Page 72 of Running With Lions

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sebastian says. His mind has been drifting lately, more than usual, wondering what this thing with Emir is or isn’t. “I dunno, I just want to get out of here. Just me and you.”

“Okay.”

“You’re sure?” Sebastian squeaks in an unnaturally high voice.

Emir shrugs and stands. “Yes, Bastian,” he says. He grabs his beanie, pulls on a pair of slightly wrinkled black skinnies, grips a hoodie—

The sight of Sebastian’s last name in blocky gold letters across Emir’s back is mesmerizing.

Emir stalks up to him, poking a finger at the middle of Sebastian’s chest. Brow furrowed, he says, “And if I get kicked off the team, you’re doing all the talking to Abbu about why his precious only son is no longer going pro.”

“Pro?”

“Semi-pro.” With a crooked grin, Emir says, “Okay, after high school, I won’t ever play again. But he doesn’t need to know that. Besides, it’ll sound better coming from a genuine guy like you.”

“Obviously.” Sebastian rolls his eyes. He circles Emir’s thin wrist with his fingers. Emir turns his hand and twines their fingers. It helps to untie the knot in Sebastian’s stomach. “Now, let’s get out of here before you change your mind.”

“And miss an opportunity to watch youtryto break the rules? I wouldn’t dare.”

“Whatever.”

Mason left his iPod hookedup to the aux cord, and The 1975 hums through the speakers when Sebastian revs up the car. He cuts the volume. “Mason’s addicted to them,” he explains.

“Huh.” Emir’s has his feet on the dash, slouched in the seat with a half-impressed expression. “Didn’t think this was Riley’s thing.”

“Mace would totally suck face with Matt Healy if he could.”

“Makes sense.”

Sebastian bites the inside of his lip. Mason is one of those Urban Outfitters, coffee-drinking, I’m-not-but-I-am hipsters. Sebastian doesn’t have a problem with those guys, but it’s hilarious considering Mason used to wear sweater vests and Keds when they were in middle school.

Emir asks, “Where to?”

“To the land of Oz,” Sebastian says. Or simply boring old Oakville. Going too far from camp is risky. Around them, a cloudless night showcases the indigo-black sky and giant stars hung like diamonds. Sebastian could stare at it for hours.

Emir taps his hands on his knees. “Cool.”

Yeah, it is.

No one’s in sight when Sebastian pulls off toward the main road. His nerves are still wonky; his fingers are white-knuckled around the steering wheel as the tires drag over dirt and rock. He’s subtly observing Emir in his peripheral vision.

Emir drops a hand on Sebastian’s thigh, squeezing. Sebastian doesn’t flinch.Sweet. At least his body knows how to act around Emir.

Emir says, “It’s just you and me, right? So just drive.”

So Sebastian drives to the melody, and Matt Healy singing about how his car smells like chocolate.

At the edge of town,an old cornfield has been mowed, stripped, and turned into a drive-in named Oakville ’76, the year it was built. This town lives and breathes creativity. A massive space has been cleared for cars to park; a colossal screen plays outdated movies. At least they run a different film nightly. During the week, no one shows up except the slackers, elderly folks, and horny parents searching for somewhere to,well.

It’s mostly empty tonight. Sebastian quietly geeks out about the feature presentation: the firstIron Man. The movie is just a backdrop for a small line of cars with fogged windows, jiggling back and forth. Occasional streams of profanity can be heard.

“Sorry,” Sebastian says over his shoulder to Emir.

They’re slowly walking to the concession stand. It’s staffed by college kids home for summer or townies with nothing better to do. The selection sucks: over-buttered popcorn, Red Vines, and M&M’s.

Emir falls in step next to him. “It’s not so bad.”

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