He jumps out, hands shaking, heart pumping as he races around to the front of the Jeep.
“Oh God, did he hit somebody?” a man shouts from somewhere behind. “Holy crap.”
Jasper sees the bike first. The wheel bent, but otherwise in one piece. And then the girl, sitting on the ground, gripping her knee. Her eyes are open. She’s breathing.
He finally exhales.
“Are you okay, honey?” An old woman rushes past Jasper and kneels down next to the girl. “Don’t get up. You need to take your time. Did you hit your head? You could have a concussion.” The woman has short, gray hair and a frumpy tent dress. She turns and gives Jasper the most hateful stink-eye. “Were you on your phone? You were, weren’t you? You could have killed somebody! You could have killed her!”
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Jasper asks the girl.
She looks down at herself. “Yeah, I think—”
“So stupid!” the old man piles on as he rushes up from behind.
“You honked at me,” Jasper says quietly, though he knows that getting into it with them is stupid, pointless.
“I’m calling an ambulance. And the cops!” the woman barks, pulling out her phone. She looks him up and down, disgusted. “What kind of person are you?”
“It was an accident!” Jasper shouts back, his face hot. “A mistake. People make them!”
“Stupid, that’s what you are.” The man steps closer, spitting and red-faced. “Are you stupid?”
“Stop saying that, man,” Jasper growls, his fists clenched. He swallows down the urge to use them. Don’t hit him, he’s old. Don’t hit him, he’s old, Jasper chants to himself. But he’s not sure it is working. He can feel the punch already, the impact.
“Stop yelling! Please!” the girl shouts, startling the old couple. She waves her hands. “It was my fault. I ran the light.” She pushes herself unsteadily to her feet. She is pretty and fit in her high-tech, expensive-looking bicycle clothes, even those old-school sweatbands on her wrists and, luckily, a helmet. When she takes it off, her long, dark hair falls over her shoulders. “Please don’t call the police. My parents will be mad at me for not paying attention. They’re always on me for that. And I’m fine anyway.”
Jasper feels a guilty wave of relief. He’d be much happier, all things considered, if they didn’t call the police. His mom would say this proved her point about Wylie being a bad distraction. Coach might consider it his last strike.
“I really am sorry,” Jasper manages, meeting eyes with the girl for the first time. They shimmer between hazel and gold, like two small kaleidoscopes. Jasper’s never seen eyes like that. For a second, he forgets what he was saying. “Um, I didn’t see you.”
“Well, of course you didn’t see her,” the woman snorts.
“You kids and your damn cell phones,” her husband adds.
“I wasn’t on my phone,” Jasper says, and pretty mildly, considering how far up in his face they are. “I was distracted for a second and then you blew your horn—I don’t know what happened. She said she went through the light.”
“It was totally my fault,” the girl confirms as she moves her bike off to the shoulder. The wheel is so bent. There is no way she is riding it anywhere. “I’m not used to so many traffic lights.”
“I’ll drive you home,” Jasper offers. “We can throw your bike in the back.”
He hates the idea of not going straight to Wylie’s right this second. But what choice does he have? He hit this girl with his car.
“If anyone is going to drive her, it should be us,” the woman says. “You should go get yourself some driving lessons.”
The girl looks the woman right in the eye. “Thank you for stopping,” she says, calm but fierce. “But if you could stop yelling, that would be great. I know it’s making you feel good, but it’s not helping me. I already have a headache. And maybe you should worry less about me and more about why your husband is so jacked up that he was laying on the horn like that in the first place.”
“Ugh.” The woman recoils, disgusted. She waves at her husband to come along. “Let’s go. They deserve each other.”
And with that, the two march back toward their Buick sedan.
“THANK YOU,” JASPER says when the couple is finally pulling away.
The girl shrugs. “The biggest jerks always spend the most time pointing fingers.”
Jasper smiles. She’s right about that. “Anyway, sorry again. I’m really glad you’re okay. I should have been paying more attention.”
She tilts her head. “You seem really invested in jamming yourself under the nearest bus. I said I ran the light.”
Jasper feels himself blush. He wants to put his hands up to his face to cover it. “Let me give you a ride home,” he says. “It’ll help me get out from under the bus.”
She looks down at her bike, taking in how damaged it really is. Finally, she nods. “Okay.”
IT ISN’T UNTIL Jasper has her bike loaded into his Jeep and is finally pulling into traffic that he thinks about Wylie again. But maybe the delay is a good thing. To calm him down. He does wish he could call Wylie to let her know he is on his way. But, conveniently, he doesn’t have her number programmed into his brand-new iPhone. God, his mom is good.
“They couldn’t roll over your contacts, for some reason,” she had said when she gave it to him.
But he hadn’t cared at the time. Wylie didn’t like to talk on the phone from the detention facility. She said it was too awkward, people waiting in line, listening to your conversation. Not that he could have called her there anyway. Wylie’s cell number was the only one he really cared about, and with Wylie locked away that hadn’t mattered either until now.
But that’s okay. He’ll drop this girl wherever she wants to go, then he’ll calmly and slowly drive back to Wylie’s house. And he’ll focus. Because even if he doesn’t want it to be, hitting this girl was a reminder: bad things can happen when you’re distracted. Even by somebody you love.
“I’m Lethe, by the way,” the girl says, bringing Jasper back. He’s been inching down Newton’s main street, so totally distracted again.
“I’m Jasper,” he says. “Where to, Lethe?”
“I’m at BC. The campus is just—”
“I know where it is,” Jasper says, and too forcefully. “I mean, I just started there, too, preseason hockey camp.”
Lethe smiles tentatively, motions to herself. “Lacrosse.”
And Jasper feels that familiar tug—it’s fate. He knows that’s stupid, that he is stupid for feeling some kind of connection—even for a second—with some random girl he hit
