Page 27

“I don’t get hearts in my eyes.”

“You do,” John calls out from behind the tractor. “Little cartoon birds float around too.”

Miller cackles. “Seriously, go do something else. We’ve got this almost done.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

It wouldn’t help even if I did slip off.

It never does.

The days I run away and hide by the creek do nothing to help the aching in my chest that something isn’t right. It only ever dulls when I’m with Felicity. And even then, it’s looming nearby.

I’m not a superstitious guy, and I’ve certainly never had some kind of supernatural occurrence like seeing into the future, but I can never fully shake off the this just isn’t right feeling I’ve had since I graduated back in May.

I tell myself it’s because I miss school. Or maybe I miss being in a specific routine each day. But that doesn’t feel right either.

It has less to do with the past and more to do with whatever is to come.

I slide under Felicity’s car—she once tried to rotate her own tires and thought it meant flipping them upside down, so yeah, my expectations for whatever is going on here are low.

Before I can get comfortable, the shop bay door shutters with a loud bang, and Jack limps out from under an F-250, looking defeated.

“Can’t figure it out,” he mutters. “Engine keeps stalling. No codes, no misfires. I’m about to set it on the street with a free sign on it.”

“That’s what you get for getting a Ford,” I mouth silently just as Miller says it out loud, smug.

Miller jerks his boot toward my roller and tries to tug me out. “Ask lover boy. He’s basically the diesel whisperer.”

Jack rolls his eyes but waves me over. I roll out all the way, stand, stretch, brush metal dust off my shirt, and head to the truck. One listen as he starts it, one glance at the shaking block, and it makes sense to me.

“Fuel line’s leaking air,” I say. “Hear that hitch right before it kicks? It’s sucking air right behind the pump. Clamp’s loose.”

Jack stares. “How… How did you even hear that?”

I shrug. “It’s the only sound in here that doesn’t belong.”

Sure enough, he messes with the clamp for a few minutes and fires her up, purring like she’s brand-new. I shrug and make my way back to Felicity’s beat-up sedan.

I have this reoccurring dream where I save up enough money to buy her a nice car, nothing too crazy. Nothing like that ridiculous Mercedes her asshole mom rolled in as an “I’m sorry I abandoned you, look, here’s a shiny object” consolation gift. But something reliable.

An old GX 460 maybe…high mileage but steady and gets her where she needs to go. Reliable, strong, sturdy. We could take it off-roading or on a camping trip, park it at the top of the mountain and watch the sunrise.

Then I remember I, unfortunately, don’t shit money, and it would take me at least two years to save up $10k for something like that.

As soon as Jack slips out, Miller takes his boot to my roller and yanks me out from the car. “What the—”

He mutters low enough so just the two of us can hear.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

He levels me with a look and I know there’s no sense in lying.

“I…don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t explain it, but it just…feels not right.”

“The car?”