𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟿𝚝𝚑, 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢
Parker's POV

The entirety of the past six days have breezed by. Between school, football, and taking any extra available hours to work on that history project with Miles, I've had no time to do anything but sleep. We usually hacked away at our project in school, so our conversations were much less entertaining than the Tuesday afternoon coffee run.

Maybe it is a blessing in disguise to be busy with the project because I don't want to get too close to him. I already feel we're teetering on the edge of some cliff that I don't want to be teetering on.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts as Griffin swings his car into the beach parking lot, my ass sliding across the leather seat and the Hellcat sliding on the loose sand. I wince at his reckless driving but don't dare to mention it. We've had that argument in the past, and it never goes anywhere.

Griffin glances over at me and grins when he notices my taunt jaw.

"What? Do you not trust my driving?" he mocks and turns down the song he was bumping. I shake my head and let go of the oh, shit! handlebar as he parks his car.

"Sometimes I wonder if I have a death wish when I ride shotgun with you. Keys." I hold my hand out. There's no way I'm giving him the temptation to drive home later. I'll be the keeper of all my friends keys tonight, and not in a Harry Potter type of way.

Griffin sighs and kisses the key fob before passing it over. I scoff at his dramatic reaction and pocket the key before hopping out.

"Relax Grif, it's not like you're never getting your car back," I tell him as we walk down towards the beach.

Seagulls cry a chorus overhead, with the ocean playing a beat as waves slap on the sand. The sand is clean and white, stretching down for miles in each direction. As I admire the view, I'm genuinely impressed with the seniors' choice of beach. This location is beautiful.

"You don't know that. Just know that if you lose it, I will seriously hold your head under the water until you drown and use your designer clothes as collateral for a new key fob."

His reply brings me back from my daydream, and I laugh at his empty threat. Deep down, I know that he probably isn't joking. I've been wondering how I can sneak him into an anger management class for years.

As we reach the sand, Griffin slaps my shoulder dismissively and jogs down to where some people have set up a rickety foldable table on the beach. Some girls are already taping down cup marks for their pong game.

Exhaling, I tuck my hands into my shorts as I walk down to where some other guys are dragging driftwood over to a smoldering fire. Kendric is down there, popping open a gas can. The heat tinges on my skin as I get closer when he pours gas on the fire.

Kendric whoops in glee as his trick works and turns around with a smile. He brightens seeing me walk over.

"Well, well, if it isn't Parker G. himself! What's up, man? I didn't think you would actually come," he greets me happily, pulling me into him as we clasp hands and bump shoulders.

I laugh to humor him and step back, my nose stinging at the smell of alcohol that lingers on his breath. The party hasn't even started yet. "I'm good. Joshua and Turner bullied me into coming. They kept saying something about 'respecting the school spirit'."

Kendric chuckles and nods over-aggressively as he turns to face his roaring fire like a proud father. "Yep, they're good at guilt-tripping. Hey, would you run to my truck and grab the speakers from the back?"

"Sure, hang on." I smack his shoulder as I walk past and head back to the parking lot. As I head that direction, I keep my eyes peeled for Miles. It's hard to decipher faces on the beach as the sun starts to sink behind the ocean, casting deep light across the coast. Even though the sunlight is darkening, I don't see his lanky frame or tousled curls.

I stuff down the feeling of disappointment deep into my gut where it belongs and shake the sand out of my sandals as I reach the pavement. It's easy to find Kendrics rusted pickup truck, so I lodge my foot on the tire and hop into the bed. Grabbing the two speakers, I drag them over to the side and grunt as I pick one up.

Jesus. Kendric must have stolen these from a Coachella concert because they're so awkward and heavy. My years of football practice and weight lifting pay off, and I manage to get one of them down.

As I prepare to step back into the truck bed to retrieve the second speaker, an approaching growling engine makes me look up. Turner comes sliding in the parking lot with the same entrance as Griffin, his moms Cadillac slipping on the loose sand. My eyelashes flutter as he breezes by, dragging a sandstorm behind him. I raise a hand in greeting, gaining a honk from him.

A moment later, another car pulls into the lot. From where I stand on the truck on the opposite end of the parking lot, I can hear the sound of the engine purring. A soft breeze blows my hair into my eyes and I huff, pushing it back with one hand to make sure my eyes aren't playing tricks on me.

