But that would come later.
“Time,” Diggin shouted. He had his phone out. For the first time, he noticed that Bishop was standing some ways apart, his lips moving as though in silent prayer. His face was incredible: anguished, twisted.
And in that moment, Dodge had a suspicion. More like an intuition.
But he dismissed the thought quickly. Impossible.
“Ten seconds down,” Diggin announced. Dodge turned his eyes back to the highway. Ray was still hesitating, swaying like a drunk, like he was hoping momentum would unglue his feet. A truck blasted a horn, and he jerked backward. The sound rolled and echoed through the night air, distorted by distance to an alien cry. Motion was noise: Dodge closed his eyes and heard the fizz of the tires on the road, the thud of bass and music, engines grinding and spitting, the rush of air when a car blew by. He opened his eyes again.
“Twenty seconds!” Diggin’s voice had gone shrill.
There was a sudden break in the traffic. Four, five seconds—in all six lanes, the road was clear. Ray sensed it and ran. He barreled straight into the divider on the other side of the road and nearly face-planted. But it didn’t matter. He’d done it. He whipped off the blindfold and waved it above his head, victorious. The whole thing had taken him twenty-seven seconds.
He had to wait for another break in the traffic to cross, but this time he did so at a jog. He was showing off.
“Who’s next?” Diggin said. “Let’s get this over with before—” Another truck blasted by, whipping away the rest of his words.
“I’ll go.” Dodge stepped forward. Ray dangled the blindfold from one hand. For a second, their eyes met. They were joined now, more than ever.
“Don’t choke,” Ray said in a low voice. Dodge snatched the blindfold from him.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said.
The cloth was thick and totally opaque, like something you’d fashion a tarp out of. Once Dodge put it over his eyes, he was completely blind, and for a moment he felt a tightness in his chest, the overwhelming sense of disorientation and dizziness, like when you wake up from a nightmare in an unfamiliar place. He focused on the sounds: trucks, music, the fizz of the tires, and gradually he could map out the space in his mind. Funny how just being without sight could leave him feeling so exposed, raw. Anyone could rush at him and he’d never know.
He felt two soft hands slip around his wrist.
“Be careful,” Nat whispered.
He didn’t answer, just fumbled to touch her face, hoping he wouldn’t accidentally get her boob instead. Kind of hoping he would, too.
“All right,” he announced in what he hoped was Diggin’s direction. “I’m ready.”
As he had done with Ray, Diggin took his arm and guided him to the low metal divider, and instructed him to climb it. Then Dodge was standing blind on the side of the road, while cars and semis roared past him. The wind blew hot and stinking with exhaust, and the ground trembled from the motion of the crushing wheels. Horns screamed out and faded.
Dodge’s heart was going hard and his mouth was dry. He hadn’t expected to be so afraid. His ears were full of a pounding rhythm—he couldn’t tell if it was noise from the highway or the echo of his heart. He barely heard Diggin call time. Shit. He couldn’t hear—how was he going to know when to cross?
What if he tripped? His legs felt liquid and unstable—if he tried to walk, they would collapse, get tangled up. He pictured Nat’s hands, the way she’d tilted her face to his when he kissed her. He imagined Dayna’s stalk-legs, imagined her chair pushed next to the window, the sun flooding the room, her legs growing, thickening, sprouting again into strong, muscled calves.
The pounding in his ears receded. He could breathe again. And suddenly he realized it was quiet. No fizz of tires, no honking, no roar of an engine bearing down on him. A break.
He ran.
Pavement, and then a narrow strip of grass, which marked the space that divided the different sides of the highway. He should have stopped and listened again, just to be sure, but he couldn’t—if he stopped, he’d never go again. He had to keep moving. The wind was rushing in his ears and his blood was on fire. Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his shins and he jerked forward. He’d reached the divider on the other side.
He’d passed.
He ripped off the blindfold and turned around. He thought Nat and Heather were cheering, but he wasn’t sure—two cars went by him, a twin blur, and although he could tell they were shouting, he couldn’t hear what they said. Underneath the streetlamp, they looked like actors on a stage, or tiny figurines, set up for display—and the cars, shining as they passed through the light, like toy models of the real thing.
He still felt kind of dizzy. He waited for another break in the traffic, then crossed back at a slow jog. He wanted to move faster, but his legs resisted. He could barely lift them to climb over the divider.
Diggin patted him on the shoulder and Heather grabbed his arm. He was glad. Otherwise he might have collapsed.
“Nineteen seconds!” Diggin said.
And Heather kept saying, “Awesome. Awesome.”
Heather volunteered to go next. Something had happened to her in the past few days—something had changed. She’d always been pretty, Dodge thought—sturdy-looking and dependable, like someone in an advertisement about deodorant. A little awkward, too—always holding herself really carefully, like she was worried if she didn’t pay attention she’d knock someone or something over. He hadn’t gone to prom, but he’d seen pictures on Facebook, and Heather had stood out; slouching a little so she wouldn’t be too much taller than Matt, wearing some ruffled pink thing that didn’t suit her at all, and trying to smile through her discomfort.
But there was nothing awkward about her now. She was serious, straight-backed, focused. She barely hesitated at the edge of the road. As soon as there was a break, she ran. Nat gasped.
“There’s a car—,” she said. Her fingers tightened on Dodge’s arm.
There was a car—northbound traffic, speeding toward her. It must have caught her in its headlights just as she crossed into the lane, because the driver sounded his horn, three quick blasts.
“Jesus.” Bishop was frozen, white-faced.
“Heather!” Nat screamed.
But Heather kept moving, and she reached safety just as the car blew over the spot where she’d been standing only a few seconds earlier. The driver gave four more furious blasts on the horn. Heather whipped off the blindfold and stood, chest heaving, at the side of the road. For a while she was lost to view in a surge of sudden traffic: two trucks passing simultaneously from opposite directions, a stream of cars.
When Heather crossed back, Diggin threw an arm around her shoulders. “Seventeen seconds!” he crowed. “Fastest one yet. You’re safe.”
“Thanks,” she said. She was out of breath. As she passed under the streetlamp, she looked truly beautifuclass="underline" hair long and tangled down her back, high cheekbones and glittering eyes.
“Good job,” Dodge said.
Heather nodded at him.
“Heathbar! I was so scared for you! That car.” Nat threw her arms around Heather’s neck. She had to stand on her tiptoes.
“It’s not that bad, Nat,” Heather said. For a second, she kept her eyes on Dodge. Something passed between them. He thought it was a warning.
Kim Hollister went next, and she was unlucky. As soon as she took her place blindfolded at the side of the road, there was a blast of traffic from both directions. But even after it cleared, she stayed where she was, hesitating, obviously afraid.
“Go!” Diggin shouted. “You’re fine! Go.”
“No fair,” Ray said. “No fair. That’s fucking cheating.”