Hover

Chapter 1

Electricity sang through the dark, and the night was on fire.

The engine hummed, singing deep into my bones. The empty highway had no anticipated destination. Tonight, it lead to absolutely no where. And for the first time in awhile, it didn't even matter. Along the pavement, the tires of my 2016 Dodge Challenger squealed in it's relentlessly beautiful melody of a racing wind. My foot on the accelerator vibrated up into my muscles and the thumping, erratic beat of my heart couldn't have felt anymore satisfied than it did.

"Just give it up, Ryann."

Nox. That ass. His taillights from his 2015 Subaru WRX blared bright red through my windshield. His voice coming in through the speakers wouldn't save him. Not tonight.

"I'll hang up," I spat.

"Afraid you'll lose?" He laughed. That sadistic, I'm better than all the population that inhabits this earth, kind of laugh.

He revved his engine, loud enough for the adventure-less, pressed collared residents of our little community to hear through their looming windows. Testing me.

"Nox," I drawled. "My lovely man-friend."

"Oh, what? My very confusing woman-friend."

My foot hadn't hit the floor. I was aware of all the things Nox knew— I grew up with the kid. This small town of East Monroe, Vermont had a fascinating amount of boring people and Nox was not one of them. If anything, he was the one that changed me. What he was completely inattentive towards was the beginning; that the people you meet acquire a past long before the present moment you meet them. The kid is barely even curious; an ego larger than the space in which it could fill. He'll never read a book of the past in anyone's life. He had no knowledge that my book was an essential one. And he skipped all the important chapters.

"Remember when you first took me out to race?" I asked.

His laugh blared through my speakers at an unnecessary, high-pitched volume. I watched the vibration of my windows, waiting for them to shatter.

"I'd never forget it," he replied, a little devilishly.

I damn sure hoped he didn't. My first race was also my first win. Fifteen, sitting behind the wheel of a 2003 Audi A4 with Nox in the passenger seat beside me, Mike in the backseat double strapped himself with the seat belts. I was racing the Juniors from East Monroe Academy, who were more than willing to beat a fifteen year old girl that, if I remembered correctly, had a zit right below her left nostril and it was kind of painful to breathe. I remembered Nox's words, he repeated them over and over again to me with calmed direction as the nose of my Audi A4 was kissing the ass of the Pontiac before me— reserve, reserve, reserve!

I had no idea what he meant, saying those words the moment he said them. What I realized then was that racing was a melody only made for people who knew how to play the song. There were certain notes, keys and tones that only a particular amount of people acquired. It was almost as if you were born into it— born in the knowing.

Reserve.

The memory was hot inside of me as my toes put pressure onto the accelerator.

"I've never kissed an ass as beautiful as I did then, Nox."

That race set me up for high school. Kind of a legend, kind of not. Known, yet utterly unknowable all at once.    

His laugh was seductive, raged in volumes, yet all in the same tone. "Oh, I'm sure you've got plenty of tricks up your sleeve. But, maybe you're right. Maybe that's all you've got, Ryann."