Speak of the devil.

There's no mistaking the shiny blue paint and extravagantly slow entry. Turner was all bells and whistles, purposely stepping on the gas to get that Cadillac singing. On the other hand, Miles enters like the queen of England, and he doesn't need to drift into the lot to be impressive. I hum thoughtfully to myself and turn away so Miles won't catch me staring with a dumb smile on my face. Sure, he did say that he was coming on Tuesday. However, I didn't realize I was holding my breath to see him.

I refocus on my task and grunt as I pick up the second speaker. These damn things aren't getting any lighter. My arm shakes as I get it down and pick up the other one. This is going to be a long walk down to the bonfire. I should've told Kendric to bring his lazy ass up here with me.

"Yo, who gave you the heavy lifting job?" Turner says as he comes around my backside to stand directly in front of me.

I sigh at the inconvenience of where he decides to stop and set the speakers down again, reining in my annoyance. "Kendric. You know how much he slacks in the gym, so he had to give me the dirty work."

Another laugh comes from behind my back, and I turn my head, cracking a smile before Miles sidles up and grabs one of the speakers from me. He doesn't even strain with effort.

"The tall, skinny Mexican-looking kid from last weekend? I'm not very surprised either." Miles grins and winks at me as he walks down to the party.

Turner doesn't notice how fast I turn red as he grabs the other speaker from my hand, laughing as he hurries after Miles and follows him down the sand. "Trust me, bro, no one is surprised. Kendric is more like a stick bug than a human," Turner pokes fun as he catches up with Miles.

Shaking my head, I can't stop smiling as I follow the two boys. A little bit of the weight in my stomach lifts as we walk down to where Kendric is hanging around some of the football team.

Kendric claps excitedly as we come walking over. "Hell yeah! Thanks, guys. Now we can get this party started! Nice job, Parker, for getting these bitches to work for you!"

Scoffing, I point between Turner and Miles as we walk up. "I didn't have to say anything. They're true gentlemen trying to help a friend out."

"Aww, gentlemen? What a kind lad. I'm flattered," Turner teases and blows a kiss at me. I pretend to go to catch it but flick him off instead. Miles grins at that interaction while Turner gives me double middle fingers in response.

"Okay, girls, settle down and have a drink," Kendric scolds, pointing at a cooler as he walks to his speakers and fiddles with some cords.

"No need to tell me twice!" Turner exclaims, jogging over to the cooler. Miles follows him, not bothering to scan his options as he blankly chooses a drink.

I look away to snuff the feeling of irritation as I watch all of my friends go get drunk. Instead, I walk away on a mission to find Griffin. Kendric must figure out his speakers because I recognize the beat of the song he chooses, the beginning line of the song following me down the beach.

As I draw closer to the next crowd of people, it's relatively easy to pick out Griffin. He's happily sipping from a bottle of Smirnoff that's being passed around, standing by a few of his close friends from the football team as they watch an ongoing pong game. I smile as I walk up to them, sharing knuckle bumps and shoulder slaps with my teammates.

"What's up, boys?" I ask as I edge my way into the group.

Atlas chuckles and motions at the table. "You're looking at it, brother! We're waiting for our turn. Don't take me or Griffin as a partner. We've already formed an alliance."

"An alliance, huh? I won't interfere then." I laugh.

Griffin snorts and points at me as a cute brunette girl takes the bottle of alcohol from him, taking a long drink. "Let's be real here. You wouldn't play beer pong even if someone held a gun to your head."

As much as I'd love to argue against him, he's right. I shrug. "Guilty as charged. Good thing there's water to swap out the beer, right?"

"Don't be boring Parker, just drink the fucking beer," Atlas says and laughs as a few other guys jeer at me. Off to the side, ping-pong balls flunk into the plastic solo cups. The people gathered around the table hoot and holler in celebration. All of the laughter and jeering makes my ears ring.

"Hop off of his dick, guys. It's not like drinking will win him more brownie points than he already has."

