Read at Your Own Risk

Lethal Injection

I yanked on the rope we'd rigged to a sturdy pipe above, and Dixie went flying up Delcoph High's wall, leaving footprints on the wet paint. She grinned at me, spraying in the rest of the left devil horn so it glistened. She wiped sweat off her forehead, leaving a streak of crimson above her eyebrow.

"A little higher!" she called below.

I groaned, pulling as hard as I could. She moved about three inches.

"There!"

She giggled, maniacal. I took in the artistry. Mayor Rex Peterson's gray hair was a tint of blue, and his eyes were looking at his orange nose, and it was all lopsided like a melted snowman. She'd given the devil horns a halo and left a giant handprint atop a runaway hair. Said it needed to be high enough for all of New York to behold. I wasn't sure about that, but the resemblance to our mayor was uncanny.

I stepped towards her, the rope's bristles still tight in my hands, slowly lowering her.

That's when I heard the police sirens.

"Wait, don't!"

Dixie grunted, her knees caving in as her body pounded against the concrete sidewalk. The red and blue lights sparked in the distance with the loud wailing of police cars.

"Come on!" I shouted, pulling her to her feet.

She winced. Her knee looked fine, but that ankle wasn't anatomically correct. Dried red paint cracked by her eyebrow as the screeching tires got closer.

"Go!" She shoved me off her.

Instead, I threw her arm over my shoulder, dragging her useless ankle behind us as we made our way to the side of the building. I peered around the corner. They were pulled up to the curb.

"Kyle—"

"Shuddup."

Her ankle was a freaking grapefruit. Our school was about a good block away from a sketchy neighborhood through a few pine trees.

She held up her arms. "Don't even think—"

A flashlight beamed by my head. I scooped her up and ran like hell. I wove in and out of alleyways until I couldn't hear police cars anymore, then let myself walk again, my breath heavy.

"This is infinitely more embarrassing than being arrested." Dixie whacked my head with her shoe. "For God's sake put me down!"

I dropped her by a brick wall after we'd turned a corner. "You're welcome," I said.

"For what?" she winced again, inspecting her foot. "Breaking my ankle?"

"You're the one who wanted to get up that high. I warned you."

"Shut up."

She slipped off her leather jacket and tore the waist off her long-sleeved shirt, wrapping her ankle in the wackiest tape job I'd ever seen. Then she lifted her hands at me and I helped her up again. I could hear the police in the distance. Followed by what I swore was a laugh at the latest of Dixie's creations.

I wanted to pick her up and run again, but I preferred she didn't tear my head off. So we walked. Well, she limped, and I forced myself to stay slow, turning another corner to a backstreet connected to the alleyway. Didn't stop until we reached her apartment complex about ten blocks down.

I didn't speak to her as I walked her to the lobby. Her cheeks had gone pink and she avoided my gaze as she pressed the elevator button.

She frowned. "Kyle, I—"

"That was way too close."

"I know...I just—I had an idea—and I couldn't—"

The elevator dinged. "Well, I'm sick of your ideas, Dix. I hate Peterson as much as you do, but what did that just do, really?"