“There is no ‘we,’ Conley. You’re not invited to the party.”
She lunges at me, but she forgets I’ve got pretty good reflexes. I dangle the keys out of her reach.
“Nuh-uh. That freak is racingmycar? Yeah, I’m definitely invested, here.”
“Time for you to leave. Now.”
I sink deeper into my seat and meet her gaze. “That’s real polite of you, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ve played by your rules since we left, I’ve followed you around like a little puppy. I’m coming with you.”
“I don’t do copilots. Like, ever.”
“You won’t even know I’m here,” I protest.
“It’s dangerous.”
“I can handle it.”
“So what?” She snorts. “I’m just being practical, Lewis. If you get hurt, the Dodge isn’t the only thing that gets tanked. You can kiss basketball goodbye, too.”
She’s thought this through, and that surprises me, somehow. She makes a lot of sense, but still—I know what I want to do.
“Guess we’re down to praying to Baby Jesus, then.”
It’s just a flicker in her eyes, but I can sense the exact moment she gives in, and I’m glad she isn’t wasting any more time, because the crowd has suddenly parted, and right there in front of us is the starting line for the most batshit race ever.
I dangle the keys at her again.
“Just give me the keys, Conley! I swear, as soon as we get back to Sycamore Heights, I plan on injuring you in a hit-and-run.”
“Sounds good. If you win, I’ll even let you do it in the Dodge.”
“That’s exactly the kind of pep talk I need.” She tugs on her seat belt. “Buckle up. And get ready for a wild ride.”
“I’m a Campus Driver, you know…”
“Whatever you say, sweetie.”
She yanks off her beanie and throws her hair up in a ponytail while I strap myself in, giving my seatbelt two firm tugs for good measure.
“Grab the helmet from the back.” She nods.
“No, you should wear it.”
“Just put it on, Lewis.”
“I’m a gentleman,” I protest.
“Put the fucking helmet on your fucking head!”
I pretend to flinch. “Okay, okay! Jeez!”
I decide to let her win this one.
She revs the engine, taking a deep breath in as she grips the wheel. My Dodge has appeared on the track to my right, and suddenly the seriousness of it all hits me with full force. Seeing Tyler there in my seat, settling into the leather I worked with my own bare hands… My entire body is pulsing with rage.
“How long does the race take?” I ask her, flipping him the finger.
“Depends on him. Open the glove box and grab that CB radio.”
