Free MILA Origins 2.0 - The Fire by Debra Driza

had caught her by surprise. Later we’d laugh at her insanity.
    Until she lowered her voice and said, “My truck, my rules. Get in the back or walk.”
    Okay, so laughing wasn’t an option.
    “You can’t be serious.”
    “Out.”
    More than anything, it was the sudden tension in my hands that made me open the door and hop out. I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t use them to grab Kaylee again.
    Possibly around her neck this time.
    When I leaped onto the grass before he could get in,Hunter’s smile fell. “Are you leaving?”
    “No, just getting in the back,” I said. Feeling like an utter moron at the surprised rise of his brows. “It’s, uh, nice to see the landscape from a different perspective sometimes.”
    After letting loose with that little bit of ridiculousness, I clamped my big mouth shut and stomped around to the back of the pickup, climbed onto the dented rear bumper, and vaulted into the bed with a little more force than necessary. The stupid Chevy groaned.
    “That’s crazy,” Hunter said. “Why don’t I—”
    “Nope, I’m good. I like it back here. It’s nice.” It was much easier pretending when I didn’t have to look at him.
    “Are you sure?” He sounded doubtful.
    “Yep. Totally.”
    After another few moments, the front passenger door whined its way shut. The truck started lumbering down the road.
    I scrambled across the bed so I could slump against the cab. Never in a million years would anyone have forced me into the back of a pickup truck in Philly. It was almost barbaric. Not to mention illegal.
    I stamped my foot on the bed, hard. So hard that I managed to chip the paint.
    Served her right. Kaylee had a lot to answer for later. No wonder she and Parker were such good friends.
    The truck gathered speed. I had to throw my hands up tokeep from eating my hair. The road noise was pretty loud, but I could still catch the conversation going on inside the cab. The back window must have been cracked.
    “Are you sure she’s okay back there?” Hunter asked. I pictured him craning his head to look at me in the truck bed and kept my eyes on the trees fading behind us. He didn’t need to see me with my face all red from the wind or my hair flapping around like it was alive.
    One of the first things I’d learned in Clearwater: no one ever looks good with truck hair.
    “Oh, she’s fine. Like I said, she loves to ride in back. Must be a Philly thing.”
    I glared at the tailgate.
    “That’s right, she’s from Philly. When did she move here again?”
    “About a month ago.”
    “I’ve heard Philly’s got a great art scene. Did she love it there?”
    “Yeah, I guess.” Even from the back I could hear the annoyance coating Kaylee’s words like the fine layer of dust that coated the truck bed, and now, by virtue of my new seating arrangement, my jeans. “Hey, here’s something fun that you can’t do in a big city like Philly…practice your drag-racing skills. C’mon, let’s see what old Butch here is really made of!”
    And then the rest of her words processed. Drag racing? Drag racing? Had she totally forgotten me back here?
    “Hey, Kaylee!” I was just reaching around to rap on the window and get her attention when the truck bolted forward. My body lurched and my palms smacked the metal bed. Kaylee’s whoop from up front was followed by an even bigger burst of speed. I grabbed for the side of the truck with my left hand.
    My hair whipped my face as the truck went faster and faster, bouncing over the pockmarked road on less-than-optimal suspension. I could hear Hunter urging Kaylee to slow down, hear the thrum of the engine as she gunned it harder, and feel the truck accelerate. But under it all, I started to feel something new, something unexpected: a tiny thrill of exhilaration. The rush of embracing something dangerous started to eclipse the fear, sort of like when Bliss had taken me over that jump.
    This was actually kind of fun.
    The wind caught my gasping laugh and yanked