Emerald leaves danced beneath the brilliant sky. For one long, sickening instant Sam was suspended over a vast nothing, no longer a victim of gravity. But gravity didn't like that, and before she could blink her stomach lurched into her throat with such force she nearly hurled right there. As a cold wind roared around her, a startled bellow echoed somewhere above.

She couldn't take her eyes off the solid earth beneath her, which seemed impossibly far away. She felt like she was falling in slow motion. The roil in her ribs peaked and a clear, distinctly feminine voice in her mind said, "No more waiting. Accept me or perish."

Her vision went black.

Swarming lights, reds, blues, purples, and thundering bass enveloped her. She could no longer feel the wind, the freefall. Instead she felt muggy June air on her sweaty face, and the pinch of her kitten heels around her toes and heel where blisters were forming. This time, she was not in the hallway, but at the edge of the gym with a drink clutched between both hands. As the scene formed piece by piece, she was surrounded by bobbing, writhing figures in an artificial dusk. She tossed back the cloying punch, scanning the room.

Her friends had disappeared; Charlotte had gone outside to smoke with a few others, Milo and Carson were in the washroom, and she had no idea where Shelly and Cassandra had vanished to. She considered going outside to cool off, but the temperature would probably have been much of the same.

Sam didn't know the song that was playing, and she didn't much care for it. So when it bled into a song she actually recognized she couldn't ignore the urge to dance again. She pitched the rest of the foul beverage, bobbing as she swept the room again for anyone she was comfortable dancing with or around. She didn't have to look long. The doors not far to her right were just swinging shut, and there was Milo, with Carson not far behind. They were already grooving and really played it up when they spotted her approaching. Milo always enjoyed her talentless dancing; his face scrunched in an amused grin, mimicking her awkward movements.

"I'm not that bad a dancer!" she yelled when they were close enough to hear her, a light flush prickling her cheeks. "What took so long?"

Carson shrugged playfully. "There was a fight in the bathroom. Where did everyone go?"

"I don't know."

Carson's girlfriend found him with the ease of a bloodhound and he disappeared into the crowd. Sam had barely seen him all night, but that wasn't unusual. Their relationship was a toxic one, but Sam had one of her best friends with her, and she was suddenly feeling better about being there. The stitched-up rip in her dress was impossible to discern in the dim light, and she had fixed her makeup thanks to a generous girl whose name she had forgotten.

Whenever she recalled the events in the washroom, her cheeks would flood and prickle. She licked her lips for the umpteenth time as they tingled distractingly. She hadn't told anyone what happened yet, afraid to have a hole poked in the way she remembered things, but Milo caught something in her expression, and like a raccoon with a quarter, he lit up and fixated on it.

"Why are you blushing?" he probed, round face glowing with excitement. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing, I'm blushing because you were mocking me."

That wasn't totally true; she was blushing because when she became aware of her somewhat dorky dancing she couldn't help wondering if Mel was nearby, which made her think of the way their lips felt on hers, and it just made the flush spread.

"No, I don't think so." Milo pursed his lips a little and seemed to consider. "Did someone bug you about your dress again? I'll smack them, if you want, you know I will."

Sam smiled and shook her head. "Nothing happened, but thank you for having my back."

The chorus filled the gap in their conversation. She was purposely ignoring the secondary reason for her flush. She was nervous. She was running out of opportunities to come clean on something, and she knew Milo wouldn't like what she had to say. He caught onto her sombre mood, grin falling from his face.

"I just ... there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. To tell you, I mean."

His sandy eyebrows pinched. "What's bugging you?"

She sidestepped to let a wide group get by, choosing her words with caution. What she was about to say was a long time coming. "I'm ... I'm quitting cross-country. And track."

Shock and hurt jerked his head back abruptly. "What are you talking about?"

"It's not fun for me anymore," she began, taking a steadying breath as Milo's face fell. "You know what I'm talking about. I don't like who it makes me. I said horrible things to you after that race."

"That was October, I told you I'm over it!" he snapped. "You're seriously still beating yourself up over that? I'm strong enough to handle a few insults."

"Milo," she sighed, shaking her head. "This is about me being too competitive. I started doing this so we could still hang out after you got too busy after school. I used to hate running, remember? But we don't just hang out anymore. I'm too busy obsessing over your times and how I can't beat you anymore. Dr. Ham-"

Milo's deep groan cut her off. "I'm so sick of hearing about Dr. Hammond. She's not a god, okay? The things she's teaching you aren't revolutionary."

Sam blinked, the only movement her muscles could manage after that verbal lashing. When she could manage words, she said coolly, "Don't interrupt me, please; we've talked about this."

