Page 89 of Boys of Brayshaw High (Brayshaw High 1)

His features are tight, his lips in a thin line.

“What?”

“You really going back to the house?”

I start to say yes then shrug my shoulders. “I think I need some air.”

He licks his lips.

“Wanna come?”

He studies me a moment before a sexy ass grin takes over. He pushes me for the door.

I have to laugh. Seems all the big man wanted was an invite.“Okay, it’s been fifteen minutes of staring at nothing. What are we doing, Raven?”

“Almost.”

“Almost wha—”

The ringing of the crossing guards echoes down the track and I look up at Maddoc with a grin.

“Here it comes.”

His eyes follow the sound.

I rush from the SUV, quickly pulling my hair up.

The first part of the train blows by and Maddoc gives me a look that says ‘no fucking way are you doing what I think you’re doing’ but then it starts to slow, the blurry images becoming clearer as the speed lessens, and his shoulders relax a bit.

“Get ready, big man.”

“Raven...” he warns. “I don’t fucking think so—”

“Now!”

I take off, running parallel with the train, moving closer every few feet. I grin when Maddoc catches up to me.

I glance back, then cut a quick nod at Maddoc. I turn in, gripping the front railing of an open cart and yank myself up. Maddoc does the same on the back handle.

He quickly tosses himself inside, but I stand at the open edge for a moment longer.

When he shouts, I pull myself inside and lean against the wall.

I take a second to catch my breath then look to him, laughing at his pissy expression.

“Not fucking funny,” he growls.

I wave him off, my hand hitting my stomach as I take a deep breath, settling my heart rate from the short sprint.

I push off the side and Maddoc’s stare grows panicked. He darts forward, but before he can step past the side wall, I run across to him.

“Goddamn it, Raven.”

I drop onto my ass and lean against the metal, close enough to the door where I can feel the force of air as it flies past my shoes.

“Chill, big man.” I meet his stare. “Sit.”

He considers standing just to prove a point but drops against the opposite side.

After a few minutes of silence, he says, “I take it you do this a lot?”

“All the time. Or I used to do it all the time.” I look out the car. “I’ve been wanting to come ride here though.”

“You’ve been out here?”

I nod. “Few times, yeah. I spent a couple hours watchin’, trying to get the timing down for when they slowed enough to jump.” I take a deep breath.

“So what now?”

I tilt my head so I can see the rusted iron containers as the train makes a wide curve down the tracks. Some are blank, some telling other people’s stories in the form of bright paints.

“Now you chill, let the outside world fly behind you. Pretend wherever the driver has to stop somehow lines up with right where you’re supposed to take the leap, but jumping off is the easy part. After, when you have to decide if you get back on or step away and never look back? That’s when shit gets real.

“That’s when you find out if you’re as weak as everyone thinks, or as strong as you always hoped.” I chance a look at Maddoc and when I do, my skin grows warm.

His stare is forward for him, completely unconcealed. Curiosity and realization, a need to know more sitting at the edge of his lips. So many questions. So many misconceptions.

But I know him by now. His words won’t match his wonder.

“Conductor,” he rasps.

I pinch my lips together, but a soft laugh still escapes. “What?”

He licks his lips and looks off, moving to prop his elbows up on his knees, his back against the gold metal. “The driver, the term is conductor.”

“Right.” I drop my grin to my feet, then look out the car again.

I close my eyes and smile at the wind. “Tell me something, big man.”

“Like what?”

I pop a shoulder. “I don’t care. Anything.”

He’s quiet a few minutes and I think he won’t play along, then he surprises me. “I hate going to the movies.”

I laugh, my eyes still closed. “Not surprising.”

“How so?”

“You’re extremely aware. You read every situation, spot things others don’t -it’s why you’re so good at basketball. It’s like a natural sixth sense. A dark theater would make that impossible, and if you can’t read what’s happening around you, you’re constantly on edge, not in control.” I open my eyes to meet his. “And control is something you need to feel you.”

He glares.

“I’m not being a bitch, I swear, I’m just saying it’s a part of who you are. Nothing wrong with it if you believe in yourself.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but instead jerks his chin.