Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
I never found it cute. I found it condescending to give a girl a pet name for doing what racers do. They go fast. It was like it was all so cute. Me trying to drive.
But he says it differently. It sounded like an endearment because it was proof that he remembered.
I lean in. “You can’t make me leave.”
Amusement dances behind his eyes, and he takes out his phone, hitting the screen with his thumb a few times.
He holds it to his ear, and I hear it ring as he stares at me.
“Hunter,” the voice on the other end says.
Kade.
I go still, hearing his twin’s voice.
“Why don’t you come and get her?” Hunter asks him. “She doesn’t belong here.”
What?
“Zero-one Knock Hill,” he tells his brother.
I start to shake my head but stop. I’m not ready to go home.
And despite the hardness in my heart, my eyes well with tears as I whisper, “You don’t get to decide where I belong. Neither of you.”
My chin trembles, and I lock my jaw to still it.
I roll my wrists inside the rope.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Kade replies. “How about we fight for her? Whoever wins gets to take her.”
Hunter plants his hand over my head, against the beam, boring down into me with his eyes. “Just like when we were ten?” he says to Kade. “You’re still so sure of yourself.”
“Yeah.” Kade’s tone is final. “I know I’m better. Just like when we were ten.”
I’m able to slip my thumb inside the binding. I pull, working it farther and farther off my hand.
“And if I win, you’re fine with her staying here?” Hunter asks him. “With me?”
“You won’t win.”
Kade doesn’t want me home. If he did, he would’ve called.
If he did, he would’ve just come.
Hunter knows that. He wants to make sure I do too.
“Let’s meet,” he says. “Have it out. I’m fucking dying to see you, little brother.”
“Soon,” Hunter replies.
And then he pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up. Tucking it into the pocket of his jacket, he leans in. “We’re not ten anymore,” he tells me. “The next time I fight him, it’ll be for something more important.”
I hold his gaze, clenching my teeth to stay hard.
He slips the key into my jeans pocket as I work free of the cloth.
“Red and white bike parked in the lot,” he instructs, “near the fence, on the side of the football field. Don’t—”
But just then, the rope slips from my arms, and I shove him away, running. I burst out of the library and into the hallway, flying past the cafeteria. Leaping high, I rip the Pirate Flag off the wall and dive down the stairwell, back to the auto shop. Rushing inside, I ignore the students working, and the teacher barking, “Hey!”
I search for anything, grabbing the first thing I see. Plucking a can of lacquer thinner off the shelf, I toss the flag over my shoulder and scurry back upstairs, some of the students following me as I race.
Charging outside and back down the front steps of the school, I hurry up to the flagpole, set down the lacquer, and clip the flag in through both metal rings as students come spilling out the doors.
“What are you doing, Dylan?” someone calls.
But I don’t stop. Windows fly open as students poke their heads out, and I grab the rope, wrap my arms and legs around the pole and climb. People watch from below as I scale only as high as is out of their reach—seven or eight feet—and loop the rope around the pole, tying it off.
“Ohhh!” comes howls as the Pirate banner whips in the wind, high above for all to see.
More people rush out of the school and onto the lawn, toward me. Sliding back down, I swipe the can of lacquer thinner off the ground, uncap it, and squeeze hard. The fluid shoots out of the can, onto the pole, as Farrow and Calvin move toward me.
I smile, side-stepping swiftly around the flagpole, raising my arms and spraying the thinner as high as I can. I cover every inch.
Farrow reaches for me, and just then, I drop the can, hands up in the air.
He stands over me, and I stare at the ground, trying not to laugh.
“Get that flag off the fucking pole!” someone shouts from a window.
“What’s going on?” a teacher shouts from somewhere.
And I watch as Calvin jumps onto the pole to try to lower the enemy flag, but immediately…he slides back down on the lacquer thinner.
Howls and shouts go off in constant succession, angry curses filling the air as one by one, people try to get up the pole to rip the flag off.
I fold my arms over my chest, laughing, and I almost take out my phone to video, but that’ll just lose me my phone. Avoiding Farrow’s eyes, I gaze up with love at the skull and crossbones waving in the Weston sky.