The Secret of Ella and Micha

climbs into the driver’s seat.
    “You’re such a show off,” I remark.
    He starts up the engine and it thunders to life. “That’s like the pot calling the kettle black.”
    I slump back in the seat and fold my arms. “I may have been a lot of things, but I was never a show off.”
    He hooks a finger under my chin and angles my head toward him. “Taylor Crepner’s graduation party two years ago. You were standing on the roof with a snowboard strapped to your feet, telling everyone you could make the jump. I think that’s pretty close to showing off.”
    I make an innocent face. “But I did make the jump, didn’t I?”
    “Yeah, but not without breaking your arm,” he says. “And that’s beside the point.”
    “You’re right,” I admit, touching the small scar on my arm where the bone broke through the skin. “I was showing off and you had to drive my dumb ass to the hospital, then sit in the waiting room while I had surgery to put my arm back together.”
    His finger traces a line down my neck and to my chest bone. “I was there because I wanted to be.”
    “You missed a performance because of me.”
    “I don’t care—never have.”
    My gaze involuntarily flicks to his lips. Suddenly, I want to kiss him, like I did that night on the bridge. It makes me uncomfortable because the feeling owns me. I lean away, putting space between us. Sensing my transfer of attitude, he revs up the engine and spins the tires, fishtailing the car to the startup line.
    He shoots me a smug look, cocking an eyebrow. “Now that’s showing off.”
    Shaking my head, I restrain a grin. Benny lines up the front of his GTO with Micha’s Chevelle and his girlfriend struts up between the two cars. She’s wearing jeans and a short t-shirt that shows her stomach. She flips her dark hair off her shoulder and then raises her hands above her head. People line up along the road, watching, and placing bets on the winner.
    I spot Ethan and Lila toward the front, chatting about something, and Lila is doing her flirty hair flip thing. “When did they get here?”
    Micha ignores me, eyeing Benny through his rolled down window. “To the baseline and back?”
    Benny’s arm is resting casually on top of the steering wheel. “Yeah, man. First one back wins.”
    They look away from each other. Benny waves at his girlfriend and she nods her head.
    “On your mark. Get set. Go!” Her hands shoot down and screeches cut the air. A trail of dust engulfs us as we race off. The trees on the side of the road are a blur, and the sky is one big streak of stars. I keep silent as Micha shifts the car over and over again, but something inside me awakens from a very deep sleep.
    Benny pulls ahead and makes a sharp swerve right in front of us. His red tail lights are blinding in the night and his exhaust is puffing out thin clouds of smoke. Micha speeds up, inching the front end toward the rear of the GTO.
    As we approach the end, Benny pulls farther ahead, but it’s not over yet. Micha has a thing for flipping the car around, without decreasing the acceleration. It’s scary as hell, but it works every time. Besides with the longer body of Benny’s GTO it doesn’t have quite the turning power.
    We reach the end and I should probably be nervous. The road cuts off into a steep, rocky hill and the space to turn around is narrow, but I’ve never gotten scared, not even now. I guess I can’t change what’s in my blood.
    The GTO begins to slant sideways as Benny turns it. Micha veers to the side to get around him and shoots for the open gap between the car and the trees. I grab the handle above my head, the brakes squeal, and I brace my feet up on the dashboard. It’s like being on a merry-go-round on crack. Everything spins—the trees, the sky, Micha. For a second, I shut my eyes and it feels like I’m flying. It takes me back to the night on the bridge. She said she could fly.
    The car straightens out and Micha floors the gas pedal. Like I predicted, Benny is having a harder time lining back up. By the time we’re speeding up the road again, he’s a small distance behind us. Micha punches the gas and shifts the car into a higher gear.
    The long front end of the GTO materializes through my window and Micha floors it, shooting me a look that lets me know I can tell him to slow down if I want.
    I don’t.
    People flee to the side, panicking at our dangerous speed as we rip through the finish line. It isn’t clear who the winner is or