He was walking home with her on their very first date. She was wearing a beautiful sundress and he had his best pair of shorts on – not the ones he wore to skateboard. It was going well, but they were nearly back home. Nearly to the point where he knew she’d expect him to kiss her. The buzzing in his ears became a tangible thing. No, wait, it wasn’t a buzzing; it was a squealing and skidding. He saw it then; the tyres desperately trying to cling to the hot asphalt on this perfect day.
He could see the eyes of the driver widen as he came clearly into view. It was like slow motion. How they do it in the movies when a main characters life flashes before him. But he knew. He just knew. He was going to lose control. It was going to spin out and it was going to head like a guided missile locked on their location.
He grabbed her sundress. The flimsy pink band and the white blink of her bra strap would have to be substantial enough to pull her away. She lost her feet from under her as he yanked her backwards and he steadied her as they watched the car spin into the wall where moments before she had stood. But he did not stop. He looked at them once and sped away up the hill, in the car that amazingly still worked with a concave bonnet and they were left staring at each other.
He held his breath. What would she say? Would she know what had happened and would she still want him to kiss her.
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