New Girl in Town

Chapter 24

"Jennie, move!" I yell.

She snaps back, "Don't tell me what to—"

I collide with her, yanking her off the tracks and rolling down the embankment, into the thick grass that grows around the trees. She's on top of me, her hair lifting in the breeze as the train speeds past us, whistle blowing, the sound filling my ears and my senses, her eyes wide.

The clang and rising dust around us should be chaos, but all I can see is her and all I can feel is her heartbeat against mine. It's the strangest sensation: my heartbeat slowing to twin hers, our breaths mirroring. My hand reaches out and I tuck her hair behind her ear.

She doesn't pull away. She doesn't flinch.

She leans into my touch as I cup her cheek. Her eyes close, and when her hand covers mine, it's like I know the meaning of relief, finally, after what's felt like an eternity.

This is how it's supposed to be.

The whistle begins to fade, the train disappearing around the curve, and I'm still lying there, blanketed by her body, held by her hand, my heart beating in my body even though it's hers.

She pushes herself up, just a little, freeing me of her weight when I don't want to be free, so I follow as she goes, mirroring her. We lie there in the tal grass, side by side, our legs still tangled together.

She doesn't push away again.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

I nod.

"I should've been paying attention. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's not like anyone would really miss me if I got flattened by a train."

She shakes her head like the idea is impossible, which cheers me. But then she says: "Your dad—"

"We talked about that," I interrupt her. "He's not really—"

"I thought your dad was nice," she says, overlapping me, almost puzzled.

"Huh?"

"When I dropped you off the morning after the party? Your dad was making pancakes. He was nice."

"I guess."

"Is he trying to do dad-ing better?" Jennie asks, her eyes getting big and thoughtful. "It's what you deserve, Lis."

I tell myself she's drunk and high on adrenaline. That's why she's pushing like this, when I made it clear last time I didn't really want to go there.

"What about your mom?"

I go very still, and her body tenses against mine but doesn't move away. Instead, she shifts closer, like she knows that soon she'll have to be the one supporting me.

"You never mention her," Jennie says.

"She's gone," I say, because I still haven't found a good way to say it. You never think of these things until you have to. You never realize how many questions could crop up that you suddenly have to change your answers to. "I mean. She died."

Jennie's fingers flex on my arm, a gentle I'm here squeeze as we stare at each other in the stretching shadows of the trees. We breathe together, our bodies rising and falling in the same rhythm, like we've got the same heart, even for just a breath.

"Was there an accident or..." Jennie pauses. "Can I even ask ... I'm sorry. I don't ... I'm not very good with this stuff. But you can talk to me. I can try. I want to try. I want to be good for you."

It's like she's looking right through me, holding out exactly what I need.

It's the only way I can say it out loud.