A thud stops everything. The car, the spinning, the dark thoughts. There’s just a steady pounding of rain, a mechanical clicking, and a low hum with a soft ding that resonates through the silence.
It takes a full five seconds for me to turn to the side, peer through the rain to see the bright yellow arches, and realize that the McDonald’s sign is right side up. Then I must be, too. And best of all … I’m alive.
But I don’t move, doing a silent, swift inventory of my body, waiting for the howl of pain … somewhere. But nothing hurts, and the only sound is a repeating hum on the seat next to me.
My phone, my addled brain realizes. A text.
Mom! Joy and horror collide in my chest as the what-ifs play out like a movie. Mom … hanging on by a thread as a police officer knocks on our door with the worst news …
It would kill her to lose another child. But we averted tragedy this time. Somehow. The only bad news is my car definitely has no brakes and probably will never see a hundred and fifty thousand miles, but who cares? I’m alive. And, oh, God, I’m sorry for saying that I hate my mom.
Desperate to talk to her, I flatten my hand on the passenger seat, rooting around until I find my phone. My hands are trembling so badly I can barely slide the screen lock. I manage to get to the texts, looking for Mom’s picture at the top of the message list, but it’s a phone number I don’t recognize.
I shake my head, not caring about anything but calling my mother, apologizing, getting home, and figuring out a way to downplay this near miss so she doesn’t freak out completely. Like that’s even possible.
The phone dings and vibrates in my hand, another number I don’t recognize, and I see the message attached to it.
Caveat viator, Quinte.
I’m a little off my translation game, but I squint at the screen as my brain registers the Latin words. Let the traveler beware, Fifth.
What the hell? I look up and try to see through the rain-washed windows. Did someone see me? Is that a warning? A fifth warning? A joke from someone in my Latin class? Someone who just saw …
Very slowly, lights come into focus, moving up the opposite side of Route 1. High, bright beams on a … big black pickup truck.
I don’t know why, but instinct makes me duck. No, not instinct. Common sense. That jerk tried to mow me down.
I lie on the console, my heart hammering into the emergency brake handle that just saved my life, when my phone vibrates and dings again. I refuse to look at the text, squeezing my eyes closed and praying for someone to help me. Someone … not in that truck.
My phone vibrates again and I let out a soft whimper. Another text. And another. And another. What is going on?
Finally, I have the courage to look at the texts, letting out a soft cry of relief when I read Molly Russell at the top. My best friend would come to my aid. Then I scan the rest of the texts. More from Molly. But there are at least twenty new texts from kids in school, names I recognize, some I barely know, and a couple of unknown numbers.
Why was I text-bombed? I thumb Molly’s text first.
OMG, Kenzie! Answer me! Did you see?
You’re FIFTH on the list!
The list. The list? Not the … No, that wasn’t possible. I could never make that list. I touch more texts, barely processing a single message, because all I can do is stare at one word that pops up over and over and over.
Fifth.
CHAPTER II
This morning, the aftermath of my accident has almost died down, but Mom is still wrung out from the long night. After I called her from the car, she got Dad to pick me up and file the accident report. In spite of their separation, which has had him living in a town house a few miles away for the past year, he performed his dad duty and took care of everything, including the tow to a garage.
As always, he was the calm during our family storm, exactly what my mother needed to get through the ordeal. And as always, I had to wonder why those two can’t rise above the statistics that say parents who’ve lost a child inevitably divorce. They’re on their way to