Infinite Repeat Read Free

I should have just told her what my deal is. Even if we didn’t hook up tonight, she’d still be here with me, making me laugh. Keeping me from doing anything dumb.
    Instead it’s just me. Me and my cans of spray paint. Me, my cans of spray paint, and the memories I can’t seem to get out of my head.
    I need to go for a drive.
    I flip on the lights in my room and search through three pairs of crumpled jeans looking for my car keys. I pat the pocket of my hoodie. No luck. Frowning, I drop to the floor and peer into the dust underneath my bed, coughing from the grime as I snake one arm into the darkness.
    My fingers touch something that feels like metal. Ugh, metal covered in snot. I fish out a plate crusted over with nacho cheese from lunch last weekend. No wonder my room has smelled funky all week. I wipe my hand on my jeans and slip my phone out of my pocket. Using the light on it, I check the entire space beneath my bed—no keys.
    Muttering to myself, I check the top drawer of my dresser. I overturn my clothes hamper and shake each article of clothing. I must have spaced and put them someplace crazy. Slipping quietly out of my room, I creep down the hallway. I scan the kitchen counter and table.
    “Looking for these?” My sister appears in the doorway holding my car keys in her right hand.
    “You scared the crap out of me.” I flip on the lights and have to smile at her getup—she’s wearing penguin pajama pants and a Cartoon Mayhem T-shirt. She has her hair fashioned into two buns that look like Mickey Mouse ears. “Why do you have my car keys?”
    “So you can’t do anything stupid.”
    “Come on, Trin. I was just going for a drive.” I hold out my hand.
    She curls her fingers around my skull-and-crossbones key ring. “You promised, Micah. I can’t handle a repeat of last year.” She’s fourteen and dressed like a cartoon character, yet she somehow manages to sound exactly like our mother.
    “Give me my keys,” I say softly.
    “Tell me where you’re going.” She purses her lips.
    “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I promise you I don’t want a repeat of last year either.”

Chapter 2
    April 5, last year
     
    T he night was cold for mid-April. I pulled a sweatshirt over my Black Flag T-shirt and slipped the hood up over my head. Gathering my paint cans into my backpack, I tiptoed down the hallway and paused for a minute outside my sister’s bedroom. If she was awake, she would hear me. She would say something.
    Part of me wanted her to say something.
    Part of me didn’t.
    I needed this. This “outlet for grief,” as the family shrink would have called it. That is, if we could still afford the family shrink.
    Besides, it wasn’t like I was hurting anybody.
    I leaned my ear close to Trinity’s bedroom door but couldn’t hear her moving around in there.
    How could she sleep, tonight of all nights?
    Shaking my head, I crossed the living room in a few strides, expertly cutting between the sharp corner of the coffee table and the TV stand. I had oiled the front door’s hinges after school and it opened like a whisper.
    I paused on the porch, listening to my harsh breathing, to the drum solo my heart was pounding out in my chest. I was still telling myself that I hadn’t spent all day planning to hit the airport, that my decision was impulsive—something rash brought on by a sudden bout of pain.
    But there was nothing sudden about my pain.
    I walked halfway down the block to where I had parked my car, yet another piece of evidence that hinted at premeditation. I wondered what I would say if the cops caught me, whether I would lie and tell them it was a sudden impulse.
    The drive across town was short and uneventful. It was after midnight on a weekday and the streets were mostly bare. I parked my car behind The Devil’s Doorstep. With trembling fingers, I unclicked my seat belt and glanced around. The lights in the club were off—the parking lot empty except for one rust bucket that had