Silver Stilettos

2 | no way but his way

The evasive driving my father taught me kicked in without any conscious effort on my part. I normally took the same route to and from school, but this time, I didn't take the shortest route. Instead, after I got out of the parking lot, I took as many right turns as possible. I went in circles, widening my radius each time, one eye on the road in front of me, the other scanning the rearview mirror for any cars that looked familiar.

My dad told me that the easiest tails to spot were the ones that followed just a little bit too close to just be coincidence. The best way to lose them was to signal right, but at the last second, go straight instead.

The world had blurred into silence around me, but my stampeding heartbeat more than made up for it. The erratic thumps of my heart echoed in my ears until my breathing quickened and my chest felt like someone had strapped a hundred rubber bands around it. Behind me, a black Escalade was hovering, always making sure to stay at least two cars back. The driver looked masculine, one hand on the steering wheel and the other—oh god, where was the other?

I panicked and took a right turn without signaling. The red sedan behind me, forced to brake, released a loud, prolonged honk. They continued going straight after the passenger leaned out the window to flip me off. Two other cars zipped past. But the Escalade turned, following me.

In full flight mode, I sped up, going ten miles over the speed limit. I kept glancing back, growing more and more fearful when the driver's other hand didn't appear. What if he had his hand on a gun? What if he went into the fast lane and pulled alongside me and shot me through the window?

I forced myself to take a deep breath. This is Indiana, I reminded myself. He won't shoot you in the middle of a busy street, Mayuri. The car is not following you. Maybe it's just some guy coming home from work.

With reluctance, I pulled my foot from the gas pedal. White-hot adrenaline shot up my calf and I struggled to moderate my breathing. In and out, Mayuri. In and out. It's okay. Just slow down. He'll overtake you.

The Escalade did not overtake me. The driver adjusted his speed, keeping a car's length of space between us, which was inconceivable in a society where even going five miles above the speed limit meant someone would be riding on your ass and pulling rude faces at you in the mirror.

My vision blurred, not from tears, but from sweat dripping into my eyes. My stomach clenched. The light ahead of me was yellow and the car in front of me was already breaking. The fast lane was unoccupied. Without thinking about it, I made a hard left, swerving into the lane so fast that my tires let out an angry squeal. The stoplight turned red. I went through it, closing my eyes and wincing.

A second later, I opened them. The Escalade had not followed me. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. My eyes burned from sweat and a glance into the rear mirror made me realize that my cheeks were a blotchy pink and my eyes had a criss-crossing of spidery, red strain lines.

Who the hell was Reed involved with? And why did someone take a pot shot at me of all people?

I had to tell someone. I had to tell my dad. He would be home by now. All I had to do was get home.

I didn't go straight home. First, I made a few other lefts and rights to make sure no one else was following me. The last thing I wanted to do was lead them straight to my front door, the place where my family lived.

I scooped the cat into my messenger bag, ignoring its protesting mewls. I slammed the car door more loudly than necessary, prompting another frightened cry from the kitten. I flew into the house and called out, "Mom! Mom, is Dad home?"