Hannah's voice rises up from behind me, and the hair behind my neck bristles, especially when her hand trails my wrist as she walks around me. I want to pull my wrist away. Instead, I let her think that her touch doesn't affect me negatively. I turn my neck to look at her and whatever words I was about to say die in my throat.

What is she actually wearing?

I've seen Christmas trees with more strings and ribbons on them than this girl. Seriously, I'm surprised her breasts aren't slipping out of the straps. With one misstep, that entire ensemble is going to unravel. I don't know if my face turns white, red, or green. This isn't the first time I envy Miles dark skin. At least his face doesn't light up in different colors like a mood ring.

Griffin smirks, his eyes drooping over her swimming suit... or lack thereof. He doesn't look lustful. He seems plain-old amused. "That seems like a pretty bold statement coming from you, sweet cheeks."

"Seriously, where'd you pick that up from, Hannah?" Another guy asks and chuckles, shifting his weight between his feet awkwardly.

The brunette girl next to Griffin, Ali?, clucks her tongue. "I think you look amazing, Han. That was a good choice."

"I wouldn't want to see the bad choices, then," Griffin grumbles under his breath. I bite my cheek to stifle a smile.

"Thank you!" Hannah beams and tosses her stick-straight hair behind her shoulder as she turns to me. "Well?"

"...Well, what?" I reach behind my neck and scratch, doing my best to keep my gaze directly on her eyes.

"Well, you don't drink, and I can't either tonight. Do you want to come with me to find some water, La Croix, or something?" Her eyelashes flutter.

I purse my lips for a moment and glance at my buddies out of the corner of my eye. Griffin still hasn't wiped that stupid smirk off of his face, Atlas is discreetly miming a very inappropriate action, and the rest of my friends are doing a terrible job at hiding their grins and wiggling eyebrows.

Slowly, I inhale and look at Hannah again. My eyes accidentally swipe over her chest, and my gut twists in genuine shock. It's that same shock that makes me answer the way I do. "Sure, I guess. I think Joshua brought more coolers down by the fire."

"He did, actually! Let's go!" Hannah smiles big enough to show off her perfect teeth. I begin to walk, and she falls in step next to me. I'm afraid to look at her, in fear that her entire side-boob is on show.

"You said you're not drinking tonight? What happened? I thought you were living it up last weekend?" I ask so I don't have to suffer through the silence.

"Well, my girlfriends and I spun a wheel to see who gets DD tonight. Can you take a stab at who lost?"

I nod, pushing the hair off of my face again as another breeze blows off of the ocean. "You, I'm assuming?"

Hannah smiles. "You assume correctly."

"Mm." I hum and resist the urge to fiddle with my hands when I notice her regard me, her eyes dropping dangerously low on my body. It's not the same as Miles discreet looks; how he carefully examines me like a work of art. Her eyes are greedy, as if she imagines me with my clothes off.

"If it makes you feel any better," I continue hastily, "I'm here to play as the taxi cab, too. Except that choice is from free will. Griffin and I didn't flip a coin."

Hannah laughs so suddenly that it scares me. "What? Griffin didn't want to stay sober? Whatever, you're making that up."

Against my better judgement, her reply gets a smile out of me. "Nope, dead serious. Now that you say that, I would be more worried if he did stay sober."

The more we talk, the more our pace begins to slow, and our strides match. Even with her short legs and revealing lingerie suit, she keeps up with me.

Kendric's fire nearly doubled in size while I stepped away, and so did the crowd around it. It's impossible to tell who's here, especially with the sun finishing its descent behind the ocean. Everyone is cast in shadows. The stars poking through the dark sky above and the dancing flames are the only light.

Hannah looks ahead at the crowd as well. "Me too. He's funny." She hesitates. "Hey, speaking of funny... I haven't heard an answer from you about our conversation on Monday?"

I blink slowly and try to remember my week. All I remember is school, football, sleeping, homework... homework... Miles.

Oh, no. I promised him that we would hang out tonight. Where did he end up?

"Parker?" Hannah prods and scowls.

"What was your question again?" I ask at the same time.

"I was wondering if you wanted to study together, like, sometime soon. Or hang out or something? I'm pretty... you know. Flexible." She smirks.

