Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,12

you since this morning." Her tone changed, her voice embodying something vulnerable, like she peeled back a layer of skin.

"Yeah. I'm really sorry about that. Fall-outs aren't my style."

"Then what is?" she demanded, spinning to face him. "Why did you talk to John like that? You know. You know how he is. If Dad wasn't home, he would've hit you, and then Dad hit you anyway."

"I know." Sighing, he searched for an explanation. How could she possibly understand the impulse to let go and scream? To tell the jerk he saw right through him? To kick, to fight, to insist and hell yeah, give it right back.

Of course she does. We endure. We survive. It’s what we do. It’s who we are.

"I just hate them sometimes," he confessed. "I felt like saying so. I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have. Not, like, in front of you."

"We're going to get away some day, No’. I swear. Your music, my college, something. But we have to do it together. We can't leave if he kills you, though."

"Wouldn't it be nice if we could kill them first?" he mused.

"If the world worked that way," she murmured, then snorted. "Your thoughts are so evil. It's lovely."

"Lovely and evil, huh?"

"'I just can't afford to think that way,'" she quoted, resting her tray on a booth, leaning against the table. She pressed two fingers to her lips, and outstretched her arm to the nonexistent hidden cameras.

"Is that a Hunger Games reference?" he laughed.

"Obviously," she scoffed, miming an archer's stance. "Katniss Everdeen. The girl on fire."

"Oh, you're on fire, Sar. Always on fire." His voice trailed off as he dropped the hoard of dishes in the sink.

"Really?" she asked. Her voice sounded suddenly small, as though he hit a nerve that needed encouragement.

"Really."

"Profound." She smirked, unable to mask a smile. Her head twisted to the side, and he followed her gaze. A pair of converse danced out of view, reappearing attached to distressed jeans. A flash of wavy brown hair brought a grin to his face. Sarah squealed, pointing towards the shifting shadow of Aly's silhouette. "It's your girlfriend, Noah. Should I queue the doves or just cover your tables?"

Aly's head popped into the window's view, the rest of her hidden behind the door. Her hand was curved, shading her forehead from the sun, like a solute, as she peered into the restaurant.

"She's not my girlfriend, Sar," he said, guiltily recalling the promise to meet her outside.

"Yet," Sarah corrected, lifting the tray from his arms and sliding into the kitchen.

“Aly’s just a friend, Sarah.” His hands fumbl ed to release the apron from his waist, dropping in on the counter as he moved to the door.

Not wrong at all.

CHAPTER 5 | ALYSON

Before Aly could climb in, Noah fumbled to gather stacks of notebooks and CDs from the seat. He had twisted beneath the seatbelt, the hem of his shirt rising above his navel, in a rushed attempt to stack the collection in the back.

His body was angled towards her as he lingered in thought, a ready opening for an offhand comment. She had smiled at his easy manner, his half-sided smirk feeling more silly than mocking, as though she was always in on the joke. He briefly mentioned his friends and that he bought the vehicle off a family friend. They didn’t speak much, but the silence was comfortable. A quick ride to the trails was relaxed, a far cry from the rigid isolation as her father’s passenger.

She observed the clouded mist roll across the horizon. The weather shifted quickly, as though the atmosphere was rolling with the winds. Moments ago the sun was bright and shining, a piercing light between the trees and around a corner. The skies opened. A heavy fog shifted in, clouds clasping like puzzle pieces, the misting rain an impenetrable dome.

Aly slipped into the hoodie folded over her arm. Tucking cold fingers into her elbows, she crossed her ankles, as though to cover the porcelain skin exposed by her Chucks. Observing her discomfort, Noah traded the air conditioning for a defrost setting.

As the windows cleared and the rain stopped, the towed ATV trailer shuttered in the rearview mirror. Her gaze followed the stretch of road disappearing behind them until they slowed into an arriving turn. As Noah blew past the state park ticket booth without hesitation, she raised her eyebrows.

With a reassuring smile he said simply, “Off-season’s free.”

The engine whirred to a stop as they backed across shaded parking spots and hugged