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Noah

This was a mistake. I'm going to die tonight.

"You better hold on tighter than that, Noah."

"Why?" Rain-soaked blonde hair sticks to my face and mouth. "What are you going to—ahh! Shit!"

I scream as Silas hits the gas, the tires of the motorcycle squealing against the wet pavement. Digging my fingernails into his chest, I squeeze my eyes shut while he takes the turn onto the next street a little tighter than I'd like, especially with the rain still coming down—a light mist in the thick, summer night air, but enough that my heart stops each time he turns a corner. After all, it's my first time on a motorcycle; it might be Silas's first time, too.

I decided I was better off not knowing.

I release the breath I've been holding when he slows at a stop sign and then quickly suck it back in, gritting my teeth when he takes off without ever stopping the bike.

"Silas!" I shout over the muffler. "Please, slow down! We're not wearing helmets."

"No," he replies succinctly. "Not smart on a stolen bike, Noah. Better to just get this over with. "

I breathe out the word, "Okay." I know he can't hear me; I know it doesn't matter, anyway. As usual, I'm not the one in control here.

I tighten my grip around his body, taking my left wrist in my right hand and burying my face against his back. It'll be over shortly—one way or another.

And he's warm right here, a stark contrast to the chill on my wet skin. Goose bumps erupt over my bare arms and legs as we continue moving down the dark mountain roads far too quickly.

"Keep your head down, Noah," he says, finally slowing the bike as we approach our destination—a dark alley on a side of town that's known for seedy activity. And that's saying something…since the good side of town is known for seedy activity, too.

Silas parks the bike in the alley, and I hop off first. My legs don't cooperate and almost give out beneath me when I land on the pavement, and he laughs.

It's like getting off of a rollercoaster, but worse.

"You good?"

"Yeah. Mostly."

"Let's go," he says, adjusting his hat and stuffing his hands into his pockets. At 5'8", I'm not short, but he still has at least half of a foot on me, and I struggle to keep up with his long, purposeful strides on shaky legs. It defies fucking logic that he can move this much faster than I can while appearing calm, collected. I cross my arms in front of my body, attempting to fight the chill, and follow just at his heels, nothing about my strides appearing natural .

He glances over his shoulder before we reach the end of the alley, eyes roaming up and down my body as he takes in my disheveled appearance and almost smiles.

"You had fun," he says.

My first instinct is to lie, and I'm not sure why. It's just…me. But I don't this time—I bite back a smile and nod. "Yeah," I admit. "It was fun."

Silas reaches for me, hooking a finger into my belt loop and using it to pull me into his body. He grips the nape of my neck with the other hand, leans down, and kisses me, pulling my bottom lip through his teeth before breaking away and inclining his head toward the street.

"Let's go," he says, winking before turning away.

I silently lecture myself for my unhinged visceral reaction when my stomach flip-flops. Butterflies—that's what people call it. Until recently, I didn't know the feeling or how accurate the description was. I had no idea, but I do now.

That is not what this is, Noah. Don't be stupid.

This is getting to be too much for me. I need to stop. I can and will stop.

We turn the corner, spotting the old red Toyota with its lights off just a block away, and I follow Silas into the backseat. My icy hands prickle almost painfully as I'm met with the warmth inside the vehicle.

"How was it?" Tate asks as he pulls the car onto the dark, empty street. It's Silas who answers—he's the one he's talking to, even though his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

"Fine," Silas says. "No issues. Well, except for Noah. "

"What do you mean?" Mia asks from the passenger seat. "What did you do?"

"I…didn't do anything, Mia," I tell her. "I don't know what he's talking about."

"You sure?" Silas asks. "Look at this."

He lifts his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abdomen. I suck in a breath as Mia points the flashlight on her phone directly at his chest, illuminating the eight tiny blood-soaked crescent moons against his dark skin—four on each side of his chest from my fingernails.

"Oh, my god! You did that? He's bleeding!"

I shake my head. "He was going too fast."

"Was he?" Tate asks, smiling as his eyes meet mine again. "Going too fast for you? You couldn't take it?"

He bites down on his lip rings, and I look away, grateful for the darkness as my cheeks burn red.

"It's raining," I say.

"It's Oregon," Tate says. And I'd roll my eyes if I wasn't determined not to meet his again.

"Levi is calling me," Mia says, holding up her phone. "Should I answer it?"

"No!" I say.

"Fuck no," Tate says, hitting ignore on the call. "That's a good way to let him know we were close to where his bike is. Whatever happens to it now is fate."

Levi and Mia broke up two weeks ago after one of his friends showed her texts he was sending everyone about some girl he hooked up with while he and his family were on vacation, bragging about how much better looking she was than Mia—how good it was and how funny it is that she'd never find out.