"Sorry," he sighed, though his scowl remained.

"As I was saying, Dr. Hammond wants me to take a break from it so I can focus on getting my competitive streak under control before I start racing again."

"What about scholarships? How are you going to pay for school?" It was a genuine question, but it stung her nonetheless.

"Athletic scholarships aren't my only option, and I still have another year at least before I have to worry about that. I'm not saying I'm quitting for good, just for now."

Milo rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he dismissed. "You know, quitting isn't going to make you feel any better about always being second best." Her jaw hit the floor, and Milo's sky blue eyes flew wide. "Fuck, I'm sorry, Sam, I didn't mean that."

"Yeah, you meant it."

Her voice was tight, her eyes stinging. A simple drum intro she knew better than her own voice gave way to one of her favourite songs. Mellow, prominent bass led the melody into the first truly morbid verse of many.

"You just didn't mean to say it out loud."

Sam shoved past him, shoulder slamming into his arm so hard she knew it would bruise—her, at least. Her tornado energy drew the eye of a few people she passed, but for the most part, she was anonymous in a sea of sweaty dancers. She crashed through the heavy metal doors. The jarring sound startled the few people in the dim hallway beyond, but they went back to their business momentarily when no obvious entertainment appeared. Just little Sam trembling with fury. A dozen insults painted her tongue, eager to be thrown at Milo, but really whomever dared disturb her.

The doors opened again just as she rounded the corner to go gather her bag from her locker. Fuck Milo. No one was supposed to be in the halls, but whoever was supposed to watch the way was no where to be found. She fumbled her locker combo, wrenching it open as her name echoed down the empty hall. Swinging her backpack over one shoulder and snatching her phone and keys from the top shelf, she snapped, "Fuck off," as she locked the door again.

Milo jogged to catch up at her, but she took an adjacent hall to get to the parking lot. "Wait, Sam, please, I'm sorry!"

"I heard you the first time!"

"Sam!" Milo wasn't far behind, maybe a handful of steps. "Come on, it was shitty what I said, I know it was. I'm an ass-hole."

Just before the exterior doors, she turned. "No, Milo, I am, but what you said was deliberate. You picked the one thing you knew would get a rise out of me. Are you happy now? I'm fucking rattled."

Milo gaped at her like a fish out of water. His keys were in his hand, and she snatched them as she backed out into the humid evening. He was going to follow her home to continue the argument, and for her there was nothing to argue about. They had both aired their darkest sentiments, there was nothing left to say. Time was the only thing left to save their friendship. She considered pitching the keys into the dark football field, but decided that was too far and threw them down the parking lot, away from where she was parked, where they landed in plain view.

"Come on!" he groaned, gesturing at the distance.

"Don't follow me, Milo. We'll talk on Monday." Her apathetic voice sounded alien to her ears. She could still faintly hear the chorus blasting in the gym.

Milo was already jogging away, and Sam hurried to get into her car. She was about three seconds from tears and no amount of box breathing was helping her. The air was soupy, rich with the promise of summer. Getting in her car was like entering a sauna. She cranked the radio and cracked all four windows as she pulled out and left the school in her rear-view.

She thought she was home free.

The lights remained in her favour as she crossed town to her house—her parents' old house; they had since retired to a smaller town some thirty minutes away, where her father keeps the backyard vegetable garden he always wanted. Second best, the words she had dreaded her whole life. She was second to her sister in grades. She was the second best on both of her teams. So many more little things which added up into one humongous personal demon. She knew it was irrational. She knew perfectly well that she was accomplished, and she didn't have to prove herself. Did it matter? Absolutely not.

Sam wouldn't have gone to therapy on her own, but now that she had started it she was happy to keep going. Her outburst in October—in which she called Milo a pretentious narcissist, among other things she didn't care to recall—on the bus back from the first race of the year landed her in therapy. Milo never would have gotten her in trouble, she did that to herself.

Milo was gloating to one of the ninth graders on the bus about breaking his record time, probably thinking he was flirting, and she just lost it. They had thrown insults before over the issue, but never had she pulled the stopper out so far. She couldn't get it back in place to stop her worst venom getting out. Their coach heard everything; he made her sit at the front and lectured her ears off the whole trip back. The next day she had a meeting with the guidance councillor and her mom to talk options.

Milo and Sam had gotten past it pretty quickly, but apparently not in full.

She was only a few blocks from home, cruising through the mostly empty streets with fire in her veins. Sometimes she would feel as though she was moving past the sting, but it would flare right back a moment later. Even then, in all her fury, she knew she would forgive him after the weekend. She would not call or see him until then; no matter how badly she wanted to tear another strip off him, or to settle the matter, she would not engage. Dr. Hammond suggested it after one of their squabbles came up in a session.

