Page 24 of Fire Fight

“I’m definitely going ahead with the party next month,” Gretchen says as the final bell goes, and she guides me toward the student carpark. “Once I’ve sorted the details, promise me you’ll invite him.”

An offer that sounds like a recipe for disappointment, but I nod in agreement. I can ask. “Of course, I will.”

I find the park and Drake arrives a minute later. His scowl makes me glad we’re only sharing a car until next month. Another wriggle of joy hits at the thought of Arnold buying me a vehicle of my own.

“Lucky bitch,” Gretchen mouths as I get in the passenger side.

I ignore the heat of his glare. It can’t be due to me—I’ve stayed out of his path all day—but he’s upset.

“Hey. Did you have a nice—”

“I told you to stay away from her.”

“Sorry if I don’t take advice from boys who creep into my bedroom at night.” His eyes blaze until I turn away, muttering, “She’s been really nice to me.”

He pulls across his seat belt and adjusts the wing mirror.

“Would your dad mind if I invited some friends to the house?”

He reverses while I’m waiting for an answer and I grip the dash, concerned at the speed. Students nearby jump out of the way, flipping the bird, yelling arsehole.

I wave to Gretchen, giving an elaborate shrug.

Drake reaches across me, fast, full of anger. His body drags against mine from shoulder to hip, face an inch away as he slams the buckle into place. His breath is hot on my cheek as he snaps, “Stop simping for the school bully and put on your fucking belt.”

He guns the engine, and I grab for the passenger handle as he speeds across the student lot, tyres squealing at the sharp turn onto the street.

“Slow down.”

Instead, he plants his foot, tearing through an intersection against the lights. The crossroad was visibly empty, but still.

I bite my lips to stop another admonishment slipping past, guessing Drake’s day went far worse than mine.

Just as I think we’ll pass the journey in silence, he abruptly asks, “Why do you take those pills?”

“None of your business.”

I fold my arms, staring out the passenger window until the silence is thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Why do you even care?” I flick him a sidelong glance. “You used to smoke with the other stoners behind the bike sheds,andyour room stinks of weed. Hypocrite, much?”

He slams on the brakes, momentum throwing me forward until the belt locks, pain igniting along the edge. “What the fuck?”

“Get out.”

A car behind nearly clips us, steering around the side just in time, honking.

The next vehicle does the same.

“Are you crazy? Pull to the side if you want to stop.”

“I told you to get out.” He leans across me, undoing my belt, then hitching the door release, shoving it open. “Out. Now.”

I grab my bag and run for the side of the road, face red. A sharp pain pulses across my torso, and I rub where the belt pulled taut.

Drake floors the accelerator, my door thumping closed as the vehicle lunges forward, soon settling to the speed of the other traffic. Just before the corner, he pulls into the forecourt of a petrol station.

Even from my faraway position, I can see him thumping the wheel.

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