Page 30 of All the way home

Rolling her eyes, Rena pockets her phone. “I hope Kieran scares him off.”

At least Lucas doesn’t ask who she’s talking about. “Do you?”

It’s the right question to ask, and Rena isn’t certain she likes that. Sometimes, Lucas knows exactly how to cut through to her. Shifting uncomfortably, she rubs at her nose. “I don’t know.”

If she had her way, she’d just stop thinking about it.

Actually, if she had her way, she’d sit back and let whatever is about to happen unfold and let consequences be consequences. But she’s played that game before.

Still scrolling through his phone, Lucas fiddles with the black rubber bracelets he wears around his wrist. They’d been the first thing she’d noticed about him the night they first met.

Or—the night they first spoke at length.

In the years since, Rena’s romanticized the memory, playing it over and over so it’s gone sweet and warm in retrospect, so the edges blur with uncertainty, so she’s not sure what’s actually true and what might be invented.

This she knows for certain: she’d been outside alone on her friend Harper’s balcony, late-September air cool enough to be refreshing, warm enough to still be friendly. Behind her, inside, the beginnings of a party simmered, but the room full of people she barely knew held no appeal. If Rena leaned over the railing, her stomach swooped, not unpleasantly. It was a six-story drop to the bottom—she knew from counting out the balconies in past visits—and the novelty of the vertigo was still fresh.

With a swish, the sliding door behind her opened, and Lucas stepped outside. The bridge of a pop song and the low murmur of voices floating through the air were cut short as he closed the door behind him.

In the distance, a car’s horn sounded.

Silently, Lucas leaned against the railing next to her, twisting his black rubber bracelets.

Rena considered him out of the corner of her eye, careful not to be caught.

Back then, Lucas had still been taller than she was, but only just. His last few inches had caught up to him since they’d gotten together, so at that point he was just sort of tall, not raise-your-eyebrows tall. Even back then, though, he had the athletic build that runs in his family. He had the trademark strong Hill nose and blond hair, too, cut awkwardly, like he’d buzzed it and let it grow out in a lopsided halo that stuck up at the back. Later on, Rena had found out that was precisely what had happened.

After a moment, with a cautious smile that was more braces and uncertainty than anything else, Lucas nodded to the street beneath. “Would be a long way to fall.”

“I think you’d die right away.” Below, as small as a beetle, a man dragged a disinterested dog along the sidewalk. “It probably wouldn’t even hurt.”

Since then, they’ve laughed about it together—who even says that?—but he hadn’t laughed that night, just nodded.

“You’re on the track team, right?” he’d asked instead, apparently done with the hypotheticals of falling six stories.

Absently, Rena nodded. She wasn’t done thinking about what might happen if she fell. If Kieran was the one with her, they’d joke back and forth about it until the humor in the idea had gone stale.

“That’s good. They need someone fast.”

That caught her attention. Curious, she asked, “How do you know I’m fast?”

Lucas buried a cough in his elbow. “I was there for tryouts.”

Then, over the next ten seconds, he went steadily pinker and pinker, ears first, flush creeping across his cheeks.

“You’re very good,” he added.

Smiling to herself, Rena leaned against the railing. “Thank you.”

“You’re Harper’s friend, right?”

“I am. Rena Nelson.” Rena turned and held out her hand, to see if he’d take it. Sometimes boys still treated handshakes like she might be cootie patient zero.

But Lucas had taken her hand and shaken it, and smiled, and Rena had felt it. The sharp shock of recognition.

“Lucas Hill,” he told her, and somehow it almost felt like a secret.

That night, she’d crept into Kieran’s room like she always did after social events. He’d been waiting for her, flat on his stomach doodling all over his social studies homework, which he shoved off his bed the moment she entered. Both him and Sully—their ancient Labrador retriever—perked up, waiting.