16
There’s no practice the day after the game—Aiden’s team won in an absolute slaughter: 64–8, and Aiden scored the majority of the touchdowns. After such a great game, the coaches gave the players the next afternoon off, so once my appointments are done and the bell rings, I skedaddle out of the office in a hurry: I plan to pick Aiden up from school and take him to get ice cream at the pharmacy—which still doubles as the town ice-cream shop, as it has since the inception of the town. After ice creams, we are going to a movie at the theater in Hanover.
I’m excited for my impromptu day out with Aiden, since the two of us haven’t really had a chance to go out just for fun since school started.
I’ve even cleaned out the car,includinga forty-minute session with Dad’s Shop-Vac. Basically, the car is as clean as a secondhand car that gets heavy usage as a mobile restaurant and equipment storage unit can get.
And, just for fun, I’ve gotten a little dolled up for Aiden. Which just means nicer jeans and a dressy top and my favorite fall boots with a sweater duster, and maybe a little more makeup than usual.
It’s all for Aiden, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m about to see Jamie in the pickup line.
That would be stupid and immature, especially considering I most assuredly donotwant, need, or crave his attention, or the way those big warm sexy brown eyes look at me.
GAH. I am such a liar.
I turn into the elementary school parking lot and merge in with the line of cars waiting to pick up their children. I idle forward inch by inch as the line crawls through, occasionally glancing at my phone or fiddling with the radio. I’m third in line, and I see Aiden standing with Jamie just outside the front door.
Jamie is his usual preppy principal self, with pressed khakis and a white button-down and a Transformers tie. He has a walkie-talkie hanging from his hip pocket, and his eyes dart here and there, overseeing the progress of the line. If he sees a child waiting too long, he gets on his walkie-talkie and alerts Mrs. Emory, who knows literally everyone in town, and she will contact the parent in question and find out their ETA. While the child is waiting, a teacher or other staff member takes the child aside and stays with them until their parent arrives.
I pull forward few more inches and Aiden surges forward, intending to jump into the car with me as fast as possible. But the next few seconds happen in slow motion.
I see Jamie’s eyes widen, and then I see him lunge forward, grab Aiden by the backpack and yank him forcefully backward. Jamie’s eyes are locked behind me, and then they go to me.
I glance in the rearview mirror just in time to see a pair of headlights and the chrome grille of a pickup fill the mirror. And the vehicle is not stopping.
My foot, instinctively, slams down on the brake pedal.
But it’s not enough.
I feel the impact, hear it—a deafeningBANG-CRUNCHaccompanied by the squeal of metal on metal and I’m sent jolting forward, the impact too forceful for my brakes. Even with my foot on the brake pedal, I’m sent flying up onto the curb and into the landscaping. The red brick of the school wall fills my vision and I’m surging forward with momentum. I’m still trying to slam on the brakes even though my foot is already fully depressed—
CRASH.
My car slams into the brick wall, my windshield splinters and spiderwebs, my hood accordions, and I’m thrown forward as I abruptly, violently come to a halt.
My seat belt has already caught, I feel it constricting painfully against my chest, slamming me back in my seat.
Time returns to normal.
My ears ring in the silence.
My head throbs.
My neck and back are aching from the whiplash.
It’s hard to breathe.
Aiden?
Aiden.
I blink, but it hurts to do so.
Something is hissing.
“…Lyse? Elyse?” I hear a warped, distorted voice, blink again. “Elyse? Are you okay?”
It’s Jamie. He has my door open and he’s kneeling in the opening, brushing my hair out of my eyes, his brown gaze worried, scared.
