Page 42

She stares at it. “I’ve been vaccinated. And boostered,” she snips. “You mean you haven’t? Doesn’t sound like you. Figured you for someone who doesn’t even drink diet soda because it’s carcinogenic.”

“It’s to cover your face, moron,” I tell her. “Get it on before I stumble over the realization that you know the word carcinogenic and start to think you have a brain.”

She snatches it out of my hand, while Tommy pulls hers on. “It’s actually smart.” She poses. “Protesters in Hong Kong have been using these for years to hide their identity. Besides, they’re also becoming a fashion accessory.”

And then she does that old dance move where you form a V with your fingers and move them in front of your eyes.

Aro and I stare at her. Hong Kong?

“I do have a brain, on the other hand,” she teases Aro.

I keep my smile to myself and pull on my sweatshirt, Aro doing the same, and then I grab Tommy’s hand and put it on the waist of my hoodie for her to hold onto.

“If we get separated,” I tell Aro, “I’ll meet you on the roof at High Street. Keep the phone on you.”

“And be ready to run,” she adds.

It’s a warning, because she knows this is an unnecessary risk, but I’m not making her be here. She can leave if she wants.

We walk, Tommy holding onto me as we make our way for the racetracks.

“So many Mustangs,” Aro coos like she’s dying of starvation.

I look over, seeing my uncle’s old Boss 302 displayed off to the side. Ancient, but the car is a legend here. Dylan will be racing it tonight.

“You like Mustangs?” I walk, pulling Tommy.

“Love them,” Aro sighs. “They’re the easiest cars to break into.”

I falter in my steps. Jesus Christ. I shoot her a look, but I don’t say anything.

Honestly, back in the day, I’m sure my uncles would’ve loved her. I can’t tell anyone who my dad is—or who my uncle is—without someone in this town telling me a “oh, wait till you hear about the time we were arrested” story. I think that’s why I hate mistakes. My dad risked too much in order for me to live this way.

“Don’t get into trouble,” I tell Aro.

I can’t see her mouth, but I feel like she makes a face before veering off and walking into the crowd. I almost call after her, but fuck it. It’s not like she’ll be able to hide a Mustang in her sweatshirt.

I pull my hood down over my eyes and keep my head down, filtering through the throngs of people coming and going. Saturdays at Fallstown, especially at the end of summer, are always packed. People are coming home from vacations, getting ready for the school year to start, and this is where they go if they want to catch up with friends. There will be events all day and into the night.

The bike track sits far off to the right, a few sets of bleachers starting to fill in anticipation of the one o’clock event, while another track roars with the engines of old muscle—Mustangs, Chargers, Camaros, Challengers, and GTOs. Drivers who appreciate a little nostalgia and history, like my uncles.

Howls and cheers ring in the air, and I look ahead to track number one—the main event. I move closer, slipping around the crowd, Tommy at my back.

I spot Kade under the hood of Dylan’s car, while Noah, my uncle Jared’s protégé, sips a beer and talks to some women. My dad stands up in the tower on the other side of the track. I can always tell which outline is him. It’s the one hunched over the desk filled with computers and surveillance, and he’s probably on high alert, keeping an eye on the crowd. I’m sure he considered canceling, but he knows I’ll show up.

I scan a hundred-and-eighty degrees, looking for anything.

Aro.

Green Street.

The rest of my family and friends.

“Are you crazy?” I hear someone hiss.

I turn my head just enough to see Dylan at my side, her shoulder touching my arm as she faces whatever’s behind me, trying to look like we’re not talking.

“What the hell, Hawke?” she breathes out.

“Long story,” I murmur.

Dylan eyes Tommy. The kid moves a little, probably tempted to hide herself.

“Green Street is here,” Dylan says. “They’re watching Kade and me, hoping we’ll lead them to you. They can’t see you with me.”

I glance around quickly. “Are you okay?” I ask her.

“I’m fine,” she replies. “My parents are around, and Noah is here.”

I watch Noah pull up his T-shirt and use it to wipe off his face, two women about to piss themselves at the view.

I don’t care if her mom and dad are home. If I’m not next door, I’d rather she not be there. There’s a glimpse of her in those videos online too. Green Street could target her.