He still felt kind of dizzy. He waited for another break in the traffic, then crossed back at a slow jog. He wanted to move faster, but his legs resisted. He could barely lift them to climb over the divider.
Diggin patted him on the shoulder and Heather grabbed his arm. He was glad. Otherwise he might have collapsed.
“Nineteen seconds!” Diggin said.
And Heather kept saying, “Awesome. Awesome.”
Heather volunteered to go next. Something had happened to her in the past few days—something had changed. She’d always been pretty, Dodge thought—sturdy-looking and dependable, like someone in an advertisement about deodorant. A little awkward, too—always holding herself really carefully, like she was worried if she didn’t pay attention she’d knock someone or something over. He hadn’t gone to prom, but he’d seen pictures on Facebook, and Heather had stood out; slouching a little so she wouldn’t be too much taller than Matt, wearing some ruffled pink thing that didn’t suit her at all, and trying to smile through her discomfort.
But there was nothing awkward about her now. She was serious, straight-backed, focused. She barely hesitated at the edge of the road. As soon as there was a break, she ran. Nat gasped.
“There’s a car—” she said. Her fingers tightened on Dodge’s arm.
There was a car—northbound traffic, speeding toward her. It must have caught her in its headlights just as she crossed into the lane, because the driver sounded his horn, three quick blasts.
“Jesus.” Bishop was frozen, white-faced.
“Heather!” Nat screamed.
But Heather kept moving, and she reached safety just as the car blew over the spot where she’d been standing only a few seconds earlier. The driver gave four more furious blasts on the horn. Heather whipped off the blindfold and stood, chest heaving, at the side of the road. For a while she was lost to view in a surge of sudden traffic: two trucks passing simultaneously from opposite directions, a stream of cars.
When Heather crossed back, Diggin threw an arm around her shoulders. “Seventeen seconds!” he crowed. “Fastest one yet. You’re safe.”
“Thanks,” she said. She was out of breath. As she passed under the streetlamp, she looked truly beautiful: hair long and tangled down her back, high cheekbones and glittering eyes.
“Good job,” Dodge said.
Heather nodded at him.
“Heathbar! I was so scared for you! That car.” Nat threw her arms around Heather’s neck. She had to stand on her tiptoes.
“It’s not that bad, Nat,” Heather said. For a second, she kept her eyes on Dodge. Something passed between them. He thought it was a warning.
Kim Hollister went next, and she was unlucky. As soon as she took her place blindfolded at the side of the road, there was a blast of traffic from both directions. But even after it cleared, she stayed where she was, hesitating, obviously afraid.
“Go!” Diggin shouted. “You’re fine! Go.”
“No fair,” Ray said. “No fair. That’s fucking cheating.”
They started to argue, but it didn’t matter anyway; Kim still hadn’t moved. Finally she screeched, “Be quiet! Please. I can’t hear anything. Please.”
It took a few more seconds before she shuffled onto the road, and almost immediately she backed up again.
“Did you hear that?” Her voice was shrill in the quiet. “Is that a car?”
By the time she made it across, eighty-two seconds had elapsed.
It was Natalie’s turn next. Suddenly she turned to him, eyes shining. He realized she was on the verge of tears.
“Do you think he’s watching?” Nat whispered. Dodge thought she must be talking about God.
“Who?” he said.
“Bill Kelly.” A spasm passed over her face.
“There’s no one watching us,” Dodge said. “No one but the judges, anyway.”
His eyes met Bishop’s across the lot. And again, just for a minute, he wondered.
FRIDAY, JULY 29
dodge
DODGE HAD BEEN HOPING NAT’S BIRTHDAY PARTY would be small, and he was disappointed when he pulled his bike up to Bishop’s house and saw a dozen cars fitted together like Tetris pieces in the only part of the yard not dominated by junk. There was music playing from somewhere, and lanterns had been placed all around the yard, perched on various objects like metallic fireflies settling down to rest.
“You came!” Nat weaved toward him, holding a paper cup. Beer sloshed on his shoe, and he realized she was already drunk. She was wearing lots of makeup and a tiny dress, and she looked frighteningly beautiful, like someone much older. Her eyes were bright, almost like she was on something. He was aware that she had just been talking to a group of guys he didn’t know—they, too, looked older, and were now staring at him—and felt suddenly uncomfortable.