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Okay. So maybe it wasn’t a cosmic coincidence that he was out here. Jagger said he was going to his favorite place, which happens to be a quick walk from where I was lost. There’s no way he could have known I’d try to chase the perpetrator through the woods to try and catch them.
“Come on,” Jagger says, nodding toward the wheel.
“You’re kidding right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He stretches his leg out so that his foot is pressed against the metal frame, while his other foot is still on solid ground.
When I don’t react, he drops his shoulders, grabs a bar above him and swings onto the car.
With two hands over his head, holding on to a bar, and his feet touching down on another one, he tips his chin. “Just get on.”
“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m about to jump on that dilapidated thing.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, dropping into one of the cars.
It looks easy enough. The car Jagger is in is pretty close. I could probably do it without falling to my death. I’m just not sure how much faith I want to put into the stability of this thing. It’s old and it obviously already tipped to be pressed so tightly to the mountain side. One of these bars could break and we’d go crashing down to the ground.
Jagger kicks his feet up and pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear. I didn’t even know he smoked. It’s been so long since I saw Jagger in any other capacity than him being a dick, so it’s possible I never paid attention.
When the scent hits my nose, I realize it’s not a cigarette, but a joint.
He draws in a hit, speaking on the exhale. “Gotta say, Scar. I never took you to be a complete chickenshit.”
“Chickenshit, huh?” I take a small step forward, observing the trajectory.
“I said what I said.”
I watch him with scathing eyes as he takes another drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
Teetering on the edge, I reach out and grab the frame.
Jagger drops his feet, stands up, and presses his hands to the sides of the car. “Nice and easy. You’ve got this.”
“Really?” I scoff. “Seconds ago I was a chickenshit.”
Stepping on, one foot at a time, I hold the bar over my head and shimmy my way to the car. One glance at the ground far beneath me has my heart pounding. “Holy shit.” I blow out a breath of pent-up air.
“Atta’ girl,” Jagger says, cheering me on.
When I’m near the car, I grab the edge and take Jagger’s hand. He pulls me in and I immediately drop onto the seat.
My head rests back and I stare up at the open sky. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“I can. You’re more of a badass than half the guys I know.”
I narrow my eyes and exhale heavily. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
Jagger sits down beside me, legs spread, his hand hanging between them with the joint positioned between his thumb and forefinger. “Definitely a compliment.”
“Let me hit that,” I tell him, regarding the joint.
“This?” He holds it up, questioning me with his eyes.
“No. Your face. Yes, that.” I snatch it out of his hand, now pinching it between my fingers.
I look down at it, remembering the last time I smoked weed. I was with Maddie, Crew, and my friend, Finn, who was a member of my ski club. He also attends Essex High and hung out with Maddie and me quite a bit.
It was right before her accident. We were all lying in the snow, laughing our asses off making snow angels.
