Skye’s standing on the edge of Runyon Canyon, eyes closed and arms wide like she’ll soar over the city if she jumps. But I’ve seen it happen. Nobody soars, and nobody flies, they fall.

She’s three-steps away from a hundred-foot drop and she keeps leaning towards the edge like she’ll disappear into sun. She’s so close, too close—if she trips no one will reach out and catch her ‘cause people don’t fly, they die. Or maybe the person that I saw jump wasn’t lucky enough to have wings.

I’m out of my car and sprinting to her fast enough for the world to blur. People are staring, ‘cause I’m shouting at her to step back like we’re the only two people on the canyon but I don’t care as long as I make it.

I grab her and pull her back to me so hard I send the two of us crashing into the hiking trail. It takes an elbow to the chest for me to realize that I’m hurting her. I didn’t mean to, I’d never mean to. But a stupid part of me still doesn’t understand that when I let go, she’ll be alive, that this time, I made it.

           “Easy, Ty!”

           “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

I don’t even know who I’m apologizing to anymore, but it dulls the sting of playing wannabe hero in front of Skye and a crowd of strangers. She gets to her feet first and pulls me up out of the dirt but I’m sweating so badly I nearly slip out of her grip. This isn’t a good day.

            “It’s fine, that was just kind of—“

            “Stupid. Look, I’m sorry, I’m just not good with heights,” I say.

She doesn’t even know the half of it. Her eyes swim south towards her shoelaces and she blushes a little. It’d be almost cute if it wasn’t out of pity. I feel so stupid I can’t even keep looking at her, but I know she’s smiling. She’s always smiling, even when she shouldn’t be.

            “What the hell were you doing, Skye?”

I’m trying my best not to scream at her, but the too calm look on her face isn’t helping.

            “Escaping. How’d you find me?”

            “That doesn’t matter.”

            “It matters, Ty.”

She looks at me like she wants to say something else but she doesn’t. I don’t know if finding her here was a good thing, but her silence only makes me feel crazy for doing it. I’m not, though. This is my spot. It’s been my spot for a while. Whenever Miles’ Brady Bunch family gets too much for me, I come here. The canyon’s a great place to run to, and nobody’s better at running than me—even a state champ.

           “You know Miles basically has the LAPD out for you, right?”

Skye pulls off her Ray-Bans to clean out the dust. My fault.

           “It’s funny how guys will tell you to get lost and then go looking for you,” she says.

She takes a couple seconds too long on each lens. Enough for me to see that she’s been hiding puffy red eyes behind them. But I don’t ask. For a second, I don’t know what to say to her, I never do at times like these.

First week I moved to Miles’ place, almost every night I’d hear my aunt crying somewhere in the house. It always came from somewhere different, somewhere she thought no one could hear, but I always did. I just never knew what to say.

The last night she grieved out loud I ran into her on my way to bed. Her eyes were bloodshot, but she didn’t hide it. Instead she hugged me, quietly, in the middle of her stairwell, like she knew that was the one thing we both needed. Maybe that’s what Skye needs too, but I’m too scared touch her, ‘cause whenever I do I forget that she’s not mine to touch.

            “What are you talking about?” I ask.

I already have an idea but I don’t wanna be right. Skye and Miles are the flagship couple at our school. Everybody loves them because people need something pin their hopes on, I guess. They’re supposed to be an example.

They’re supposed to be shoe-ins for homecoming king and queen in the fall. They’re supposed to be perfect. But last night was the only proof anyone will ever have that they’re not. But nobody needs to know that, especially Miles.

            “It’s a long story, Ty. Long and complicated.”

           “I like long stories,” I say.

           “Even about Miles?”

           “Especially about Miles.”

Skye laughs for the first time that morning, and even with dirt and dust all over her face, her smile still hits me like a sucker punch. Miles is missing this, missing her, and I can’t understand why he’d want to. Why he’d tell her to disappear and mean it. If he knew what it felt like to have someone actually disappear, he’d never say it again.

            “Can I take you up on that breakfast offer?” She asks.

I try not to smile like an idiot, but the fact that she remembered excites me.

            “I don’t know, I hear you like to eat and run, Skye.”

She slaps me on the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to feel friendly. Friendly’s good. Friendly’s safe. Friendly’s a buzz kill.

