The car revved its engine again—impatiently, this time—and she could finally see a vague outline of the driver. He revved his engine again.
Hanna raised an eyebrow at Mona, feeling drunk, hyped, and completely invincible.
“Do it,” Mona whispered, pulling down the brim of the Wawa milk hat.
Hanna swallowed hard. The light turned green. As Hanna hit the gas, the car launched forward. The Porsche growled ahead of her.
“You pu**y, don’t let him beat you!” Mona cried.
Hanna stepped down on the gas pedal and the engine roared. She pulled alongside the Porsche. They were doing 80, then 90, then 100. Driving this fast felt better than stealing.
“Kick his ass!” Mona screamed.
Heart pounding, Hanna pressed the pedal to the floor. She could hardly hear what Mona was saying over the engine noise. As they rounded a turn, a deer stepped into their lane. It came out of nowhere.
“Shit!” Hanna screamed. The deer stood dumbly still. She gripped the wheel tightly, hit the brakes, and swerved right, and the deer jumped out of the way. Quickly, she wrenched the wheel to straighten it out, but the car began to skid. The tires caught on a patch of gravel on the side of the road, and suddenly, they were spinning.
The car spun around and around, and then they hit something. All at once, there was a crunch, splintering glass and…darkness.
A split second later, the only sound in the car was a vigorous hissing noise from under the hood.
Slowly, Hanna felt her face. It was okay; nothing had hit it. And her legs could move. She pushed herself up through a bunch of folded, puffy fabric—the airbag. She checked on Mona. Her long legs kicked wildly from behind her airbag.
Hanna wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “You okay?”
“Get this thing off me!”
Hanna got out of the car and then pulled Mona out. They stood on the side of the highway, breathing hard. Across the street were the SEPTA tracks and the dark Rosewood station. They could see far up the highway: There was no sign of the Porsche—or the deer that they’d missed. Ahead of them, the stoplights swung, turning from yellow to red.
“That was something,” Mona said, her voice quivering.
Hanna nodded. “You sure you’re all right?” She looked at the car.
The whole front end had crumpled into a telephone pole. The bumper hung off the car, touching the ground. One of the headlights had twisted around to a crooked angle; the other flashed crazily. Stinky steam poured out of the hood.
“You don’t think it’s gonna blow up, do you?” Mona asked.
Hanna giggled. This shouldn’t have been funny, but it was. “What should we do?”
“We should bolt,” Mona said. “We can walk home from here.”
Hanna swallowed more giggles. “Oh my God. Sean’s gonna shit!”
Then both girls started to laugh. Hiccupping, Hanna turned around on the empty road and spread her arms out. There was something empowering about standing in the middle of an empty four-lane highway. She felt like she owned Rosewood. She also felt like she was spinning, but maybe that was because she was still wasted. She tossed the key ring next to the car. It hit the pavement hard, and the alarm started wailing again.
Hanna quickly bent down and hit the deactivate button. The alarm stopped. “Does it have to be so loud?” she complained.
“Totally.” Mona put her sunglasses back on. “Sean’s dad should really get that fixed.”
26
DO U LOVE ME? Y OR N?
The grandfather clock in the hall rang at 9 A.M. on Saturday morning as Emily padded quietly down the stairs to the kitchen. She never got up this early on the weekends, but this morning, she couldn’t sleep.
Someone had made coffee, and there were sticky buns sitting out on a chicken-print plate on the table. It looked as if her parents had gone out for their never-fail, rain-or-shine Saturday crack-of-dawn walk. If they did their two loops around the neighborhood, Emily could get out of here without anybody noticing.
Last night, after Ben caught her and Maya in the photo booth, Emily had bolted from the party—without saying good-bye to Maya. Emily had called Carolyn—who was at Applebee’s—and asked for a ride, pronto. Carolyn and Topher, her boyfriend, came, no questions asked, although her sister gave Emily—who stank of whiskey—a stern, parental look when she climbed in the backseat. At home, she’d hidden under her covers so she wouldn’t have to talk to Carolyn and dropped off into a deep sleep. But this morning, she felt worse than ever.
She didn’t know what to think about what happened at the party. It was all a blur. She wanted to believe that kissing Maya had been a mistake, and that she could explain everything to Ben and it would be okay. But Emily kept returning to how everything felt. It was like…before last night, she’d never been kissed before.
But there was nothing, nothing about Emily that said lesbian. She bought girly hot-oil treatments for her chlorine-damaged hair. She had a poster of the hot Australian swimmer Ian Thorpe on her wall. She giggled with the other swimmer girls about the boys in their Speedos. She’d only kissed one other girl, years ago, and that didn’t count. Even if it did, it didn’t mean anything, right?
She broke a Danish in half and stuffed a piece in her mouth. Her head throbbed. She wanted things to go back to the way they were. To throw a fresh towel in her duffel and head to practice, to happily make goofy pig faces into someone’s digital camera on the away-meet bus. To be content with herself and her life and to not be an emotional yo-yo.
So that was it. Maya was awesome and all, but they were just confused—and sad, for their own reasons. But not g*y. Right?