And then she did find out, and he cried in the hallway of our apartment building so loudly that someone called the police—so loudly that both Silas and I came out of our units to watch. He's lucky Tate wasn't home; I was so convinced he would come barreling out of the apartment and throw Levi over the balcony that I could barely swallow until the police made him leave. But Tate was out being Tate, and his twin sister was home alone, so he got off easy.

For days, I fought the urge to ask him where he was. Tate doesn't have to tell me where he goes or what he's doing. And I shouldn't want to puke when I don't know the answer.

But anyway, that's why we took the bike. Because none of us have had great lives, and we stopped believing in karma a while ago. Or…well…we decided it was only right that, when necessary, we give it the little push it needs.

Maybe tomorrow, Levi will get a call that his bike is parked somewhere it shouldn't be, and he needs to come pick it up—no harm done. Or maybe someone will find it with the keys in it, and he'll never see it again.

Or someone else will get caught with the bike eventually, and he'll get it back, and that person will pay. That won't be our fault, either. We didn't make them steal the bike.

By the time we pull into our apartment complex, the rain has stopped. We exit the vehicle, closing each of our respective doors, but before I follow the others around the back of the building, my eyes settle on the moving truck parked next to the dumpsters .

September came far too quickly.

Ten years. The four of us have lived in this building for ten years. We've spent ten summers inseparable; a decade's worth of school years knowing that we weren't alone. And it's all about to change.

Well, for me, anyway. They'll still be together, and I get to spend my last year of high school somewhere else—alone.

But if I'm being honest, it changed a couple of months ago. And that's mostly my fault.

"Hey…are you okay?" Silas asks.

"Maybe we should have just kept driving," I whisper. "Just kept going until it ran out of gas and stayed wherever we landed."

He shakes his head. "Don't tempt me. I'd tie you to my bedposts if I could. I'm not happy about this."

"Yeah…me either."

My jean shorts and black tank top are still soaked as I follow them around the corner and into the wooded area behind our building. I sit next to Mia on the fallen tree in our usual spot. A faint squealing sound coming from nearby makes my skin crawl as Tate and Silas grab a few logs from under a tarp and start a fire.

"Did you hear that?" Mia asks.

"Yeah," I tell my best friend, assuming she's referring to the same sound. "I think so."

"No," Tate says, pointing to his sister before taking the joint from behind his ear and bringing it to his lips. "Don't tell me you're starting that Bigfoot shit again. What have you two been watching? "

"I'm serious, Tate," Mia says. "Listen."

"Nuh uh. We're not doing this again." He brushes shaggy blue hair away from his face and then pulls a lighter from his pocket, and I watch his mouth a little too intently while he inhales, his full lips forming a tight circle when he blows smoke in my direction.

Like his twin sister, he's beautiful, and he knows it.

He's only a couple inches taller than I am, but the way he wears his hair—the longer hair on top dyed blue and slicked back—might put him closer to six feet.

Once he finally gets the fire lit, we hear the sound again, and this time, even Tate looks up.

He looks back at us, raising his eyebrows while biting down on his lip rings. "Hmm," he says. "Well, that's interesting."

Silas pulls out his pocketknife and flips it open before quietly moving in that direction.

"Wait! What are you doing?" I ask.

When he doesn't answer and Tate follows, Mia pulls me to my feet. Hand in hand, we follow them further into the woods.

We don't walk for long before the guys stop.

"Found it," Silas says.

"What?" Mia asks. "What is it?"

"It's a fox," Tate says. "But it's been shot."

"So, what do we do?" I ask, stepping to Silas's side. I can see it—the bullet wound in the animal's hind leg. It lies on its side, its chest rising and falling with slow, uneven breaths. "Call animal control? Or someone from the forest service? You can't shoot foxes, can you? "

Silas kneels in the mud and grabs the fox by its throat, forcing its chin upward.

"Oh, fuck no," Mia says, turning her back to us. "I'm not watching this; let's go."

"Watching what?" I ask as she retreats. But I find out what she means when I turn back toward the animal. And I do watch…gasping as Silas digs the knife into the animal's skin and slides it across its throat.

Blood pours from the wound. The sound stops, and so does all other movement.

I swallow hard, tears stinging my eyes. "Silas…you can't just…"

To his left, Tate smiles, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"It was already dead, Noah," Silas says. "I put it out of its misery. There was nothing else we could do."

"Yeah, but—"

"But what?" Tate asks. "Did you want us to leave it out here screaming all night until coyotes or wolves got a hold of it?"

"No, I just…" I just don't like that they can do it; I couldn't do it. "I'm going back, too."

Tate laughs as I storm off, but they aren't far behind me. Shortly after I sit beside Mia, the two of them come into view, Tate holding the animal by its back legs. As Silas sits at my other side, Tate drops it onto the fire.

"Hope you girls are hungry," he says, and the two of them laugh.

"Tate, what the fuck?!" Mia shouts, punching him in the arm before he sits down .

