Wipeout

  "Sam!" In an instant, Shesho and our teammate Eric are beside me.

  His perfect voice is worried. "Are you okay?" Brushing gravel off me, he assists me in sitting. He is always thoughtful, and did I mention that he is perfect?

  I am smiling despite the pain. “Did I win?” When he laughs, I can not help but laugh too. You can not help but laugh when he does.

  Shesho, standing over me, hip-cocked, is shocked and then bursts out laughing. “You did that to win? Was it worth it?”

  I stood up, and my road rash skin stretched painfully. “Those bragging rights are mine, so yes, it was worth it.”

  “I doubt your win will be the hot topic on Chatter tomorrow. That epic crash will be everywhere.” She stated.

  Chatter is a self-deleting messaging app that integrates micro videos and comments, allowing us to post anything we want. Naturally, everyone's profiles will be filled with information about our illicit activities.

  "We will see." I will not let a slight tumble ruin my victory.

  Mackenzie runs across the line and stops next to Shesho, panting. “Sam. Are you ok?” She’s the second leg of our relay team. Cynthia is the first leg.

  “I won. That's how I am.” I grin ear to ear.

  The rest of the team surrounds us to congratulate me on my win. The guys even pick me up. I'm furiously high-fiving everyone. think,

  Suddenly everyone gets quiet, and they put me down. “You don’t have to stop congratulating me that fast.” Out of nowhere, something so cold it burns touches my back. I scream, and everyone laughs as I whirl around. Jared juggles an ice-cold beer in his hand.

  “Nice run, Sam. Drinks are on me.” He gives me a million-dollar smile, like that will forgive him for the frostbite. It’s honestly a stunning smile though, but Eric’s is better.

  Maybe.

  The blue label on the can makes me groan. “Papst, really? Are you this cheap on dates? My part-time job can’t afford to pay your half of the bill.” The crowd laughs while his pals laugh hardest at his expense. Impressively, he seems to enjoy the turn about.

  “It’s the working man’s beer. Seemed fitting for a warehouse.” His wink and good looks work over time trying to endear him to me.

  “So you’re a beer connoisseur?” I open the can and start gulping it down. When I need to breathe, Shesho finishes the rest. This seems to impress them more than our running.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  It’s not as impressive as it seems. That’s my third alcoholic beverage ever, and the first two were with Mom and Dad. A couple years ago they gave Shesho and me beers to try. It’s not much of a thrill while your parents die of laughter because you're hiccuping. The second was a glass of champagne at Aunt Jamie’s wedding.

  “You're pretty good, Seril. You can grab another from the cooler.” Not going to happen. It was dumb enough to drink that one. They walk away, but several of them leer at Shesho and me.

  The party is an eclectic group of cliques and outsiders. Private and public Chicago suburban schools mixed into a slurry of teenage angst. Like Fran, who’s giving me the evil eye. You’d think the boy candy vying to impress her would make me insignificant, unless she’s interested in Jared. Which is gross. He’s always planning his next love interest before the date is over.

  Shesho eyes me mischievously. “Trying to impress the captain of the football team?”

  I laugh, knowing what he wants. “I definitely don’t need his attention. It would tarnish my reputation.”

  Shesho snorts. “People are still talking about you breaking Jane’s nose. Your reputation is already set in stone.”

  Well, I don’t have a retort to that.

  Eric hands us water bottles. He leans into Shesho and gives her a lingering victory kiss. Not surprisingly, he’s my best friend's boyfriend.

  “If this gets any bigger, we’ll have a hard time not getting caught by the cops.” He said.

  They make an odd couple with her Egyptian heritage and his Gap AD brown hair and sparkling eyes. I was never super jealous, but he makes it hard to find someone his equal.

  That’s a tiny lie; I’m jealous.

  Mackenzie laughs. “Like, this is any safer than our other break-ins. Our criminal behavior is going to catch up to us eventually.” She has an athletic build and pixie blonde hair.

  I shrug. “We only run through places. It’s a pretty low-level crime. But you’re probably right. We should wait at least a week before we do another break-in.”

  Everyone laughs, but we all know another break-free run will happen at some point.

  We were those kids that raced through a big box store as you're piling things into your cart. Deserving of a few curses and a manager threatening to call the police. We moved on to construction sites and only graduated to actual break-ins last year.

  “How did you do, Eric?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “First place. Ian and I would be one, two, like you and Shesho, but a guy from Garnet High pulled him off the wall.”

  At the utterance of his name, Ian appears with our teammate Cynthia. In her hand is the rope she was tied up with. She looks a little too happy.

  Ian groans as he hands Cynthia some water. “His hands were enormous; it was like being in a vice. Or the hands of a hairless gorilla.” He illustrates something gorilla-like, making us laugh.

  I eye the rope in Cynthia’s hands. “Did you get caught?”

  “Yes, but I was saved by a gentleman.” She winds the rope around Ian and ties it off in a bow. He looks a tad concerned as she claims him. Maybe there are benefits to getting caught.

  Cynthia is a tiny thing with golden locks. It gives her Korean heritage a little American panache. As for Ian, I can’t blame her for trying to claim him with his flaxen hair and grey eyes. Or she could have been saved by Grant. He’s wiry and charming like my dad. There’s also Steve, the high jumper. Everyone is jealous of his silky smooth hair. It’s technically not creepy if everyone runs their hands through someone’s hair. Scratch that, still creepy. Our track team has an absurdly high quotient of cute guys.

  It's hard to say if sports just draw a certain type of person or if it's the fact our school has a tuition fee that makes trophy husbands and wives a norm. That’s probably a bit stereotyping and maybe sexist, but I’ve been told my past colors my view of people with power. Personally, it should be normal to punch a sanctimonious rich guy in the face. Which I’ve never done. Ever.

  It was my mom.

  Noise draws me out of my tangents, and Shesho grabs my arm. “Come on, Sam, let’s go.”