The next light was green, the crosswalk light still firmly on the walking figure. Her old, beat-up phone in the cup holder began to ring the same instant she emerged into the intersection.

A split second later she was in a maelstrom of noise and turbulence. The seatbelt cut into her neck as the airbags deployed, but not before she slammed into the door. The world outside her shattered windshield was whipping by. It came to a nauseating end when the back end of her car rammed into the opposite street light. That awful ringing persisted, somewhere in the back seat, where she had no hope of ending it.

It ended on its own after twelve rings.

Between trills, and after they ended, all she could hear was the steady rush of steam from the hood of her car. She don't know how long she sat there, head lolled on the cracked window, her body suddenly a thousand times heavier than she could lift.

The impact had been to the right door. There was virtually no passenger seat remaining. Had the driver have come from the other direction, she would have been killed instantaneously. There was something hot trickling down her face, and her right foot was pinned beneath something. Galaxies formed in the interim. She was sure she was either dead, or about to die, since there was absolutely no sound from beyond her vehicle. No other cars. No horrified people.

But then there was. All at once. Like someone turned the dial up on the stereo, frantic voices converged on a spot beside her, out of her line of sight. When sirens joined the fray, she managed to tilt her head to the side. There were, in fact, people attempting to help get her out, she just couldn't hear them well. Her left ear, she then noticed, rang but did little else. The doors were locked. Someone smashed the window behind her head, and a thick hand reached through to press the unlock button.

They were paramedics. Latex-covered hands checked her vitals, but she was too disoriented to respond to anything right away. Her brain was still catching up with her body. She guessed she managed enough answers that they felt they could move her safely to a gurney. Her injuries became apparent to her then, agony flaring in her neck, her left shoulder, her hip, her right foot. She screamed until they finally lowered her to the uncomfortable gurney. After that, the pains were barely tolerable. She was swiftly strapped in and then rolling backward across the street.

Sam saw then the other half of the accident.

It was a red 2008 Dodge Avenger. Even without car knowledge, she knew this with her whole, heavy heart. A crochet grape vine dangled from what remained of the rear-view mirror. The entire front end of the vehicle was destroyed, bits of glass and metal scattered throughout the intersection. There was a great deal of activity around it. Sandy hair streaked with blood hung over the steering wheel, unmoving. People were crowding the area as firefighters worked to get him out.

Then she was being loaded into the ambulance, and she could see no more. Her heart plugged her throat. "Is he alive?" she croaked as they drove off. She hadn't felt them put the collar on her, but she noticed its presence then.

Shauna, the paramedic riding with her, held her gaze. "He is, but as far as I know, he's in bad shape. I was too busy getting you out to learn any more." She smiled, trying to ease her fears.

The rest became a blur as she was sedated and tended to. Ultimately, her injuries weren't too serious. She had a few fractures, but no clean breaks; a few cuts, whiplash, and a concussion. She had been incredibly fortunate. If she had have been even a foot further when he hit her, her car would have rolled, and she would likely have been crushed. Instead, it was the front right tire that took the blow.

Since her injuries were ultimately minor, she was brought into a long room with other groaning patients waiting to be seen. Not long after, a gurney surrounded by doctors, nurses, and two other paramedics blew past, and she saw his swollen, bloody face for a brief second.

Milo was in surgery for five hours. Doctors got him stabilized and into the intensive care unit, where she was wheeled in to see him after she harassed the nurses enough. She was only permitted to see him for a minute. He wasn't conscious and wouldn't be for a long time. His face was unrecognizable under all the swelling and square bandages covering stitched lacerations. He was strapped to numerous monitors and had casts on three of his limbs, and a neck brace to match her own.

The nurse gave her a moment to process, to grieve, but it was hardly private. There were a dozen other occupied beds in this room alone. She told him she was sorry for throwing his keys, for getting so angry with him, for not telling him sooner, for what she said in October. The list went on and on until the nurse returned to bring her back to her bed. Her family was eager to see her. She didn't want to leave him, but understood she had no choice in the matter.

An hour or so later, Milo suffered a hemorrhagic stroke and died within the hour.

It was Milo who called her, and who caused the accident. He was trying to find her number while he drove and must have not seen the light turn red for him. The call connected, but it was too late for him to brake. According to the report the police provided after concluding their investigation, he didn't brake at all. Their extrapolation was that he had still been looking at his phone as he sped over the stop line. If she hadn't thrown his keys, he would have been on her tail instead of taking a different route to her house—they had often debated which route was fastest and complained whenever the other took the wrong one—and he might not have tried to call her at all. Sam had no way of knowing.