"What?" he asks. "You want me to leave it out there so the coyotes end up in our backyard again? Do you like Mittens, Mia? Because that's a good way to ensure he ends up a fucking snack."

Silas cackles until he sees the look on my face, and then he stops, quietly slipping his hand inside the back of my still-wet shirt, lightly running his fingers up and down my spine in a way that's both comforting and terrifying.

I fight the urge to sink into his side and hold my breath, hoping Mia won't notice what he's doing.

"Even if I remembered what it was like to laugh, that wouldn't be fucking funny, Tate," Mia says. The anger in her voice has dissipated and in its place is the sad, detached tone we're all too used to at this point.

It's hard, and I hate it. I almost wish I could go back in time and note the fact that it was gone—if only for a minute, and even if it was replaced by disgust. I'd thank the fox; it's better than this. I see it on Tate's face, too.

"Aw, come on, sis." He passes her the joint. "Tonight was fun. And you know Levi is going to cry like a little bitch when he finds out his motorcycle is gone."

Mia inhales, holding the smoke in her mouth while she passes it to me, and I do the same.

"And his dad is going to spank him," Silas adds.

This time, even I laugh with the guys, despite my best effort not to.

"It wasn't fun," Mia says, wiping a tear away from under her eye. "This fucking sucks. I'm fucking sad, okay? I'm so fucking sad I can feel it in my bones, and it's not funny. And now you're leaving me," she directs at me. "Who is going to help me hide from all of his friends when school starts next week? They're going to laugh at me."

"I can't do anything about that," I tell her. "Do you really think I want to leave?"

"I miss him," she says. "When Mom was sick, he was good. He sat with me at the hospital all day when she had chemo and—"

"He's a fucking asshole," Tate says.

"Tate," Mia says, shaking her head. "So are you. You are the same person. You treat people the same way." Tate scoffs before Mia looks at me and adds, "You hear that, Noah?"

Silas's hand stills. "What do you mean?" I ask, my heart in my throat.

She shrugs, leaning forward as if she needs to warm her hands over the fox carcass, but the rain stopped and it's plenty warm now. "I'm just making sure you know that."

"Maybe I've changed," Tate tells her. "Maybe I'm just really picky about who I can trust."

"Really? You're going to play it like that? You're just a sensitive guy who can't commit because he has trust issues?"

Tate shrugs. "Yeah, that sounds pretty good, actually."

Mia shakes her head as Silas snorts. "Whatever, Tate," she says.

It's quiet for a few seconds—in an awkward, uncomfortable way I hope she doesn't notice—aside from the crackling of the fire. "Maybe we should—" I start before I'm interrupted by shouting coming from the building behind us.

"That your new daddy?" Silas asks .

"Don't call him that," I say. "But yeah, probably."

Definitely.

"It's not fucking normal," Tate says.

I shrug. "Moving is stressful."

"That's not what I mean, Noah," he says. "Well, yeah—that, too, but…they just met. Who wants to move a strange woman and her teenage daughter into their house after a month and a half?"

"I don't know. They're old. Maybe they just don't want to waste time. Maybe he's lonely."

"So, you like the guy?" Tate asks, his tone hostile.

"No, I don't fucking like the guy; I don't even know the guy. But I guess that doesn't really matter. I told you guys about this weeks ago. Why are you doing this right now?"

Tate purses his lips. "I guess I didn't really think either of them would go through with something so stupid."

"What? You didn't think someone smart with money would actually want my mom? And me?"

"Noah, Tate's right," Silas says. "Normal people don't do shit like that."

"What does that mean?"

"It means he wants to control her," Silas says. "They just met, Noah. He knows she has nothing and no family, and he wants her to quit her job and move to another city with him. And he's already yelling at her like that. You know I know what I'm talking about."

"It is weird, Noah," Mia adds.

"Well…I don't know what any of you expect me to do about it. "

"He's going to hit her," Silas says. "Or you. Or worse . And when he does, you better fucking tell me. I'll cut his damn hands off."

I scoff, shaking my head. "Okay."

"I'm serious. It'd be pretty hard to overpower someone without any fucking hands."

"That's actually a pretty good idea," Tate says. "I bet the jail time for cutting someone's hands off is nothing compared to murder. I'm sure the public would support your mission, and with that pretty face, you'd be America's fucking sweetheart."

"And then we can eat them. Like that sweet little bedtime story your grandma used to tell you, Noah," Silas says.

"Oh god, don't remind me," I tell him. "I'll have nightmares tonight, too."

"What story?" Tate asks.

"Um, just something stupid my grandma used to tell me to keep me out of the woods when I was little that should never—under any circumstances—be told to a child."

"The one with the cannibal kids," Mia says.

"Cannibal kids? What? How am I the only person who hasn't heard this story? That's very rude, Noah."

"Sorry for not sharing more of my childhood traumas with you."

"You should be," Tate says. "I thought this meant something to you. Go on, tell me your cannibal bedtime story."