It's my turn to hesitate this time. Any other guy in this school might've jumped on that chance with no second thoughts, especially with her wearing that monstrosity. My issue is that I have second thoughts, and those second thoughts make me panic. Why would I, an average straight boy, second-guess a chance with her?

"Sure, yeah, whatever. My week nights are usually packed with football practice, though, and my weekends can be hit or miss with games. With homecoming coming up, I'll be busier than usual," I reply and focus on where my sandals are landing.

Is the beach starting to spin, or is it just me?

"Cool, no problem," Hannah replies, an unsteady waver of giddiness in her tone. "I'll message you some time soon to piece a plan together. Say, would you even say no to dinner or something?"

My sandal catches on the sand, and I stumble. Hannah darts forward to grab my arm, but I steady myself. It's almost like I can feel myself detaching from this conversation, except I can't figure out why—

"You mean to tell me that you're not stealing money from your poor 'mommas' piggy bank?! Where in the fuck are you getting money from, boy? Huh? Probably selling that heroin you smuggled over the border!"

Those words are yelled, heard crystal clear over the loud clamor of music and conversation. Only two people in this state can make provoking claims like that, let alone project their voices so intensely.

I know that Griffin is somewhere behind me, so that leaves one obvious candidate. Luke.

"Sorry, can we take a rain check on this conversation?" I ask Hannah without waiting for her reply. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to piece together who those words are being directed at. Fear courses through my body so hard that it knocks my nausea and dizziness off the table.

I race towards the group of people that's starting to get bigger around the fire, my sandals beating against the sand. A girl on the outskirts of the group startles as I approach. She relaxes and grabs the blond guy next to her. I've never been happier to see Forrest and Rose.

"What is happening?" I urge and slow down next to them.

"You'll never believe it—Actually, you totally will, but for the sake of humoring you—" Rose begins to ramble. My jaw tightens and I feel a sudden urge to grab her by her neck and shake an answer out of her.

Forrest cuts her off and turns to face me before I can do any damage. "It's Luke trying to start shit again."

I knew it.

Forrest keeps talking and peers over his shoulder at the circle's center. "I guess he saw a few nice cars when entering the parking lot, and he wanted to know who owned the Mustang. Supposedly, it belongs to that new kid."

"Miles." I clarify and shoulder my way past them. "It does belong to him."

"Take it easy, Parker! They're both drunk!" Rose warns me. Her words fall on deaf ears. The only reason why I'm forcing my way through this crowd is because I know Luke is drunk, and I know what he does when he's angry.

A boy grunts and shoves me when I accidentally step on his toes, and another girl shrieks as I fall against her, the majority of her drink splashing in the sand. I don't care enough to stop and apologize right now.

"... I make enough on my own without needin' your input. You don't needa be all up in my business, bro! What, you jealous or somethin'? Can daddy not buy you a Shelby? Or does he not trust you to drive something with bigger balls than you can handle?"

As I push past the final person in the front row, I hear Miles taunt Luke. I don't know what makes my blood curdle faster: his sickly sweet, soft manipulative tone against Luke's loud, harsh voice or how his voice slurs together. If he's not already drunk, then he's well on his way.

Luke sneers, his arrogant face tightening. "You're just a faggot, a waste of fucking space—"

"Heard that before. Get more creative, cuz."

"—A money hungry leech that illegally gathers bands, and instead of helping your piss-poor mom pay the bills, you dump it in a shitty ass car. You've barely been here for two weeks and you're already acting like some big shot."

"The same car you were admiring? That one? I have boys back home that still cry in their cereal bowls because I won against their moded Hellcats and Civic's with that shitty car," Miles snaps and steps forward.

Luke is flexing his fists like he's preparing to swing, and Miles is holding a forgotten joint, burnt to an unusable crisp. I don't know if he's angrier about his weed getting wasted or Luke's taunts. I could never have pictured Miles getting so angry, although there's a first time for everything.

I ache to jump in between them and stop this bullshit, except I would definitely make the situation worse.

"Won?" Luke spits. Then, that's when I see the pieces start to slide together. My throat goes dry as I watch his eyes light up, and I know what he's going to say before he even says it.

"If you're as big of a racer as you claim, and if you have the money available that you claim to, then prove it, otherwise you're just another loudmouth with a fancy car and a big ego. Only half a mile from the parking lot down to Sixth Street. Loser pays up five grand."

