Page 152 of Hawaii Can Suck It

Pain explodes in my knee, my hands scraping raw against the asphalt. Then survival instinct kicks in. I scramble to my feet, head whipping around frantically, searching for my phone.

“Crap, you’re Reece Dare!” says a teenage boy, his eyes wide with recognition. He hands me the still-livestreaming device. “Sorry, man.”

I snatch it from his hand with a quick nod of thanks, spinning back toward the sedan, only to see it merging onto the exit ramp that leads away from LAX. The brake lights flash once then grow smaller as the car picks up speed, leaving the congested airport loop behind.

Stealing Cam away.

“What can I do to help?” the kid asks.

“You got a car?” I pant.

The kid blinks. “Dude, I’m in middle school.”

Right. I scan our surroundings, desperate for anything—anything—that could help me chase down that car. My eyes land on the kid’s luggage—sleek, hard-shell, and by the shine of it, made of titanium.Oh, hell yes.

I grab it. “Can I have this?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”

I rip it open, dump his stuff into his arms—

Socks. A PlayStation controller. A box of Pop-Tarts.

Then I drop the open, empty suitcase on the pavement, hard-shell side down, slam my feet into it like it’s a snowboard, and crouch low.

A delivery truck is pulling away from the curb next to me.Do or die time.

I lunge forward, using my legs to propel the suitcase-sled, and grab on to the back of the truck with my free hand. The sudden acceleration nearly rips my arm from its socket as the suitcase catches against the pavement. But I hold on, white-knuckling the truck’s metal edge as my impromptu transportation device begins to glide, picking up speed.

I’m skitching. Behind a truck. On a suitcase. In the LAX arrivals lane.

I’ve done plenty of skitching stunts for the channel—hanging on to moving vehicles with bikes, skateboards, even a shopping cart once. But never with a piece of luggage. The metal shell skims over the asphalt, the wheels completely useless in this position but providing just enough structure for the shell not to crack under my weight.

The truck picks up speed, completely unaware that I’m a goddamn lunatic surfing behind it. Wind roars past my ears, the rush of speed sending adrenaline surging through my veins like rocket fuel. Sparks fly as the hardshell scrapes against the street.

SKRRRRT! SKRRRRT!

I lift the phone, keeping one hand death-gripped to the truck while the other aims the camera at my face. The livestream is still broadcasting, comments flying in.

“Kids, seriously. Don’t ever do this. This is the dumbest stunt I’ve ever pulled in my life.” The suitcase wobbles underneath me, threatening to slip out from under my feet. “But you do stupid things when you’re in love.”

The word hangs in the air like a confession. Love. Notlike. Notlust.Love.

The chat is losing it:

SOMEONE STOP THIS MAN.

REECE, YOU ARE GOING TO DIE ON LIVE.

This is so stupidly romantic I don’t know if I wanna cry or call 911.

Ahead, I catch sight of the black sedan, its brake lights flashing as traffic slows near the ramp onto the freeway. I’m gaining on it. Beneath me, the suitcase is heating up fast against the pavement. A sharp, burning stench fills the air. Something’s about to give.

The sedan signals and starts to change lanes.Shit.They’re veering off.

It’s now or never.

I shove my phone into my mouth, freeing both hands. Summoning every ounce of strength from muscles already pushed beyond their limits—

---