Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,13

a faded curb. She held her breath, as though it would quicken in the sudden silence.

Noah was a constant presence at her side. It was a struggle not to focus on the closeness. He had a tangible energy, his smallest motion an outburst. She held her eyes on the dashboard, her gaze eventually flitting to the side-view mirror and its belated warning.

Objects are closer than they appear.

Her eyebrows flew upward. Noah had briefly mentioned Lucas Young and Owen Hunt. She had expected curious personalities when he offered descriptions, one lanky, the other stout. Surnames were spoken as though they were slang rather than titles and ties. His friends were both native teens, fellow to-be seniors, and he murmured warnings of their infamous quirks. It was clear the afterthought was a raging understatement.

One was tall but solid. Wrinkly bright red, athletic-styled shorts and a baggy sweatshirt rolled to his elbows added to his width, amplifying the mass of muscled calves and thick forearms. The other was significantly smaller. His oversized white tee shirt was covered in umber fingerprints and dirt. Both curly haired, the similar cut seemed to lean to opposite sides, managing to appear wildly different on each of them. They were naturally tanned darker than Noah, like chestnuts. Still, they carried his posture, upright but relaxed, and shared familiar lopsided grins.

The shorter boy had the hem of his shirt lifted to his sternum, his stomach forced forward as he ran circles around the other, lost in hysterics.

She suppressed the instinct to fear and question substance abuse. Raising a hand to her lips, she covered a giggle. After deciding she seemed relatively unaffected,Noah’s expression of concern passed, giving way to a burst of laughter. He twisted the keys from the ignition, killing the base pounding through the speakers.

Unbuckling, their knuckles brushed. She blushed beneath his gaze. Pressing down to release a click, she cracked the door, swung her legs over the pavement, and slid from her seat. He parted from his own and they closed the cab with a mutual clap.

Aly took comfort in his effortless movements, watching as he retracted chains and climbed around the quads.

“Hey Locklear!”

“Who might this be?”

Aly took a deep breath, attempting to relax the heat from her cheeks. She bit her lip, glancing through her hair.

Noah twisted to face them, leaning against the hand grips. “This is Owen Hunt. That’s Luke Young. This is Alyson Glass.” He pointed out the taller boy, followed by the other, before motioning towards her.

Her smile and loose wave were met with a one-armed hug and a high-five that somehow transformed into a recoiling explosion from Luke. Owen offered a gloved palm and a wink, his fingers locking with hers rather than shaking her hand, a gentle fist knocking her knuckles before she was able to pull away.

Seems fitting. At least they’re fully clothed, now.

“Better hold on real’ tight, girly,” Luke suggested, wiggling his brow.

“Don’t let Noah go and kill you, now,” Owen hollered, sprinting backwards before turning to complete a run.

“I assure you,” Noah grinned, a glimmer of light bouncing off his eyes, “I will not get you killed.”

“I believe you,” Aly smiled, hugging herself, arms tucked at her sides. Hesitantly, she asked, “They knew I was coming, right?”

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, moving to unlatch the other side. “They’re just being jerks because they like you. And because they’re jerks.”

“I see.”

She wondered what business she had here. In Kingsley, she had always been close with her cousins, Francesca and Giovanni. With Fresca age sixteen and Gi seventeen, they made Aly the eldest by four months. They had never been too distant in age, and it seemed in the time they lived together the trio had fused. But since her mother’s death, her other friends disappeared one by one, wedges and distance that began during the original diagnosis taking total control after the loss.

They either didn’t understand her grief or couldn’t bear it, and in her selfinflicted isolation she let them go. She hadn’t wanted the burden of reassuring them and she hadn’t wanted to be consoled. Now it seemed allies, whether or not they became confidants, could be a salvation in Ashland.

If she couldn’t make Alaska work by the end of the summer, there were ways of retreating to Kingsley, starting with the sole abandonment of dreams for a new start. It was clear her father wasn’t going to assist in any adjustments, but Noah was already making strides.

This could be a really good thing.

Jumping from the mini-trailer, he