As if nothing made of metal and paint could contain him.

"It's a consolation prize," he said, and he cocked his eyebrow, taunting me. So I laughed. It felt good—natural. Like we were already friends.

"All right, King," I said, stuffing my face with bread. There was something about his attitude that made this conversation almost...comfortable. "You're on."