Page 52 of Chasing Stardust

Mouth too dry to form words, I shrug. What else is there to say? We’re no worse off than we were before accepting a ride. No harm, no . . . fowl?

As if reading my thoughts, he exhales hard enough to dislodge a dirty feather from his hair. “You”—he jabs a finger toward me—“are a magnet for disaster.”

“Me?” My mouth drops open. “What did I do?”

“You want a list?” Shaking his head, Dash stomps off in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going?” I chase after him, kicking up dust and feathers in my wake.

He picks up his pace. “Back to the car.”

“We’re stranded in the middle of nowhere.” I release a bitter laugh. “Were you planning to fly there, Superman?”

Dash whips around, and the hurt in his eyes makes me wish I could take back every word. He opens and closes his mouth several times before speaking. “You think you’re the first person to make that joke?”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“You’re not.” He turns, putting a few more feet between us before turning back. “It’s bad enough when my family—you know what? Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” With another loud exhale, he storms off again.

“It matters to me!” Guilt washes over me as I hurry after him. “Dash. Wait!”

He stops on the side of the road, as motionless as an ice sculpture. “What?”

“I . . .” I step toward him, an apology forming on my lips. Then I remember whose fault it is that we’re stuck out here. “I forgive you for letting the battery die.”

A dark chuckle crawls up his throat as he slowly turns toward me. “You forgive me?”

“I-I do.” His menacing grin sends prickles of heat down my spine, and I step back.

Finger extended toward me, he stalks forward, his smile feral. “You . . .” He takes another step, head cocked to the side. “Forgive . . .” He pokes that same finger into his chest. “Me?”

God help me, I should not be this turned on right now, but I am. “Th-That’s what I said.” I lift my chin.

“This . . .” Dash rakes a hand through his hair, dislodging another chicken feather. It catches the breeze and floats away. “Is all your fault.”

“M-My fault?” My muscles tighten, my insides coiling into a snarled knot. “I’m not the one who ignored the low battery warnings for God knows how long and got us stranded in the middle of nowhere!”

Dash nods stiffly, then turns on his heel and continues in the direction we left the car.

After following him for miles down the desolate country road, my resolve withers and blows away like those stinking chicken feathers. My feet ache from the sandbox forming in the soles of my Skechers. I’d kill for one of those Memphis sweet teas right about now. Every few minutes, thunder rumbles in the distance, and ominous dark clouds roll in. I can’t shake the threat of impending doom.

A rainstorm would be the perfect end to a perfectly shitty day.

A banged-up blue hatchback rattles past us, blasting old-school hip-hop from its open windows. Just before it crests the next hill, it stops and reverses, backing onto the shoulder a few yards from us.

The driver pokes his blond head out the window and flashes a gap-toothed smile, reminding me of a grinning jack-o’-lantern. His lips move, but I can’t hear him over the music. After repeating himself a second time, he ducks his head in and cuts the radio. My ears buzz in the sudden silence.

“Y’all need help?” With his close-cropped hair and wire-rimmed glasses, he looks like a redneck version of Reverend Tom.

Despite our long stretch of stony silence, Dash reaches for my hand, clinging to me as we cautiously approach the car.

“Funny you should ask,” Dash says. “We, uh—”

“Whoa, dude . . .” The guy zeroes in on Dash’s mismatched irises. “What happened to your eyes?”

Dash’s grip tightens, and he pulls me behind him. “I was born with them.”

“Spooky.” The guy shudders. “So how’d y’all end up way out here?”