trains, pulling August with her by one sweaty hand.
It’s chaos—the darkness of the tunnel, the blue and yellow flashes of train lights and flickering wall fixtures, the deafening rattle of the tracks flying past, dirt and concrete rushing out from underneath them. August makes the absolutely terrible mistake of looking down and feels like she’s going to throw up.
“Oh my God, what the fuck,” she says, but she can’t hear her own voice.
The tracks are right there. One wrong step and a few inches of air between staying alive and being scraped off the rails. This is the worst possible idea anyone could ever have, and it’s what Jane does for fun.
“It makes you feel alive, right?” Jane shouts, and before August can yank them both back into the car, Jane steps across the gap to the platform of the next car.
“It makes me feel like I’m gonna die!” August yells back.
“That’s the same thing!”
August is clinging to the car, back pressed against the door, nails scrabbling. Jane grabs the handle of the next door with one hand and reaches out the other to her. “Come on! You can do this!”
“I really can’t!”
“August, you can!”
“I can’t!”
“Don’t look at the tracks!” she yells. “Eyes up, Landry!”
Everything in August’s brain is screaming at her not to, but she drags her eyes up from the rails and to the car in front of her, the tiny platform, Jane standing there with one hand out, the wind whipping her hair around her face.
August realizes, suddenly, it’s the first time she’s ever seen Jane outside of the train.
That’s what makes her do it. Because August doesn’t do this type of thing, but Jane is outside.
“Oh fuck,” August mutters, and she grabs Jane’s hand.
She clears the gap from one car to the next in a breath, a scream caught high in the back of her throat, and then her feet are on metal.
She did it. She made it across.
August crashes into Jane’s chest, and Jane catches her around the waist like she did the day the lights went out, the day August thought she’d blown it for good. Jane laughs, and on a hysterical burst of adrenaline, August laughs too, her raincoat flying around them.
Here they are. Two sets of sneakers on a scrap of metal. Two girls in the middle of a hurricane, tearing down the line. She’s looking up at Jane, and Jane’s looking down at her, and August feels her everywhere, even the places she’s not touching, pressed close as the world roars on.
“See?” she says. But she’s looking at August’s mouth when she says it. “You did it.”
And August thinks, as she tips her chin up, that here, in the space between subway cars, right on the edge of where Jane exists, is where Jane’s finally going to kiss her for real. No pretense. No memories. But because she wants to. Her fingers are spreading on August’s waist, digging into the fabric of her jacket, and—
“Come on,” Jane says, yanking the door open, and they tumble into the next car.
Jane pulls her half-running past unbothered commuters, dodging poles and standing passengers until they reach the next door. They jump from one car to the next, out one door and in another, until it stops being so terrifying to step off, until August barely even hesitates before taking her hand.
“Okay,” Jane says, when they get to their seventh changeover. “You first.”
August turns, eyes wide. That isn’t what she signed up for.
“What?”
“You trusted me, right?” August nods. “Now trust yourself.”
August turns to the next train car. Her brain chooses this moment to remind her that forty-eight people died in subway accidents in 2016. She doesn’t think she can do this without Jane standing there to catch her if she slips, and she’s really not interested in going down in history as a delay on the Q while someone calls the medical examiner.
She trusted Jane, though. She trusted Jane and her time on this train and that cocky grin to get her there safely. Why can’t she do the same for herself? She’s learned this train backward and forward. The Q is home, and August is the girl with the knife picking its stops apart one by one. She doesn’t believe in things. But she can believe in that.
She steps off.
“Hell yeah!” Jane crows from behind when she makes it. She doesn’t wait for August’s hand, hopping across and onto the platform. “That’s my girl!”
Jane slides the door open, and on the other side, August