My breath hitches in my lungs. The people around me jostle and holler their own opinions.

Five thousand dollars?!

Look, I don't want to judge, except if there's one thing I gathered from these past few weeks of talking to Miles: he doesn't have money to spare.

Which is why I let out a squeak when he agrees.

"That's it? You want to race?" Miles raises his voice above the commotion. "Easy. Kiss your money goodbye, bitch." He sticks out his hand for them to shake on it.

Luke eyes Miles palm as if it's covered in horse shit. Instead, he spits right at Miles' feet. "I don't touch benders. You better get ready to pull that heroin and weed out from under your mattress, boy, because you'll have to pay me up somehow."

With that, Luke looks over at his equally-as annoying friend, Calvin. "Go sit on the corner of Sixth."

"Sure thing," Calvin says and grins at Miles like the Joker as he passes. The crowd, giddy from the prospect of a fight and now the race, immediately starts to break it for the road. This is a different type of tousle. Instead of the punching and hitting that we're all accustomed to at these parties, this will be a different kind of brawl.

Miles throws his useless joint at the sand and starts to stride towards the parking lot.

I surge forward, eager to grab him by the neck this time until a hand collapses on my shoulder. Startling, I turn around and come eye-to-eye with Griffin.

"What the hell just happened?" He orders and pulls his hand away, his dark eyes reflecting the firelight behind me.

"Luke and Miles got into it, and they both started to make claims, and, and..." I stumble over my words, my brain moving faster than my tongue.

I need to stop Miles.

"Those dumb asses are racing down the road. It's a Saturday night, so I hope they know that the police will be out in droves," Forrest says as he approaches. Him and Rose are holding hands, and they look between us worriedly. "We should leave before we all get busted."

"I thought the county knew that the seniors rented this beach?" Rose asks naively, her eyebrows furrowed.

"They do. But you know what's illegal, Roselyn? Underage drinking and illegal substance abuse. That idiot isn't the only one here doing drugs," Griffin proclaims.

"Does the county not realize that high schoolers literally—"

"Enough!" I bark out the word and wave my hands in front of me, my patience wearing thin. "I'm wasting my time. I need to find Miles and—"

"And what? Interfere with his own stupid choices? That dick-hugger got himself in this predicament, so you better not get involved. It's bad enough you're roped into that stupid assignment with him. What will people think?" Griffin snaps and steps forward into me, shoving a finger in my chest.

I stumble backwards, my nostrils flaring. "They'll think I'm keeping my friend from making a bad choice. I'm going to find him."

For the second time tonight, I turn my back on someone important to me and run like my life depends on it. Unfortunately, someone's life does.

"Parker, you are a dumbass!" Griffin hollers after me, but I don't care. I'm already gone.

I breeze past people heading out to the sidewalk and run into the parking lot instead. A sedan slams on its brakes, narrowly missing me, and honks their horn. Stumbling, I hold up my hand in forgiveness and keep going. Adrenaline makes my nerves sing.

My eyes rake down the lines of cars, but it's hard to tell what is what in the darkness.

Please, for the love of all things, don't be on the street yet.

Turning the corner around a black Impala, another car turns towards me simultaneously and stomps on its brakes. I gasp and slam my hands down on the hood. One more foot, or if the driver had been driving a little faster, I'd be crushed.

My pounding heart somehow manages to beat faster, to the point where I don't even feel it, as I notice the white racing stripes under my palms. Slowly, I bring my eyes up. Miles is staring back at me in disbelief.

I can't stop my knees from trembling as I stagger around the front bumper over to his driver's side window. He's already rolling his window down.

"I'm so sorry," I start to explain, "I think I got handprints on—"

"Park, you need to move."

Park. There's that nickname again. The thing is, I can't enjoy the sound of it this time. My fear is suddenly replaced with sharp, burning anger.

"What's wrong with you?" I demand and grab the door handle as if that'll stop him. "You're seriously going through with this?"

"Dude, you were there that day I told you I don't go back on my word. Even for shit like this. Besides, I could use that five K he promised," Miles says and moves his hand off of the gear stick to point at me. His breath reeks of Corona and weed.

