What the hell?

“I bought a first-class ticket,” I told her. “I’m not taking the bus.”

And I spun around, heading back down the stairwell.

People were priceless. The things we told ourselves to justify giving up and falling in line like we had to accept anything less than what we wanted. Like fighting for your dream was a bad thing.

I would tour, and people would pay to watch me.

Heading into the ticket booth, I gathered up my school bag and phone, and switched off the light, heading back into the lobby and out the front doors. I called my driver to check if she was almost here, but there was no answer, so I left a voicemail. Since Arion was away studying abroad this semester for college, and my parents had schedules to keep, my mother arranged a car service in town to pick me up and drop me off to and from work. It probably cost more than I was making, but since our town didn’t have a public transportation system, I couldn’t manage any other way. I tried to give them my paychecks to cover the cost, but my mom wouldn’t take it.

I stood out on the town sidewalk, hearing the cars drive by and music coming from Sticks across the square, but I stayed close to the theater doors, just to be on the safe side, until my ride showed. The concession staff was still in there cleaning, so I had help if I needed it.

“Hey, Winter,” someone said across the street. “Want a ride?”

Sara. She’d worked the booth with me tonight, and trained me when I started the job. She must just be leaving, too.

“Oh, no, I’m okay,” I told her. “My driver should be here soon.”

“My driver…” someone repeated, chuckling.

I didn’t recognize the voice. Did I just sound pretentious?

“I can’t leave you standing there,” Sara joked. “Come on. Cancel your car. We’ll take you.”

We?

I pondered for a moment, not really having a good reason to say no. The driver wouldn’t care. She’d still get paid and get in bed earlier tonight.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

Car doors slammed, an engine started, and tires skidded, the car coming around to my side of the street.

Sara got out and took my hand, leading me to the car. I gently pulled my hand out and placed it on her arm.

“Do you know Astrid Colby?” she asked, holding the back door open for me. “And her boyfriend, Miles Anderson? They’re both seniors. This is his car.” And then, “You guys, this is Winter Ashby.”

I stopped. “Oh, I don’t want to cause any inconvenience.” I thought she was driving. “I have a ride coming. It’s fine.”

I didn’t know Astrid and Miles, but I knew of them. I definitely got the impression they were trouble.

“Relax.” Sara nudged me. “We’ll have you home in no time.”

Fine. As long as she was here, it should be okay, I guess.

I pulled my bag off and climbed into the car, smelling cigarette smoke and sucking in a breath as the cold leather seats hit the backs of my thighs. I still wore my theater uniform—pleated skirt, button down, and bow tie—but as soon as I was settled, I sent a message to the driver.

After Sara got in and shut the door, we sped off. I felt the car turning, so I assumed we were rounding the square, and next probably cutting through the neighborhood toward the highway.

Judging from the deep rumble of the engine, the leather bench seat I sat on, and the heavy sound of the door closing a moment ago, it was an old car. Classic American muscle, maybe? I didn’t want to be a traitor or anything, because the spaciousness was nice, but I preferred the sound and feel of another car. His car. The only car I’d ever driven and probably would ever drive. Agile, fast, quick to respond…. It drove like slicing butter.

And him underneath me. That might’ve had something to do with my loyalty to that car, too.

I thought it was a BMW. My sister got one for graduation, and I sat in it, damn near falling into a trance when I felt the exact same circular emblem in the middle of the steering wheel as he had in his car.

“Turn off your brights, asshole,” the guy driving said.

“He’s like right on our ass, too,” Astrid commented.

“Yeah, you’re being followed, Miles,” Sara added, teasing. “It’s almost Devil’s Night. Let the pranks begin.”

I heard him scoff and another whiff of smoke hit me.

That’s right. Devil’s Night was tomorrow.

“You guys getting up to anything?” Sara asked them. “It’s so boring without the horsemen around.”

“Fuck them,” Miles said. “We can stir up our own shit.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, flipping it to one side as I turned toward the window. Miles was the only person I’d heard of who didn’t worship at the horsemen altar. Wonder why?

The energy at school since they left, though, was in the dumps. The basketball team was suffering, and there was no excitement anymore. Everyone was caught in suspended animation.