          “True, but I’ve got time today, and if you can find me chocolate chip pancakes in the next twenty minutes, I may stick around for lunch,” she says.

I’d find her gold if she asked, but chocolate chip pancakes are a solid start.

                                                                ***

Skye sings for the first time on the car ride over to Donna’s Diner. The Clash’s London Calling comes on and she’s nailing the lyrics, line for line, with a 70’s punk rock British accent to boot. I’m a little shocked, ‘cause she usually stays quiet or is too busy texting Miles to pay attention to what’s on the radio.

But today she’s singing, and I like her even more for it. Kat’s night and day different. Her old school music appreciation is only skin deep. She rocks the hipster look but it’s all make up and mirrors. Kat’s a top forty lover but she’ll never admit it.

Skye looks like a bubble-gum pop girl, but I wanna see if she’s got grunge rock in her veins. I pop in a little Led Zeppelin to test my theory. Black Dog seems more than appropriate this morning.

      “Uh-oh. Not Zeppelin,” she says. I knew it.

      “Why? Not a fan?”

I’m trying to stomach the idea that her potential love for Britney Spears outweighs the greatest rock band of all time but I can’t get past it.

        “No—“

I reach for the radio and she stops me.

    “—it’s just Led Zepplin makes me wanna get crazy, and this morning’s crazy enough as it is,” she says.

She has my full attention.

         “What does crazy look like for Skye-valedictorian-Sullivan?”

Robert Plant’s vocals cut through speakers and Skye lets her hair loose right in time for the guitar solo. She sways back and forth to the music like her body belongs to it. My body reacts like it belongs to her. She starts singing again, eyes closed, head back, totally lost to the lyrics, and all I wanna do is kiss her.

            “Hey, hey, baby when you walk that way, watch your honey drip, can’t keep away.”

I’m staring at her when I should be staring at the road. The music’s almost too loud for me to hear the cop car sirens behind us. Skye switches off the radio and screams at me to stop before I rear end a mini-van in front of us.

The officer in my rearview signals me to pull over and I switch lanes as safely as possible like it’ll make a difference in a definite ticket. Skye puts her hand over mine on top of the stick shift and squeezes away some of my anxiety. She’s got the goofiest 10-year-old-in-trouble smile on her face, and as serious as this situation is supposed to be, I can’t help but love it a little more than I should.

            “What are we gonna do?” I ask.

            “Just tell him, I gotta roll, can’t stand still, got a flamin’ heart, can’t get my fill.”

Never has a lyric been anymore true. The cop tap, tap, taps on my window and I roll it down. It’s a girl. Maybe she’ll be nice.

            “License and registration.”

Maybe not. She talks like a droid and has her hair pulled back so tight it’s hard to believe she can move her face at all. Twenty bucks says she’s got Robocop eyes behind her aviators.

            “I’m sorry, officer. We were listening to Zepplin. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t respond, and for a second I’m pretty sure she’s never listened to music in her life much less rock and roll.

            “Are you aware of how fast you were going, sir?”

Possibly.

            “No ma’am."

            “Sixty-five in a thirty-five zone.”

Shit, that was fast.

            “I’m sorry. But is there anyway you could let it slide? I promise I’ll be more careful.”

I flash a hundred dollar smile but her face stays stony. Skye’s letting out laughs in hisses and every time she does she squeezes my hand tighter. Robocop’s not amused. She whips out her ticket book and writes a four-hundred-dollar dent into my bank account.

            “Drive safe. And sir, you may wanna do something about that stick shift."

            “What?”

She glances over the top of her aviators and straight down towards my jeans.

            “Have a good day, young man.”

She winks and disappears back into her patrol car. I almost had a good day, or at least the start to one until Robocop pointed out that I’d pitched a tent in my Levi’s. The second she leaves, Skye bursts out laughing, and my face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

            “She was a riot! Did you hear what she said? Stick shift? What was she even talking about?”

Thank God, she didn’t notice.

            “Who knows? Cops are crazy.”

I shift into gear, palms sweating straight through the worn leather, and switch on the Mozart channel. Okay, so maybe it’s not all Mozart but he’s the only one I sort of recognize. Anytime I need to calm down or fall asleep, Mozart works miracles, and with Skye’s laugh ringing through my ears, and her hand still hovering over mine, I need one.