Until It Hurts to Stop by Jennifer R. Hubbard

leave me completely behind while he tries out the junior-class party scene. “No, I’ll come with you,” I say. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”
“Good.” He shifts on the bed beside me, and I can hear him breathing. He picks up the remote, because a commercial has come on. Nick refuses to watch two minutes of advertising if he can use that time to click through fifty other channels instead.
“Nick,” I say, keeping my voice light, “people don’t actually die from watching commercials.”
“You mean nobody’s died yet. ”
My eyes stray from the flashing screen to the map and photo on the wall: the jagged tooth of the Crystal Mountain summit, higher and sharper than that of Eagle. On Crystal, we’ll be alone together—back to our old selves, our old bond, the special world we’ve created with and for each other. If only I can get through this party first.

thirteen
     
    After school on Thursday, Nick and Luis play another basketball game while I do homework in the grass near the court. The guys play hard, shoving and laughing, pivoting, faking one another out. Nick and Luis revel in it, pushing for every edge, striving to get the ball exactly where they want it even if they end up bruised. I still prefer hiking, where there’s nothing to fight, and there’s only the trail to test yourself against.
    Along with the occasional snake and rainstorm.
As the fall sports teams finish their practices, the football players, cross-country runners, and soccer players straggle back toward the building. The guys on the basketball court end their game. They cluster around the water fountain, jostling and joking, and I gather my books.
Raleigh Barringer pauses at the fountain on her way back from the soccer field, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. The guys move aside for her; I wish I knew why. If I got up for a drink, they’d tell me to get in line.
After drinking, she straightens and says to Luis, “Nice shorts, Morales.” Luis likes bright colors—today it’s electric orange.
He grins and turns his back to her. Over his shoulder, he says, “Enjoy the view. It’s not the shorts that count; it’s what’s in the shorts that counts.”
Everyone laughs, including Raleigh, who says, “Will you be showing us that next?”
“If you insist.” He reaches for his waistband.
Half the guys groan or say, “No! Don’t take ’em off!” while the other half hoot and urge him on. “Give the people what they want!”
Luis pulls his waistband down maybe an inch while he watches Raleigh, both of them laughing, him daring her to tell him to stop. But she crosses her arms and stands her ground, and even taps her foot with mock impatience.
“Nobody needs to see that.” Nick elbows Luis. “Come on, you want a ride home or not?”
“Aw, Nick, there you go, spoiling all the fun,” Raleigh says.
My nerves prickle at the sound of his name in her voice. Nick and Luis didn’t go to our junior high. How has she learned everyone’s names so quickly?
“That’s my job,” Nick says.
“You got that right,” Luis says.
“Just for that, you can ride on the roof,” Nick tells him.
When they pass Raleigh, she says, “See you later,” in a way that makes it sound like a real promise, instead of the throwaway line it usually is.
As Nick and Luis come toward me, the other guys cluster around her. “Say something in Italian, Raleigh.”
She obliges, syllables rolling off her tongue like music.
“What’s that mean?” They hang on her words, tantalized. She draws them toward her like fish on a line.
And then she snaps the line, laughing.
“It means, ‘I want to buy some cheese.’” With that, she waves at them and walks away.
    I wait until after we’ve dropped off Luis to ask Nick, “How do you know Raleigh?”
“She’s in my gym class.”
I fight not to ask, because I know it sounds paranoid, but I can’t stop myself. “Do you talk to her a lot?”
“No.” He stops for a light. “Maggie, she’s no