press harder, the pedal suddenly so hard to push it feels like I’m riding through mud, but I reach the middle of the southbound lane. I can’t get back to the curb now. There are three lanes left to cross and that engine revs louder, making me look over my shoulder just as a truck pulls onto the road, heading directly for me.
I freeze for a second, whirring through my options. I can’t back up; if I go forward he could hit me, so please … stop.
But the pickup keeps coming, and my bike wavers in the middle of the intersection as I make the instant decision to try to beat him to the other side of the street. Heart pumping in my ears, I pound the pedals around, sliding into the northbound lane just as the truck zooms by behind me.
Was that necessary, asshole? Yes, I was in the wrong by crossing on a red, but really? I whip around to glare at windows tinted so dark it’s impossible to see a face. Still, I stare with righteous indignation, losing my balance and wobbling to one side.
I manage to get my foot on the ground before I fall, looking again as the truck gets farther away. Just before he turns at the next intersection, the driver’s window rolls down and a hand reaches out to wave at me. He waved?
What a jerk!
Shaking, I slip off the bike and walk it onto the sidewalk, still staring down the road, but the truck disappears. Did he just wave at me like this was his idea of a joke?
I frown, the image of his hand spread out wide still burning in my mind. No, that wasn’t a wave. That was … the number five.
Delivered by the driver of a dark pickup truck very much like the one that nearly killed me the other night.
I grip the handlebars to stay steady and catch my breath. I have to stop. My imagination, always a tad hyperactive and now fueled by my wack mom, is in overdrive. I have to stop this.
There are a thousand dark pickup trucks in Vienna, and all that guy meant was he was sorry. Right? He was probably on the phone or texting and didn’t see me until he passed.
Let’s not forget I was in the middle of the intersection when I should have been waiting for the light to change.
No one just tried to kill me, damn it. I just tried to kill myself.
If there’s any hope for me in this life at all, I have to stop letting every normal day loom like an accident waiting to kill me. And I sure can’t let those old worries get tied to the meaningless Hottie List just because he held out five fingers.
Molly will help me, I tell myself. She’ll play up the positives of the list, too. New friends, new popularity, a possible new boyfriend!
I bike hard and fast up the hill to Molly’s house, so angry at myself I barely notice how steep it is. With each strained pedal pump, I intensify the lecture in my head.
So I had a car accident the other night. So I got a couple of weird texts and accidentally deleted them. And I had a little brush with a gas leak yesterday. And I made a stupid mistake on my bike.
I will not turn into my mother.
I’ve got my eye on Molly’s redbrick split-level house at the top of the hill, making it my goal, when I see her running into the driveway, waving frantically at me.
“Hey!” I call, breathless and laughing at how much effort it takes to make that last hundred feet.
“Kenzie, hurry!” she yells back. A frightened note in her voice makes my heart catch. Something’s wrong.
She runs toward me, meeting me before I even reach her yard. Her hands are over her mouth and her eyes are wide with shock and fear. Something is most definitely wrong.
I slip off the bike seat. “What’s the—”
“Did you hear about Olivia Thayne?”
I can only stare at her, my throat closed so tight no words can come out. I shake my head.
“She hit her head diving into Keystone Quarry at a party last night.” Molly reaches out to me. “She’s dead, Kenzie.”
CHAPTER VIII
“Everyone is going to school,” Molly says an hour later while we’re still combing social media and reading texts, trying like crazy to make sense of the shock. “Look.”