The yelling is still there. Nobody else seems to notice, but every now  and then I hear hints of my dad's voice. It's how he sounds when he's  out on the field, when I'm watching his practices and he's upset after a  loss. It's almost like he's barking. I'm focusing on it so much that  when Taryn calls for the race to begin, I don't take off right away. I  cover my misstep with a twist of my ankle, pretending I fell instead of  admitting that I'm not paying attention. My mind, my heart-all of me-is  somewhere else.

I make up ground quickly, skipping with long strides to the back of the  yard, banking off the berm and gaining speed. And then I hear the long  squeal of tires and the crunch of metal striking into metal hard and  fast.

The sound stops everyone and everything.

My breath stops too.

Taryn looks at me, and I'm sure my face shows nothing but emptiness and  fear. I walk down the hill, off the course, and begin to jog through the  middle of my yard, picking up speed the closer I get to the side door  that leads into our garage. My heart is beating wildly, and my ears hear  nothing-no clues, no questions from my friends, no more yelling, or  cries from my parents. All I hear is the whoosh of air and blood inside  my head and over my ears. Everything else is quiet, and the quiet scares  me.

I push through the side door and step into the garage, the man who was  arguing with my father is standing in the driveway, his hands on his  head while he paces like a lion circling prey around his car parked in  our driveway. The scratch in his sports car is long and deep, and my mom  is pressed to the screen of our front door, watching him cry over his  car while she cries over him.          

      



 

My eyes are wide, and I can't decide where to look. The kids from the  race are slowly streaming through the door, and everybody is seeing  this-everyone is seeing something awful happen to my family. I'm just  not sure what it is, and what this man with the blue car has to do with  it, and why Mom cares about his car so much.

Why does she care about him? And where did my daddy go?

My head is dizzy as I spin, looking from one thing to the next, my feet  full with the urge to run away, but my strength unable to take me  anywhere. The thunderous rumble of the engine comes first, followed  quickly by the shrill scream of rubber digging into road, of brakes  pressing on the wheels. Smoke pours from the sides of my dad's car. His  wheels spin wildly, and then there's a loud pop as the front tires of  his station wagon lift over the small hump in the driveway, catching at  least a foot of air before crashing down.

The headlights zero in on me.

My father's eyes hit mine.

He looks terrified.

I open my mouth to scream, but no sound leaves my lips. My father is  clinging to the steering wheel, madly jerking it with his hands, and I  shut my eyes, bracing myself for the inevitable.

I am going to die.

My body is thrust so hard I'm sure this is it-it's over-when I open my  eyelids again, I will be in heaven. But something keeps pushing me and  pulling me all at once. All breath escapes my lungs, and I fight to find  air, my back flat in the dead grass several feet away from the driveway  where my father's car now rests, steaming, the front end enveloped by  the sports car my dad drove into-through.

I was going to die. But someone saved me.

I gasp and I howl, a panicked search for feeling in my body. My skin is  numb and I can't breathe. Air. Air! All I want is air, and I reach and  claw at the body next to me, trying to sit up, to swallow, to make a  sound-any sound! My fingers grip at a gray T-shirt, and the arms wearing  it cling to me. Thin arms, like mine. I don't think they've ever let  go. My dad runs to me. My mom bursts through the screen door. The  mystery man is covering his mouth, still looking at his now  smashed-to-bits car behind us all.

And Christopher is holding me.

My lungs stutter, and I start to cough hard, the sensation of wind  passing through my throat almost too much to take after living without  it. I choke, leaning forward, my parents both pulling at me, each  wanting an arm, each wanting to take me and save me.

But Christopher is still holding me. He won't let go, even when they  tell him to. He fights away people tugging against us-blood dripping  over one of his eyes. I don't want him to let go. I want them to leave. I  want him to take me away.