Page 20 of Run
I hear a low, “Yeah,” and then the unmistakable sound of snot being siphoned up the sinus cavity and spit out, and a wad of mucus flies out the window.
Ethan looks up to the sky and says to the Heavens—and to himself, “Just stay cool. Stay cool …” He leans in the window and addresses Harris’ brother. “You’ll have them home by ten, yes?”
The guy must nod, because Ethan walks away and approaches me, placing a hand on my back and guiding me toward the back of the car. He simply points at Harris and then at the open door, and Harris takes the hint and ducks in.
I look at Ethan, who is staring at me. “As impossible as it may be considering the company you have tonight, try and have some fun, Red.” He leans in and kisses me on the top of the head before ushering me into the back seat, then gently closes the door and knocks on the hood.
“Finally!” Harris cheers as Brody peels out of the driveway and hauls ass down the road.
When we get to the dance, Ethan’s words ring true. Having fun is pretty much off the table. The school gymnasium looks like fairies threw up all over it. Pink and green and gold streamers hang everywhere. And there are cheap crepe paper table toppers that keep falling onto the floor amid gold and silver confetti. What started out as a rainbow balloon arch to take pictures in front of has popped its way down to a sad little half-horseshoe of deflated rubber.
I sit on the bleachers as Harris holds court in front of a group of equally dorky friends in the middle of the dance floor. He hasn’t once asked me to dance. And that’s fine by me. I would rather gag myself with the ladle from the punch bowl.
It’s 8:59. I’m more than halfway through this awful experience. All I have to do is last another hour, and then I can go home and write a letter to my mom to describe this horrific tradition that has lasted decades.
It won’t even be a long letter. All I have to write is, “Teen dances are the absolute worst. Ever.” Done. End of letter.
And I can’t believe I thought I might want to kiss Harris. A shudder rolls through me at the image. At this rate, if he even leans into me, I’m gonna throat-punch him.
I check the clock again: 9:03. Only fifty-seven minutes to go.
ETHAN
Pacing the living room has left a well-worn track in the carpet.
It’s 9:54. That little twerp better have Ari home in six minutes or he’s a dead man. God, he called to her from the car like a freaking dog. I should have flicked his nuts for that. If he even has any.
I wasn’t going to go outside when Harris picked her up, but when his brother beeped the horn for her, I nearly launched a carton of eggs at his car.
I’m so stupid, giving Ari that little speech about having a first kiss. Now she’s going to go out and try to make it happen with that Little Richard wannabe. She can’t kiss him! He’ll cut her face to shreds with that metal mouth of his!
My fingers scratch down my face as I check the time again: 9:58.
The sound of that obnoxious engine coming down the street startles me, and I jump onto the couch and peer over the back of it. Using my fingers to dig a hole in the blinds, I try to see into the darkness.
I hear a car door open and shut. But I don’t hear the house door, nor do I hear the engine rev up again. Tugging the string on the side of the window to pull the blinds up, I smush the side of my face against the glass and close one eye, catching sight of Ari and the little doob climbing into the back of Axel’s broken down car.
Oh, hellll no!
Still barefoot and in my gym shorts and T-shirt, I stomp down the front steps.Lingering by the front walk, my feet shuffle as I pretend I’m inspecting the dead hanging flowerpots. Glancing toward the car, I see Harris’ hands moving around animatedly while he talks. Ari looks bored as all hell.
Making my way a little closer, now checking out the overgrown rose bush halfway down the walk, I look over my shoulder and see Harris has his arm over the headrest of the back seat, behind Ari’s head. Air blasts out through my nostrils in a heavy stream.
Taking a few more steps toward Ari’s driveway and craning my head upward as if I’m looking at the constellations, I glance at the car one last time and see Ari leaning away as the little dipshit leans toward her, lips pursed.
Nope! No way. Not gonna happen.
I skip over in two strides and tap my knuckles on the window. When the door doesn’t immediately open, I do the honors, reaching inside, grabbing Harris by the scruff, and pulling him out of the car. Ari immediately scurries out the other side.
“What the—” he starts.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I feign sympathy, placing a hand on my chest. “Did I interrupt something? It’s just that, well, it’s ten and your ride is about to turn into a pumpkin.” I drag him up to hiscar where his brother is making a graveyard of cigarette butts outside his window.
Opening the back passenger side door, I push the little turd inside, slam the door, and knock twice on the roof of the car. His brother takes the hint and peels away. Brushing my hands together and turning around, happy with the outcome, I find Ari standing, hands on her hips, lips smashed into a hard line, boring a hole in my face with a stare that could bend steel.
“What?” I ask innocently.
She lets out a half-growl, half-shriek and slams her little clenched fists against her sides.
