Shift

3

“My brother can be a real asshole.”

I swear my face still burns from his little show of power out in the driveway. At least Bailey’s used to it. She gets a front row seat to most of the shit my brother pulls at home. When Tommy tries to put me in my place and play “big brother” in front of a group of people, like at school or a party, it stings a whole lot more.

I don’t like the way he’s gotten about me and Dustin hanging out. I feel as if he’s trying to drive a wedge between us, and despite the feelings I’ve kept locked up in my chest for years, Dustin and I have always been incredibly close. Friends. There are truths that boy says to me that he ca

“Tell me this, though.” My friend collapses on her back into the billowing pile of comforters I never make on my bed. “Why is Dustin Bridges so goddamn sexy?”

I breathe out a laugh and turn my attention to my closet so I can strip out of my T-shirt and shorts and crawl into the soft joggers and oversized hoodie I’m more comfortable in. I can get away with agreeing with Bailey when she says stuff like that because there isn’t a single person in a hundred-mile radius who would argue with it. I’m careful to always throw in the occasional “yeah, but he’s like a brother to me” comment when it feels as if she suspects anything more is going on in my heart and head.

“You think they’ll get that windshield fixed in time for the Straights on Friday?” Bailey asks.

I shrug, but I know there’s no way they’ll skip a race. Dustin would hotwire someone’s ride to “borrow” for the night if he had to, just to show up and defend his streak.

Bailey loves tagging along with us when the boys drag race. She comes from a pretty strict family that doesn’t believe girls should be exposed to the wonders of the world. She’s been wearing makeup for the last year, but only because she puts mine on in my car every morning then scrubs her face clean before I take her home in the late afternoon. She’s never spent the night at my house, at least according to her parents. She’s gotten good at breaking out of her bedroom window after midnight and riding her bike to my house. It sucks that we have to sneak her back in before the sun rises. Her mom is always up by six, and she inspects every inch of that house as if waiting to bust her daughter. If only Bailey’s family knew the shit she gets to see when she sneaks out with me.

“That’s cute,” Bailey says. I turn to find her pointing to the chime Dustin made me that I’ve hung from the curtain rod over my window. I temper my grin as I react.

“It is, isn’t it? Dustin made it for me,” I say, moving toward my window. I slide the glass open to let in a breeze and the chimes make a soft jingle, like tiny spoons tapping against glass.

“Think he’d make me one?” Bailey asks. I bristle and keep my back to her.

“I don’t know, maybe.” I close my window. I don’t think he would, but that’s because I think I’m special. The thought of him making her something he made for me turns my insides into a boiling, gooey sludge. My childish jealous side rarely rears its head, and I never let people see it.

“You should ask.” Heat courses down my chest and swells my belly. I can’t believe I said that out loud. What’s worse is I know the reason I did. I want to test him, and I’m already internalizing all possible outcomes, including the crushing feeling of not being special at all to Dustin Bridges.

My friend and I spend the next few hours crash-studying for our biology mid-term that’s coming up. Actually, for the first half hour, I’m lost in my thoughts, self-diagnosing my behavior and talking myself back into the neat little box I keep my feelings in. Even if my wildest fantasies came true and Dustin kissed me and told me he saw me as more than a friend, too, we would have to hide all of it from Tommy. My brother is barely supportive of me hanging out in public places with the guys in my grade. If he found out I had major feelings for our best friend, he might drive Dustin up north to the Grand Canyon and boot him from the passenger side while taking a tight curve.

With the di

“You want to see if you can stay for di

“Your mom knows she doesn’t get to go to college with us, right?” I help to pull back her bright blonde hair into a perfectly smooth ponytail at the base of her neck, the style she left the house with this morning. She laughs at my joke then glances over her shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly and widen; both of us are a little u

The house smells of garlic and oregano, my mom’s pot of sauce already boiling on the burner in the kitchen. It’s a rule in our house: we make time for family di

“Say hello to your parents for me, Bailey,” my mom says as we pass through the kitchen.

“And tell them I said to lighten up,” my dad jokes, earning a semi-swift right hook from my mom. “Ow! Kidding!” he adds.

My dad can’t stand Bailey’s parents. Not so much because of the way they raise their only child, but more because Bailey’s dad went up against my dad in court a couple of years back and won. My dad says he’s crooked, but I think that’s probably just him being a sore loser. Mr. and Mrs. Tingle are by-the-book on everything, even their church attendance. They never miss a Sunday.

My family? We’d be burned to a crisp by a swift bolt of lightning even stepping foot on the church campus. Not that that’s why we don’t go. We don’t go because we’d rather be out at the track, and while we’re all at the races, my mom is in her office doing mayor business. Someone has to run things in this town with a population of eleven hundred and four.

“You walking Bailey home?” Dustin cranes his neck, looking at me over his shoulder as I pass behind the sofa. He’s in the middle of a video game with my brother, and he must be the one in control because the screen is paused and my brother just sighed.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” I slightly pinch my brow, wondering why he cares.

“I’m— I’ll go with you. I gotta check something.” Dustin tosses his controller on the sofa in the spot he vacates.

“Psshh, we’re in the middle of a game!” My brother points to the screen, the scene some jungle area lit up with special night-vision goggles.

“Hey, Dad! Take my controller,” Dustin yells. He’s been calling our dad by that name since the day his own dad showed up at the Tucson track and made him crash. At first, I think it was simply a way to rebel and make Colt angry. Now, though, it’s habit.