Page 60 of Broken Breath
I scowl harder.
“Or maybe…” he adds, setting the tool down with a littleclink, “… this kid just has a spine.”
“Or he’s an idiot,” I counter.
Dad glances over at me, quiet for a beat.
“I didn’t believe it,” he says softly. “Does that make me an idiot too?”
I flinch.
Fuck.
The words dig in somewhere deep, pressure against something that already hurts. Dad leans back in his chair, eyes tilted up toward the sky like the constellations will offer him backup. “All I’m saying is, it’s okay to make new friends. Not everyone’s out for you.”
“Sure feels like it, though,” I mutter, feeling that familiar pang in my chest. The one I can’t name without sounding pathetic. It just sits there, heavy, old, and stupid.
He brushes his hands off on a rag as he gets up. “From where I’m standing, it looks likeyou’rethe hang-up here. Not the guy who’s trying to be your friend.”
I don’t reply, but my eyes do wander to where the obsessive little gremlin is still crouched over his bike, seemingly checking the bolts again. When the light inside their bus goes out, he clicks on his flashlight.
“That’s my cue.” Dad nods toward the van. “You coming?”
I should, but maybe Dad is right and Mini Crewsisn’tplaying some long game, maybe he’s just decent. Or I just haven’t spotted his angle yet.
Only one way to find out.
“In a minute.”
Dad smirks before he turns away. “Night.”
“Night.”
I wait until I hear the van door slide shut and the soft sounds of him settling inside fade into stillness before making my move. I stand, set my glass down, wipe my palms on my thighs, once. Twice. And head toward Mini Crews.He doesn’t seem to notice me until I lean my weight against the bus beside him, making him startle.
“How’s your hip?” I ask quietly.
He blinks at me, wearing a deer-in-the-headlights look, apparently stunned that I’m talking to him.
Right, this is a first for us.
“I’ll surv…” he starts, sounding squeaky before clearing his throat and dropping his voice an octave. “I’ll survive.”
I stifle a laugh.
Not just because of the voice, which, let’s be honest, is kind of hilarious, but because of the words.I’ll survive.That’s been my mantra all year.
Whispered between races when people talked about me as if I couldn’t hear them, into my pillow on sleepless nights, scraped into my bones like a goddamn brand.
I’ll survive this.
I nod toward the bike. “You done with that?”
He glances down. “Yeah. For an hour or so.”
Okaaay.
Mini Crews grabs the handlebars and rolls it quietly to the back of the bus. He pops open the back door, lifts the bike in like it’s made of glass, and locks everything up tight before turning back to me.
