Page 82 of Star-Crossed
“That means you’re supposed to lift her.” Myrtle, who already had her skinny legs anchored over the foil skirt that doubled as Vee’s muffin cup, poked a bony finger into Cy’s ribs.
He’d been so lost in the tangle of his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized the others were already assuming a variety of carrying configurations.
“Get set—”
What happened next, Cy could only attribute to muscle memory. Thousands of drills in thousands of football practices, his body bending at the knees and waist, his head, neck, and shoulder sloping down and—
“Go!”
Lyra yelped in surprise as Cy slung her over his shoulder andran. Ran like he hadn’t since before his accident. Ran like the devil was chasing him.
Lyra clung to him with a grip that he knew would leave bruises tomorrow, but he didn’t care. The air rushing past his ears, the chill of the night against his cheeks, the ground passing beneath his feet in a blur, made every single ounce of pain worth it.
He pushed forward faster, weaving around other runners, maneuvering tricky turns until they were side by side with Ethan and Darby, their strides in perfect synchronization. Just as they had all those years ago on the football field.
The cheers of their friends faded into the background as they raced ahead of everyone else until the finish line was in view.
He was winning.
He was going towin.
Or would have, had the pink wing of Myrtle’s taco shell not caught the back of his knee.
Cy lurched several steps and managed to catch himself before he fell, depositing Lyra carefully onto the ground just past the finish line as he collapsed, panting.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes wide with worry as she knelt down beside him.
Cy could only nod, too winded to speak.
Gemma and the others rushed over, eager to help him up, but a strong hand pulled him to his feet before they could get there.
Ethan stood in front of Cy, his expression solemn and apologetic. “Good race, man.”
The phrase carried the weight of an entire apology. Cy accepted it with a grateful smile, clapping Ethan on the back.
“And the winner, by a”—Mayor Stewart paused, a crease appearing in his forehead as he examined Myrtle’s costume—“asomething, is Myrtle and Vee!”
The crowd erupted in a thunderous cheer.
“Fortunately, we’re more than happy to share our winnings,” Vee announced, gesturing to the Baked food truck with a grand sweep of her arm. “Step right up.”
“Want to?” Lyra asked, tugging Cy gently toward the booth.
What he wanted was to do any damn thing that would keep that smile on her face.
“Sure,” he said.
As they approached the psychedelically painted vehicle, the scent of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of earthy herbs. A tall, Bohemian-looking man with a shock of curly blond hair and a surprising number of piercings greeted them with a warm smile.
“Welcome to Baked,” he said with a lazy smile that suggested he regularly sampled his own wares. “I’m Jasper. What consciousness-expanding experience can I arrange for you today?”
“Hey, Jasper,” Lyra responded, returning his smile. “My sister, Gemma, speaks very highly of your offerings. ‘To die for,’ are the words I believe she used.”
“I mean, death is just a change in states, but right on.” Jasper chuckled. “As far as the offerings, we’ve got a little something for everyone, depending on what you’re into.” He waved a skinny, tattooed arm at the array of colorful cupcakes with various cannabis-inspired names and flavors.
Cy eyed the colorful rows, intrigued but hesitant. He’d smoked his own weight in hash in high school, but hadn’t really indulged much since drug testing had become a condition of his college scholarship.
“What’s your favorite?” Lyra asked.