I scowl and point right back at him. "Bull. Shit. Take the hit to your pride this once, would you?! If you need the money that bad, I'll write you a fucking check. I'll pay your bills, whatever. Just please don't do this."

Ever since Forrest brought up the cops, I haven't been able to breath properly.

If they caught Miles—a drunk, doped-up black boy racing down the road—I know they'll hurt him.

I try to convey that hidden meaning with my eyes.

Don't do this.

It doesn't work.

Miles sets his jaw, those dark, mahogany eyes staring into mine. His hand settles back on the shifter. "I don't want your money. Don't insult me. You best move."

Stung, I snatch my hand off of the door handle. Fuck this boy, and fuck the path he carved into my heart. If it weren't for that, I would never make the choice I am about to make.

Maybe he will rethink his choice if I do something stupid with him.

That thought process leads me to put my hand back on his car. This time, I make sure to drag every inch of my oily palm on the paint as I walk around the front. Miles revs the engine, and I jump, afraid that he'll blow right past my toes. He doesn't.

I hurry to the passenger side and yank open the door. Before I get in, I glance over the car's roof when I feel eyes on me.

Hannah is standing on the other side of the parking lot, a towel wrapped around her waist, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks to her group of friends. From the expression on her face, she's not worried about her classmates about to do something highly illegal.

She's bragging about her five-minute interaction with me.

Her entire face goes from ecstatic to shock when she realizes whose car I'm climbing into, her lips puckered in a perfect O. Might as well give them something else to talk about.

I look away and jump into Miles car, making a point to slam the door and buckle the seatbelt before he can push me out.

His face is scarily similar to Hannah's. "Boy, what the hell—"

"Don't you have a point to prove? What are you waiting for? Let's go!" I snap my fingers expectantly to hurry him along.

Miles stares at me for a moment before looking away and shaking his head. "Esta perra loco."

My fingertips twitch in my lap when he speaks. Whether from pleasure at how his natural voice slides over the foreign words or a fiery annoyance because I'm pretty sure he called me crazy, I don't know.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, the white spots in my vision start to clear. I finally look around the inside of his car; like, really look.

Whatever he and Damian did to this thing, they did right. The speakers quietly thump a rap song, and moonlight catches the Harman Kardan logo. They must have rebuilt the entire dashboard to host an upgraded entertainment center. Only the steering wheel looks original. Every other piece of this car is modded, fitted, or rebuilt. Even the ceiling liner has little pin-pricked holes with glowing "stars."

I would never admit it right at this second, but it's a really cool car.

I grunt as Miles turns out of the parking lot and switches gears, the entire car lurching forward like a carnival ride. Couldn't they at least have made the transmission automatic while rebuilding?

"You positive about this?" Miles asks so softly that I almost imagine I heard him talk.

I nod ferociously. It's difficult to restoke that same angry fire I felt a minute ago. Actually, I'm starting to feel kind of sick to my stomach as reality hits. There's an open road ahead of us, classmates line the sidewalk, and I'm riding shotgun next to a drunk driver.

What was I thinking?

I should've gone home with Rose and kept my nose where it belonged.

I dig my nails into my thighs as Miles pulls up next to Luke's car. My breathing is getting shallow, and my vision is blurring. It's been a long time since I've been this nervous. I can't see what kind of car we're up against. Not even football games get me this worked up.

I try to keep my voice from shaking as I speak. "What do you think of his ride?"

"Looks like a Supra that he doesn't know how to drive. Time is our only friend. I'll give you a real opinion in about thirty seconds."

I nod again, too worried to speak. In thirty seconds, we'll either be dead, arrested, or five thousand dollars richer. My stomach lets out an unmanly whine, and my throat fills with saliva.

Miles is too enthralled in the race to notice. He slowly pulls up next to Luke's car and settles to a stop.

Turner jogs off the sidewalk and stands in the space in front of the cars where he won't get hit, shirtless. He looks like a maniac, with his skin perspired in a drunken sweat and his blond hair sticking out in every direction. He's grinning like one, too, as he holds his shirt up in the air like a NASCAR race official.

Luke revs his car next to us. Miles shifts his palm around on the gear shifter.

