Spinning Out

Chapter 9

JAINA

The curser blinks in the search bar. Desperate? Yes. Possibly embarrassing? Yes. But I need him. Ok, I also would want to connect with him even if he didn't have information that might help me figure out who spun us out. E-L-I-J-A-H. The list begins to populate. The great powers of my phone trying to figure out which Elijah I might be searching for. I knew this would happen, which was why it was so important to get his last name. I didn't even know my friends knew three Elijah's, but Instagram does. However, none of them are my Elijah.

M-E-Y-E-R. And there he is. His face pops up, almost hidden beneath the lowered brim of a FORD Racing hat. Behind him is an old mustang. I should have guessed his profile photo would include a car—and a really cool one at that. I feel relieved that it isn't the kind of car that participates in the spinning take-overs. No one would take a car that pretty to burn out in a shitty street in LA.

His profile is private. Damn it. I guess I can't be too upset since mine is also. It's the safest option really, but right now I'd love to be able to look through his pictures and get to know a little more about him. Great, I'm a stalker.

I glance at the clock on my screen. 1AM. Nathan should be resting. That's a dumb thought. Nathan doesn't have any idea what time it is. In fact, the nurses had his blinds shut and the room dark. He has nothing to orient him to the days that are passing. I'm alone in the agony of time moving both too slow, and too fast. Slow enough that I feel so alone. I notice every moment he isn't with me. I can't text him, I can't call him, I can't even just drop by to annoy him. It's also going too fast. The days are passing with no improvement. How many more days will he have if things don't start turning around for him?

I push my chair back and wander over to the window in my room. Placing my fingers between the blinds, I spread them open and peak out at the dark backyard and the wall that contains it. I imagine the way his slide used to be visible from just above the bricks when we were kids. I can't see anything in the darkness, but I know it's not there—just like I know that his bedroom is empty and his poor grandmother is probably worried sick about him in her room.

I pick up my phone. His name is still my first saved contact. I decide to text him this time. If he wakes up—no when he wakes up—he will have to hunt down my messages in every app.

I hung out with a boy today. Wish you were awake to tease me about it. You would remind me that I probably snored when I fell asleep in the car. I'd tell you to shut up. I don't want you to shut up this time. I want you to wake up and be ready to hear how much I like him already when I come to see you in a few hours. I want you to tell me I'm being silly to have a crush on a boy I don't even know—but then want all the details because secretly you love a good story.

I hit send, then laugh to myself because I know that Nathan would roll his eyes at how long the text is. "Jesus, a novel?" he'd ask. Just imagining the exchange makes my heart hurt. The laugh gives way to a sob, and I try to stop it, but can't. I'm tired and feeling so helpless. Tonight I had learned a lot. What I learned is that I don't know anything about cars or street racing. I'm failing when my best friend needs me the most.

The tears make my skin feel tight as the quickly dry on my cheeks. The stitches crackle with the salt and I can't wipe them away the way I'd like. I'm exhausted. My body slumps onto my bed and I pull the cover up over my shoulder, then bring both phones close to me. I'm the keeper of all the information—what little I have of it anyway.

At 2am I give up on sleep. I've been laying in the darkness trying to put together what I do know about the scene. I can't do this alone.

The bright light of my phone screen hurts my red, swollen eyes as I open the lock screen and pull up Instagram.

E-L-I-J-A-H—M-E-Y-E-R.

There's comfort in the eyes barely visible under that black visor. What do I have to lose? I only pause a second, my thumb lingering over the bright blue button.

"Follow." The tap was easy, but the rejection will be hard if he doesn't accept.

I close out Insta and click on the clock, careful to check that the alarm is set for the morning. It is, but I haven't used it in days because sleep is not something I'm much accustomed to right now. I put my phone beside me on the bed and watch as the light finally shuts off. Unfortunately, my brain doesn't follow behind it.

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