Like Gold

08.

08.

BUSES WERE LIKE the adult version of carpooling. I mean, think about it. A group of people getting into a longer version of a car, all going the same way. It was just a fancy word for carpool.

Except, buses were better than cars. They moved slower. They had their own special lanes. People moved out of the way for them. Some even had seatbelts. And they were bigger. A bus couldn't wrap around a tree the way a car could. A bus couldn't be t-boned at an intersection, crushed in at the side, metal folding like paper.

Buses were better. Safer.

I clung onto the hand rail inside the bus as it slowed outside of my school. The doors opened with a slow creak and I pulled myself out of my seat, sending the driver a smile and a thank you as I stepped off the bus.

After I had embarrassed myself on Saturday in front of Jace and his mom, it had occurred to me that I left my bike in their trunk. Which left me with only two options today: walk to school or catch the bus.

I patted my hands onto my baggy jeans. Buses weren't horrible, but they still made my palms sweat and heart race for the entire ride. I much preferred my bike over this death trap.

I sighed, tugging at the messy bun I'd pulled my knotted curls into. As if I wasn't tired enough this morning, that bus ride had made me feel ten times worse. At least I'd given my ankle a bit of a rest.

I hiked my backpack higher onto my shoulder and shuffled towards the school gates. I was used to waking up early to take my bike, so I'd gotten to school much earlier than needed. I planned to go to the library and try sneak a nap in before first period.

But before I could enter the school, my eyes met familiar brown ones that seemed to shine in the sunlight.

I stilled, pausing in my tracks a few steps away from Jace.

He pushed off the school gate and took unsteady steps towards me, his leg limping slightly under his weight. He looked cute today. He wore a baggy sweater that seemed to scrunch around his wrists, like he had a habit of tugging on them.

I scratched at my wrist and he stopped in front of me, sending me an uneasy smile.

"Hey," he said simply.

I nodded curtly. "Hey."

"Can we talk?"

I pursed my lips. I knew this was coming. I knew it from the second I shoved myself out of his car on the verge of tears. But that didn't mean I was prepared. A heavy lump settled in my stomach and I had the urge to throw up.

Instead, I nodded again, and he released a tight breath.

"I brought your bike."

I followed his eyes to the bike leaning against the railing beside him.

"Thanks," I said awkwardly. There was a pause and I shifted my weight uncomfortably. I didn't know what to say. This conversation was uncomfortable, no matter how many times I had to have it.

His eyes searched mine and I knew he was also searching for the right words. I sighed, straightening my back.

"Jace, look –"

"I'm sorry," he said simultaneously.

I blinked.

"What?" we said together, again.

"No, no," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Me first. You're sorry? For what?"

"I didn't realise you hated cars so much," he said with a frown. He nodded towards my bike. "Kind of explains a lot. I'm sorry. My mom shouldn't have pressured you like that."