I watch my life flash before my eyes. Football star gone rogue before dying in a car crash, only because he was trying to prove a point to a drunk boy. News flash: the drunk boy didn't pick up the point, or any of the clues for that matter. What a waste of talent. I hope my uncle, my family, won't be pissed at me for missing the homecoming game.

For a split second, I eye the lock on the door. If I move fast, maybe I can unbuckle and jump out before—

Tires squeal. The engine roars, drowning out the sound of Luke next to us.

WHIRRRRR— clunk— WHIRRRRR— clunk—

"Oh shit, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, fuck," I let out a steady stream of curses and immediately grab the oh, shit! handle.

I've done a lot of crazy, dumb things in my short life, yet this is definitely the dumbest.

The feeling of the car racing forward, hitting an invisible wall, and then racing forward again makes my head spin.

I want to shut my eyes and puke all over the pristine floor mats, but I'm too shocked to think straight. All I can do is watch Luke's car slowly gain ground ahead of us. The street sign is rapidly approaching.

"You're not going to make it!" I yelp, unable to control my mouth at this high point of terror.

Miles is silent.

His hand is steady on the wheel, his line on the road impressively straight for a guy who's at least four beers deep. His other hand dances on the stick shift, and I watch how he handles the gears with ease. After a moment, his driving smooths out, and I don't feel the back-and-forth lurch.

That's when the impossible happens. This old car whistles and launches from the back tires.

Yellow dashed lines on the road turn into a solid line. Luke's taillights become parallel with ours; before I know it, his headlights are in the mirrors.

If I weren't scared shitless, I would totally be impressed. I never knew if Miles talked big game about his racing days or actually meant it. This moment sealed that deal.

My curiosity gets the better of me, so I swivel my gaze to the speedometer. One-hundred-and-thirty miles per hour. And if I had to bet five grand, I would say Miles didn't touch the full throttle.

"That punk ass bitch!" Miles whoops as we swiftly approach Sixth Street. His win would be obvious even to a blind man. "What a stupid kid, he can't even drive where—well, fuck."

I want to be able to smile at his well-deserved gloating. It's difficult to bask in the win when red and blue lights start to flash behind the street sign. A moment ago, that police car was shielded in the darkness.

"We're dead. We're dead. We're dead," I start to repeat to myself, to Miles, to the empty air. No one's listening, not even myself. There's no saving him. There's no saving my spotless track record.

I might as well kiss football goodbye right here.

"Shit! Hang on!" Miles whoops and hits the gas again. The car jolts forward.

I've never felt the urge to puke so many times in one night before in my life.

Since we are already cruising dangerously fast, it's no chore for Miles to pin it. He laughs in disbelief as the cruiser doesn't even bother chasing us. Instead, it's going after Luke, that slow bastard.

My arm aches from the effort of clenching this handlebar so tightly. I see another light bar flashing red and blue up ahead on the road, coming straight at us.

I didn't think it was possible for my stomach to sink further, yet somehow it does.

I realize with a sharp pang that I had never told my parents that I loved them before leaving tonight. I don't remember the last words I said to them, but I hope they were good.

"Hang on, hang on," Miles mumbles again, and his knees jerk up suddenly, his hand practically slamming the gear shifter back down.

My head cracks against the back of the seat.

"Fuck!" I curse as my body slides across the leather seat, slamming against the locked seat belt.

"Lo siento!" Miles says through gritted teeth and wildly spins the wheel in circles with one hand.

Finally, for the first time tonight, I squeeze my eyes shut as the car slides. There are more sounds of squealing tires, and I wait to feel the car rolling...

The engine hums softly. I carefully slit my eyes open, wondering if I died and gone to heaven. It's pitch black, save for the headlights lighting up the road.

So I haven't died yet. I glance in the rearview mirror. There's no lights behind us. I blink.

I curse again. "Did we get away...?"

"Hasta la vista niño! Damn right! Give me some!" Miles laughs and quickly takes his hand off the gear shift to offer it to me.

My entire nervous system is so shot all I do is follow his command, laugh breathlessly, and give him a knuckle bump.

That was definitely the dumbest, craziest thing I've ever done in my life.

On the other hand, I haven't felt so alive in a long, long time.