Peer Pressure
Black smoke bites my lungs. I gasp to get a breath. As I turn away from the police car, there's a whooshing sound and flames spill from the broken windows. People scramble back from the heat. It feels like my jersey is on fire, but it's not. The torched car, the cheering crowd; it's awful and scary and weirdly fun, like we're in a virtual world. But the smoke is real—very real—and all rules are off.
The girl was still there, on a swing, pumping hard, so high the chain slackened before letting her down. Then suddenly she stopped, digging her bare feet into the sand. She kicked herself in circles, tightening the chain until it wouldn't turn anymore. Then for a second she stared across the night between them, right at Zoe, until she let go, spinning into a dark fast blur.
