is a bonus, not the compelling clincher Steph thinks it is. As for school, what difference does one more day make in the grand scheme of things?
“I’m leaving,” Ethan calls, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor of the hallway. “Coming or not?”
“Allie!” Steph’s fingers dig into her arm.
Ethan saunters over. “Sorry there’s not room for two,” he says with a lazy grin at Steph, but he doesn’t look sorry.
Allie feels a twinge of guilt. She and Steph do everything together, and it’s weird to be going off on her own, especially with a boy like Ethan. But everything has changed, and she is not at all the same person she was last week. She gives Steph a quick hug.
“I’ll call when I get back. Promise.”
Ethan holds out his hand, and she takes it, his fingers warm around her cold ones. Walking with him in the hallway is different. Kids make room for them. The eyes on her are envious instead of pitying.
The bike is sleek and black, with dancing skeletons shadow-painted on the tank.
“Ever ride before?” Ethan asks, and she shakes her head.
“Here, I have an extra helmet. Climb on.”
The helmet is a little looser than Allie thinks it should be, but she buckles it on tight. Ethan starts the engine, and she immediately loves the fact that it drowns out the cello music that has been playing in her head ever since the accident. The rush of wind on her face, the dangerous free-fall sensation of riding in the middle of all of the cars, death never more than a couple of feet away, makes her feel alive again for the first time since the accident.
The I-5 is backed up like always, the 525 not so bad. Their timing for the ferry is perfect, with very little wait time before they drive on board and park the bike.
“Come on,” Ethan says, “let’s go up on deck and watch people.”
It’s only a short crossing, and the majority of the passengers stay in their cars. Allie is more interested in Ethan and the expanse of water than she is in the few people sharing the deck with them, but Ethan has different ideas.
“Let’s play a game.”
“Okay,” she says, cautious.
“Pick a person, any person, and I’ll make up a story about them. Who’s first?”
Allie surveys the possibilities and nods toward an elderly couple holding hands at the railing. “Them.”
“He’s got cancer. They’re taking this one last day together, and then he’s going to swallow a bunch of pills and take himself out.”
“Oh my God!” Allie stares at him. “That’s awful.”
“Is it? What’s yours?”
“It’s their anniversary. They love each other. They’re going to Whidbey to visit the grandkids.”
“Fairy tale,” Ethan says. “Okay, now that little kid over there.”
Allie watches the toddler running back and forth between two adults, laughing out loud as if this is the most amazing game in the world. He clutches a bear in one hand. The adults have dark hair, his is blond.
“He’s being adopted,” she says. “The bear is all he has left of his birth parents. But these people are so excited to have him and love him already.”
“I’ll give you that,” Ethan says. “Only, about five minutes from now, they hug each other because they’re so happy, and in the minute when they’re not looking, the kid climbs up on the railing and falls into the water and drowns.”
“Stop it!” Allie exclaims. “Let the kid be happy.”
“We’re born, we live, we die. Shit happens. It’s an ugly world; you think there’s some magic protection for kids?”
Allie wants there to be. But then, she wants some sort of magic protection for herself, some way to unravel heartbreak and tragedy. She wants to play the cello again, she wants to be right with her father.
She wants Trey and her mother back and alive.
“You of all people should be beyond rose-colored glasses, Allie.”
“I just want it to be different, is all.”
“It hurts less when you just accept that it sucks. Come on. We’re almost there.”
She follows him back down to the bike, and they don’t talk while the ferry docks and unloads. Once they’re away from the terminal, the traffic thins and they have the road almost to themselves. When the bike picks up speed, Allie immerses herself in the experience. It’s like nothing else exists. The thundering bike beneath her, her arms tight around Ethan’s waist, the wind on her face. Off and on, there are glimpses of the water.