Puke.
“And all my bridesmaids will wear the same dress, but the shade will shift just a hair for each.”
“I’m not a bridesmaid though, right?” I ask. “Because I do not want to wear pink.”
Izzy rolls her eyes. “Of course not. I’ll give you blood red.”
“I’ll accept it.”
All around us I notice the snow that mounded up in big, fluffy piles is melting. Rapidly. “Hey, how hot is it?”
“Freak blizzard,” Izzy says. “And now it’s. . .almost seventy degrees? That’s so weird.”
“I heard there was flooding from something like this in Saratoga Springs last year,” I say. “Snowmelt in big chunks was floating down the mountains.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Leonid says. “I’m here, remember?”
“You’re a normal guy right now,” Izzy says. “And the closer we get to Salt Lake City, the more normal you’re going to be.”
He salutes.
It makes me laugh.
There’s a lot of water running onto the roads, most of it with floating ice chunks, but so far, it’s all good. We’re almost to our exit, where we’ll leave I-80, when a semi truck comes barreling down the steep incline in the road much faster than it should. The Runaway Truck Ramp signs aren’t inspiring confidence, honestly, but clearly this is already a dangerous spot for them.
Leonid’s smart, giving the stupid truck plenty of space, but another driver isn’t. The tiny sports car darts between the semi and us, flying past, spraying snowmelt up and over our windshield. Leonid honks, which is appropriate. Either the honk, or snowmelt, or something else entirely throws the semi truck off, because he slides out of his lane and into ours. Only, with all the melting snow-slush, his swerve turns into a slide, and the truck collides with us, shoving us off the road entirely.
It’s our bad luck that we’re approaching Parley’s Canyon, and other than a small guard rail, there’s nothing to keep us from barreling off to our deaths.
Leonid snaps to attention, bracing our battered old truck with what I assume are bands of air, and then shoving us back onto the road. Up ahead, the semi’s still struggling, knocking another truck and two cars over the edge. He glances at Izzy, who’s paler than an albino snowflake, and she nods. “Just do it.”
He uses his left hand to guide all the cars back into place on the road without a word, and then he melts the snow chunks along the road ahead and flicks the water all off the road in a whoosh.
I don’t think it’s an accident that the rest of our drive’s clear and dry, but that’s an awful lot of magic for someone who’s supposed to be playing it safe. All of us hold our breaths—barely speaking—for the last few miles of our drive. When Leonid drops me off at my new truck and helps me unload all the guns into the toolbox, he seems relieved.
“Looks like we didn’t destroy the world yet,” he whispers. “Now, you be safe until you come out for that Valentine’s Day wedding. Got it?”
I nod.
“Thanks for not being a hater.”
I hug him.
He grunts. He doesn’t hug me back, but he doesn’t incinerate me, either. I feel like it’s a good first step toward making him a Brooks-Archer. “Take care of Izzy while I’m not around to do it.”
“I’ll sure try.”
Then I watch, a little sadly, as he and Izzy climb into a big, black SUV and drive away. Izzy’s face is pressed to the glass until the very last moment, and then she sticks out her tongue. I’m smiling as my sister drives away—headed very far away indeed.
I have three hours before my competition, and since Izzy gave me her key—she’s paid up on her apartment for four more months, apparently—I decide to take a little nap before I compete. I’m one of those people who goes hard and rests hard, too. A nap always helps me focus.
When I wake up, I realize I’ve overslept. That’s hardly a shock to me, since I sleep in about once a week. I snatch my bag, brush my teeth, and slide into my boots. I’m going over my mind-calming exercises as I open my new truck and climb in.
“Hey,” a guy says. “Who are you?”
I startle. “Uh, I’m Whitney. Who are you?”
“Theo,” he says. “I live next to your apartment.” He points. “You must be Izzy’s sister.”
