excerpt

From C. Binton's forthcoming novel, The Bicycle Fire

The cars stormed by; the rain was nothing. We ran with our shirts off with open cans in our hands. Our breath made smoke.

"This doesn't feel like October," Jordan said, breathing heavy. "This doesn't feel like fall."

We were headed toward the lake. Midnight was behind us. The cans in our hands made us want to swim in cold water. A flashlight hung out of my back right pocket. Thoughts of home bounced around in my head. No one was back at home. They hadn't been for some time. No one was coming back home. It would have been impossible. There was no way. There was not a chance. This kept bouncing around. There was no way. There was not a chance.

"I don't feel old," I said, breathing heavy, trailing Jordan. "I don't feel old, no I don't."

Jordan didn't answer me. He turned his head and looked at me from the corners of his eyes.

I laughed and then the flashlight in my back pocket jumped out. When it hit the ground, I stopped. Jordan kept running, but I stopped.

Smoke was rushing out of my mouth.