Page 3

Laney had taken a punch before. But holyshitballs did her face hurt.

There was a ringing in her ears, and she was aware of frantic movement but could only see white spots. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, her cheekbone vibrating like a Hitachi at a porn convention, pain erupting behind her eye socket and splintering across her skull.

A voice came into focus, sort of, squeezing itself into her brain amongst the unwelcome fire drill going off full force in her head.

Oryehokee?!

She squeezed her eyes shut, not sure what the fuck that meant and wanting the noise to stop.

Okay?! More frantic, this time.

Please stop making noise…

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” the voice practically shouted.

“I WILL BE IF YOU STOP SUPER-SONIC INJECTING YOUR ANNOYING-ASS VOICE DIRECTLY INTO MY CONCUSSION COCKTAIL!” she shouted back.

Silence.

Ah. Much better.

She felt a freezing cold hand on hers and winced, but it gripped her firmer, sliding her coat up her forearm, two fingers pressing into her wrist.

“What are you doing,” she groaned.

“Taking your pulse.”

“Why,” she huffed, snatching back her hand. “I’m not having a coronary, I just got clocked in the fucking eye .”

A pause. “It’s all I could think to do,” said the voice.

“ Not punching me would have been a better use of your limited mental capacity,” she grumbled, rubbing her eyes and wincing.

The white spots were clearing and she got her first proper look at the boy squatting in front of her, eyes wide and frantic, lips pursed. Based on the earthquake in her head, she’d assumed she’d just been smacked by Stone Cold Steve Austin, or maybe The Incredible Hulk. But the terrified-looking teenager in front of her with the steel grey eyes and too-lean body didn’t fit the bill.

“You pack a helluva punch for someone who really needs a fucking sandwich.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s illegal to impersonate a cop?”

He stood up, taller than she’d thought, and held out a hand. Or three. She wasn’t sure, so she picked the one in the middle. It closed firmly around her own, and he gently pulled her up.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that punching a cop probably isn’t a great idea?” she retorted.

His mouth twitched.

She glared.

More silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand, which was red and chapped.

“Why aren’t you wearing a coat,” she blurted. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

His mouth twitched again but he didn’t answer, shoving his hands back into his hoodie.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, fidgeting with the hole in his front pocket.

“I’m supposed to drop this off out back,” she said, gesturing to a reusable grocery bag that had toppled over. “But I thought it might be for you and I didn’t want you to leave without it.”

“Why would you think it’s for me?”

She shrugged. “You see anyone else hanging around here at 5:00am?”

Silence. Again. He’d certainly mastered the art of making air feel uncomfortable. She sighed. “My brother sent me.”

The boy blinked, an unreadable expression crossing his face. She bent over to pick up the bag but swooned a bit, feeling unbalanced, and he caught her elbow.

“You should sit back down,” he said, his hands firm.

“You should keep your hands to yourself.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said sharply, not sounding sorry at all. “I didn’t – I just, reacted. I would never have…” he trailed off, fidgeting, and she realized he was sorry, just also really damn cold.

Dustin had told her to be there at 4:00am but she just hadn’t been able to convince herself to haul her ass out of bed. She'd been shaken awake at 4:30, an uncharacteristically angry look on her brother's face, handing her a bag stuffed with shit from their kitchen as he practically hauled her out of bed. As best as he could, anyway, given his clunky cast. But looking at this boy trying not to shiver, she realized that he’d probably been waiting in the cold since the crack.

If Dustin was being nice to him, there was a reason; Dusty didn’t put himself out there, didn’t reach out to people. He’d always been an awkward kid, too quiet, nerdy-looking enough for even the nerds to purse their lips at. He kept to himself, stayed under the radar, and tried not to get beat up too much.

“You’re Dustin’s sister?” he asked, his stomach gurgling loudly.

“Dustin is my brother,” she corrected, and his pink face cracked into a wry smile that warmed her cold toes.

“You should do that, more,” she said.

“Do what.”

“Smile.”

“Who says I don’t.”

“I do. Your face muscles look angry about it.”

“I have an angry face?”

“Angry face muscles.”

“How can face muscles be angry.”

“Want a mirror?”

He blinked at her, his expression unreadable again, and she was struck with the strangest urge to punch him back. Instead, she said “You have a condom on your shoe.”