Miles swerved the car to the right and slammed on the brakes, pulling the car to a sudden stop. I shot out my hand to the back of his seat to stop myself from lunging forward.

“Get out, bitch,” Astrid said.

Huh?

The door on Sara’s side opened, and she shifted next to me. “Thanks for the ride, guys,” she chirped.

I froze, every muscle tense. What?

“You know where Winter lives, right?” Sara questioned them.

Wait, they were dropping her off first? I held in my groan. Shit. Thanks a lot. Why would she leave me with people I didn’t know?

“Don’t worry,” Astrid told her. “We’ll get her home.”

“It’s fine,” I rushed out, gathering my bag and phone. “I’ll get out here and call my driver.”

“Don’t be a bitch, bitch,” Astrid shot back but with a teasing tone.

“Have a good night, Winter,” Sara said, and then she slammed the door.

I exhaled. It’s fine. It would be fine.

Miles shifted into gear and took off, and I hit the back of my seat, gripping my phone.

I needed to learn how to be rude. I should’ve just said ‘no’ to the ride.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, and I gauged from the straight line he was going that we were hopefully on the highway, heading to my house.

“Is that car still behind us?” I heard Astrid ask.

“Yep,” he said in a clipped tone.

My heart picked up pace. Someone was following them? If something was going to happen, I wanted to be out of here before it did.

“So,” Astrid spoke again, “what do you see exactly?”

There was silence, and I straightened, coming to attention. “You’re talking to me?”

“Yes.” She laughed.

I shook my head. “I don’t see anything.”

“Well, I know, but is it like black or white or what?” she pressed. “Like when I close my eyes, sometimes I see a kaleidoscope of colors and sometimes it’s just dark.”

“Nothing,” I said again. “I don’t see. The sense doesn’t exist.”

“Psychedelic,” she cooed her approval.

I chuckled. It was hard for people to wrap their heads around it. When seeing people couldn’t see, it was because their eyes were covered. That’s what they assumed it was like for me. My eyes were just closed to them.

Whereas in reality, I didn’t have eyes at all. But my body did still perform the same involuntary actions: blinking, crying…

“That’s a mighty cute uniform you got on,” Miles said as he drove.

Astrid didn’t respond, so I guessed he was talking to me.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

His tone was loaded, and instinctively, I pulled down my skirt as far as it would reach, suddenly feeling like it was too short.

“You know where I live, right?”

She didn’t say anything, and he just laughed quietly.

I clutched my phone in my hand, thumbing the power button.

Cool metal touched my hand, and I jerked.

“Try some,” Astrid said, handing me something.

I took it, turning the palm-sized object in my hand and hearing the liquid inside swish.

“No, thanks.” I handed it back at her.

I could still hear my mother’s words when I was like twelve. She educated me really early. Don’t ever drink an alcoholic drink you didn’t make or open yourself.

She told Ari the same thing, but she knew I was at a bigger risk of being victimized. Someone could slip anything in my drink, and do it right in front of me, without my knowing.

But Astrid just took the flask back, whining, “Party pooper.”

I was about to say ‘thank you anyway’, but we turned and gravel crunched underneath the tires. I immediately narrowed my eyes, on alert. There were no gravel roads on the way to my house.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

But neither of them answered.

Suspicion twisted in my gut. I couldn’t be thrown into a locker room out here, but they could find lots of ways to prank me.

“Is that car still following?” Astrid asked.

“They turned off just as we did. Some road behind us,” he answered.

“Cool.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded.

“We want to show you something,” Astrid replied.

“I just want to go home.”

The car jostled on the pot holes, and I bounced, hitting my head on the roof.

“Ouch,” I hissed.

Goddammit, this wasn’t funny. It was already after ten, and I didn’t know these people. Why would they think they could just drag me wherever they wanted?

“I want to go home,” I said again.

“Hold your horses,” Miles chided me. “We need you for something.”

“What?”

“Climb up here, and sit in the middle,” he instructed.

“Why?”

“Come on!” Astrid yanked at my arm. “I need you to hold my legs.”