Page 17

“Oh. Well, Ryder, do you go to school around here?” If he did, there was no way it was mine. I obviously didn’t know all nine hundred-ish kids there, but a guy like him, he’d never skate by unmissed. Especially if this wasn’t a costume, and I was starting to think it might not be.

He smirked again, the prominent freckle on his cheek lost to his extended dimple. “No.”

So—he wasn’t at Grad Night. He wasn’t in costume. And he didn’t go to school around here. The thunderous roar of the ocean crashing onto the beach wasn’t loud enough to mask the awkwardness.

Salt drifted in the air and mixed with the mist. I licked it from my lips. “You know…the polite thing to do would be to ask what my name is.” My eyes darted to my bike, the small talk a distraction while I gauged how difficult it would be to rip it out from under his treaded shoe, hop on, and split.

“I know all I need to about you.” He wiped a drop of condensation off the sleeve of his leather jacket. It interested him way more than talking to me. Well, good. I didn’t care about him or his stupid weapons, either.

“So, you’re a psychic, too. You should meet my friend at the Boardwalk.” At this point I’d say anything to avoid the silence. Why was I even still there? “Yeah, she’s a dear old thing. Bit of a wild card. You’d love her.”

I bent to get my cruiser, huffing to myself while I jerked it off the ground, concentrating on Ryder’s boot and how it wouldn’t even move—when my foot got stuck in the chain and I completely toppled as I tried to stand. The whole bridge shook under my clumsy ass.

One of Ryder’s calloused palms grasped mine, and the other the handlebars, and in an effortless lift, he pulled me upright. Tarnished rings stamped into my hand, and tattooed fingers left traces of heat on my skin. It thawed the chill that’d overtaken my bones and stayed long after I retracted from his grip. My nostrils flared at a sharp, woody smell, reminiscent of pine.

“Thanks.” I denied myself a smile, though one diffused below the surface.

His mouth twitched. Close enough to a response.

Sitting on my bike, I craned my neck to meet his face. Another flicker of those golden-green eyes and I felt dizzy enough to whip out my kickstand. The unshakeable depth of his stare was like peering into the latticed canopy of a redwood grove. It gave me a mild form of vertigo, but I didn’t want to look away.

My motor skills sputtered as I tried to kick off. I swerved, getting nowhere, but I at least landed on my feet. For no other reason than my worthless curiosity, I decided to ask, “What were you looking for, by the way?”

He paused on his answer, as if picking the right words. “The path to the river.”

I pushed off, gesturing behind me. “There’s a flat one at the other end of the trestle. It’s basically connected to the sidewalk. You can’t miss it…”

As I shakily biked away, I swore I heard a heady flapping on the wind.

Chapter 6

The weight of the vapor blanketed my body, hardly parting for me as I pedaled through it, veiling the world with a layer of fog that felt as secluded as the thick of the forest. It was honestly a miracle I made it across the trestle without hurtling off it.

Once my tires thumped on solid ground and I turned inland, the wall of gray dissipated. One unsteady hand gripping the handlebar, I checked my phone notifications, my eyes darting from the screen to the road: generic birthday wishes and gifs from Javi and questions from my dad that I’m sure he sent not even a second past midnight.

Where are you? one message from him read.

And, You’re late.

The latest, If you’re not home in 5 min you’re grounded forever.

He was lucky I wasn’t going to be out until sunrise like most of the others. Chill dad, grad night, remember? I managed to type without crashing.

I accelerated up my drive, pedaling against the slope. A snort of relief escaped me as my familiar two-unit complex came into view. Its tan exterior walls, seventies brown trim, and lattice shielding the balconies with vines hardly visible in the hazy light of the moon.

The automatic light announced my homecoming and busted the trash-diving racoons. They hissed, dodging my cruiser as I tossed it to the side yard’s refuge.

I dashed up the stoop and through the front door, the entryway lit in expectation. My dad would be in his office waiting for me, poring over some research in lieu of pacing, because the window behind his desk gave a full view of our street and the entrance onto our landing.

Holding my breath, I kicked off my shoes, ascended the dozen steps, and glided into our flat. Those text threats didn’t scare me. They were very much empty, like the flasks on his desk that he tried to hide when I reached the threshold of his study.

Already well into the night, he was well into the whiskey, and my texts had probably doubled before his eyes. I exhaled, the tension so thick it coiled around my limbs and absorbed any confidence I’d built up.

He peered at me through his reading glasses, a red tint to his stubbled cheeks from too many hours in the sun. Restless fingers tapped a mahogany antique desk, the silhouette framed by a stained-glass window that fed my childhood spirit stories with its stars, knights, and angels. Light from the passing vehicles seemed to mobilize its features, illuminating his face, and polo, in the soft hues of its primary colors.

His frown lines grew deeper as he stared me down.

“River, can you come in here?” A shaky hand folded a stack of crinkled essays, the other swift to close a drawer that rattled with empty glass bottles. The effort was futile—it made me wince and wish the steaming French press was the only aroma that wafted out into the hall.