Shift

“On it,” my dad says, abandoning my mom in the kitchen and hopping over the back of the sofa to join Tommy in the game.

My brother’s stare lingers on Dustin as he heads through the front door, only shifting focus because I walk into the path of his gaze. He blinks away, and my stomach tightens like it does when I’m on the crest of a roller coaster’s big drop. I shake the feeling off and shut the door behind us, noting the shine coming off of the new piece of glass on Dustin’s car. He jogs ahead and works off the tape holding it in place, forming it into a ball that he tosses in his hands a few times before throwing it at me.

“Hey!” I squeal, jumping out of the way. Bailey picks it up and chucks it at Dustin to get him back for me as we walk down the center of the road toward her house. My friend has even less athletic talent than I do, though, so the makeshift ball sails off course, landing in the brush to the side of the road.

We keep the game going for the quarter-mile walk, Dustin finally shoving the tape ball into the back pocket of his jeans as he hangs back a few steps and lets me walk Bailey up the driveway.

“I hate that he thinks my parents don’t like him,” she says under her breath. Dustin knows his reputation, one he’s labeled with mostly because of his family. But he hasn’t helped it along with his string of suspensions and run-ins with the sheriff’s department for fighting all over town.

“I’ll remind him that your parents don’t like anybody,” I joke. My friend laughs, but it’s a token one and I feel bad for picking on a reputation she doesn’t deserve to be labeled with, either. “Hey, you know what I mean.” I suck at apologies.

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “It’s just, if they see me with him, they will put cameras up in my room and probably hire a drone to follow me everywhere I go.”

She gives me a sideways smile and we hug before she dips inside and refuses her mom a chance to greet her in the doorway. I skip back down her driveway and find Dustin leaning on one of the neighbor’s many cars, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed.

“You thinking of buying that next?” I nod toward the rough-looking Crown Vic. Dustin’s bought a few parts from the older man who lives at this house. The guy used to be a mechanic but now it seems he just collects automobile ghosts—shells of vehicles that were once great but have lost their verve and soul from either a wreck or major owner neglect.

Dustin pushes off from the car and rests his hand on the roof, patting it twice before letting his finger trace one of the rusted spots worn bare in the paint.

“Nah, not unless I want to enter a derby one day.” His slight smile inches into his cheeks, making faint dimples that catch my eyes. My own smile itches at my lips. The only way I can make the feeling stop is to look away and even then, it takes a few seconds before I’m sure I won’t turn bright pink.

“Thanks for walking with me,” I say, timing my steps to line up with his. I falter purposely and brush into his side. He fakes a stumble and does it right back. This is how we flirt. It’s been a year of this, maybe more. I live for it.

Our pace back to my house is half of what it was to Bailey’s. We’re stalling. Well, I’m stalling. Dustin isn’t urging me to speed up, though. After a few silent, amazing seconds, he reaches over and lifts a lock of my hair, holding it out and letting it slip through his fingers until it falls back to my shoulder.

“You curled your hair today,” he remarks, his eyes still on the wavy strand.

“Braids, actually. I slept in them.”

“Ah.” He nods.

I flit my gaze to the other side of the street so I can suck in my bottom lip and soak in the attention. It’s cool enough outside that I’m glad I wore joggers and a sweatshirt, but I also wish I still had on the shorts I cut up last night. I liked the reaction I got from Dustin while wearing them. Not sure the cotton Hanes collection is going to earn me the same response. In fact, I can almost guarantee it won’t. Still, this quiet attention . . . it’s nice too.

“So, your windshield.” I let the topic linger as we walk, desperate to keep talking to him about anything. The longer it takes him to respond, though, the more I regret focusing on something that probably stresses him out.

“Yeah, that’s a bummer. I had to sell the intake to replace it.” He glances to me sideways and lifts his shoulder, playing it off, but I can tell it’s a big deal.

“That sucks. Dad’s always getting nailed with rocks that the truckers kick up on the highway.”

Dustin chuckles, straightening his arms as his hands push deep into his pockets. He tilts his head to the sky as his mouth hangs open with a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, I wish it was a rock. Would have probably lived with it for a while. Can’t see through shattered glass left in the wake of one of Colt’s cheap-ass beer bottles, though.” His gaze falls back to the horizon as he puffs out a short, defeated laugh.

“Oh, Dustin, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have brought it up.” I reach toward him and squeeze him at the elbow. His tight muscles soften under my touch, and the rigidness of his arm relaxes. I let go, but remember the way his warm skin felt on my fingertips.

“It is what it is.” He says that phrase a lot, at least to me. It’s the way he’s always summed up his circumstances, and I used to argue with him about it, or encouraged him to find a way out. But as much as he says he doesn’t care about his mom, she’s the reason he hasn’t run away completely. It breaks my heart to see him try so hard to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. Maybe that’s also what makes me love him so much.

“Hey, so, you coming Friday?” He turns to walk backward so we’re facing each other for the few hundred feet left before we reach my house. He’s managed to ward off the tension forming a divot between his brows, instead lifting them high to match his forced smile.

“You know I don’t miss a race,” I say.

His lips pull in with a tight smile, bringing back the dimples.

“Good,” he says, swinging an arm around my neck as he shifts to my side. I tuck my cheek against his chest and breathe in, memorizing my favorite smell of oil and body wash, hoping to capture enough to last me until I dream.

He pulls his hat from his head and pushes it down on mine while I walk alongside him, held to his side by his casually draped arm. If we were a thing, we would walk around like this all the time. I would demand it. His arm slips away, though, the moment our feet hit the gravel leading up to my house. I start to pull his hat from my head too, wanting to erase evidence before Tommy has a chance to call us out on it. Dustin doesn’t let me, though, laying his palm over mine and gently nudging his hat back in place on my crown.

“Keep it. You look cute,” he says with a wink.

I tug the bill down and glance at him from the shadow it makes over my eyes just as he pulls the tape ball from his back pocket and throws it at my chest. I manage to bat it away and rush toward the house, but he catches me by my midsection and swoops me into a circle before setting me on my feet, a little dizzy and full of butterflies. He abandons me where I stand the second my brother steps outside, and the two of them gather around the car to inspect the new windshield before climbing inside and revving the engine a few times.

I’ve watched Dustin act the way he does with me with other girls. I could easily talk myself into believing it isn’t the same, but really . . . it kinda is. And that’s the biggest reason I don’t let myself get carried away. Pissing my brother off to be with Dustin would be one-hundred percent worth it, but only if I have a guarantee that I wouldn’t break my own heart and lose a best friend all at the same time. So instead, I’ll have to be satisfied with a cool trucker cap and a work of art that catches the breeze through my bedroom window.