The Trail Rules

by Melanie Hooyenga

  He leans forward and kisses my cheek. “I’m right here. We need to give him room to look at your leg.” He moves off the cot and crouches next to me, his fingers laced through mine.

  Something metal slides up my pants, then cool air hits my leg.

  “Good grief, Mike,” Dad says.

  “Not my bike,” I reply. At least I don’t think it was my bike. “So many bikes.”

  “I heard there was quite a collision midway through,” the medic guy says. “Couple others in here from that heat.”

  I try to look around but my eyes land on Mica. I don’t need to see other people.

  “This might sting,” the medic says.

  A wet cloth touches the cut on my leg and it must be covered with acid because oh my god it burns. I jump, but strong hands hold my leg in place. Mica’s grip on my hand tightens, his eyes locked on mine. The cloth dabs a couple more times and the pain becomes tolerable.

  “That’s the hardest part,” says the man with the acid, before wrapping my leg in gauze. “She’s gonna need a few stitches. The sooner you take her the better.” He moves from his place at the foot of the bed and stands near my head. “I need to look at your eyes.” A bright light shines into my skull. I try to close them against the brightness, and he tsks. “Just a second longer.” My eyes refuse to cooperate, jumping around from his hands to the ceiling of the tent, finally landing on Mica. He seems really worried, but there’s still an air of calm about him.

  “How do you do that?” I ask.

  Of course no one knows what the hell I’m babbling about. Their eyebrows crease as if pulled from the same puppet-master.

  I squeeze Mica’s hand. “You’re so calm.”

  “I’m really not.”

  The light finally turns off.

  “Looks like she may have a concussion, too.” The medic stands and faces my parents. “Sooner rather than later.”

  I can’t leave. Mica hasn’t raced yet. And Hannah. And everyone else. “But I want to see your race.”

  “There will be other races,” Dad says.

  I try to pout, but the effort makes my headache worse. I cannot believe I’m going to miss their race. “Can someone help me up?”

  Mica pulls me to my feet and time stands still. Then the room starts to spin. I close my eyes against the vertigo. Mica wraps his arm around me and Mom grabs my other arm.

  “Robert, go get the car,” Mom says. “We’ll meet you by the bike corral.” He runs out of the tent and Mom looks me in the eye. “Are you able to walk?”

  I nod, then quickly decide that moving my head is a bad idea. “I think so.”

  She and Mica shuffle me out of the tent to where everyone else is waiting. Alex and Hannah rush to my side while Kurt and Topher hang back. Their faces wear the same mask of concern, so I try to smile and laugh.

  “Guys, I’m fine. I’m having second thoughts about the dog pile in the middle of the race, but it’s nothing a few stitches can’t fix.” Mica taps his head and I try to smack his arm, but I end up petting him. “I’m not crazy.”

  “That’s not what I meant—”

  “It’s just a little concussion. No biggie.”

  “Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?” Hannah asks.

  “Yes,” Alex replies.

  “Oh! Have you guys met Hannah?” I touch her arm then point at everyone else. “Alex and Kurt and Topher,” I wink at him, “and this is Mica.”

  “I met them when you collapsed at the end. We all freaked and that’s when we realized we were all your friends.” Her cheeks turn pink.

  Could she actually be interested in Topher? My eyes narrow and she gives me a puzzled look, so I shake it off.

  “Are you gonna be okay?” Mica’s voice is low, his grip around me still tight.

  “Mm-hmm. Go kick some ass, ‘kay?”

  He smiles that soft smile and kisses my cheek. “I’ll come to the hospital as soon as the race is over.”

  “But what about the party?”

  “I’d rather see you.”

  “That’s not what I had in mind for our second date but if you really want to…” I trail off. The look in his eyes tells me that’s exactly what he wants and nothing I say will change that.

  My eyelids start to droop. They’re holding me so tightly I could go to sleep on my feet. My head bobs and my eyes start to drift shut—and I snap my head back up. “I think I need to go.”

  “Guys,” Mica says to the group. “We have to get Mike checked out.”

  “Yeah, you do!” Topher smirks, and Alex rolls her eyes.

  “Just once. Just once can you not make a perverted comment?” she says.

  Topher smiles. “Not on your life.”

  Hannah doesn’t seem bothered by the joke. In fact, her gaze hasn’t left him.

  I point at her. “I want to hear all about the race later.”

  She nods so hard her helmet bobbles. “Definitely.”

  Mica clears his throat. “Toph, grab Mike’s bike and follow us, will ya? Mrs. Westin, this might be easier if I carry her.”

  And then I’m horizontal. But in the air. With Mica’s incredible arms cradling me to his chest. “This is more like it,” I murmur, nuzzling my face against his neck.

  Everyone watches me for another moment, like they’re expecting my head to shoot off or something.

  “Go! Good luck! I’ll see you later.”

  They wave and head to the bike corral. Hannah’s side by side with Alex, and if I know Alex the way I think I do, by the time they get to the starting line, Hannah will be right next to Topher.

  Chapter 31

  After Mica made sure I was securely fastened in the car, Dad didn’t mess around getting us to the hospital. Mom filled out a zillion forms while Dad kept poking me to keep me awake.

  “No sleeping on my watch,” he says after I swat him for the hundredth time. “You’re not supposed to sleep when you have a concussion.”

  “Then can they hurry up and see me so I can take a nap?” The euphoria from conquering the Pow Cross has faded, and now I hurt all over. My head pounds with every heartbeat, while my leg feels like someone took a blowtorch to it. Or at least what I assume that would feel like.

  Mom approaches us from across the room. “Shouldn’t be much longer.” She sits in the hard plastic chair next to me. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m starting to question my earlier declaration that I showed that tree who’s boss.”

  “We’re really proud of you,” Dad says. “I know we’ve been hard on you with school and college, but it’s because we want you to have a good future.”

  We’re doing this now?

  “School is important,” Mom says, and I feel like I’m being tag-teamed. Isn’t there a mercy rule that says no hounding your daughter when she’s in the hospital? “But we’re starting to understand that it may not be the be-all and end-all for you.”

  “I want to go to college,” I say. “I just don’t see myself at some desk job and I don’t know what else there is.”

  Dad squeezes me against his side. “We’ll help you figure it out. You just keep up with your studies and we’ll try to be better about—”

  “The dictator thing?”

  Mom huffs, but when I look at her she’s smiling. “It’s just because we care.”

  I rest my head on hers. “I know.”

  “So this Mica…” she says.

  I blush, remembering my lack of filter in the med tent. “He asked me to be his girlfriend before the race.”

  “He seems like a real stand-up guy,” Dad says.

  “He’s a senior, but he’s going to CU next fall.” And I’ve just told my parents that I see this as a long-term thing. Apparently the tree knocked my internal filter loose. Oh well, they’d figure it out eventually. “And yeah, he’s great.”

  We fall into a comfortable silence that’s anything but quiet.

  *****

  The hospital took a couple hours. They stitched up my leg, diagnos
ed me with a mild concussion—which basically means I have to rest for the next couple days—then sent us on our way. Mica arrived while they were examining me, but because we’re not family had to wait in the hallway. But he waited. Then he helped me to the car, promising to come over later to see how I’m doing.

  When he arrives, I’m surprised to find the whole crew—including Hannah—on my doorstep. Kurt’s carrying a stack of pizza boxes and the girls both have plastic bags full of soda and chips.

  “What’s going on?”

  Alex levels her gaze at me. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to a party.”

  “Well, yes, but…” My mind takes a second to catch up. “You brought the party to me?”

  Mica brushes a kiss on my cheek and steps inside. “You aren’t supposed to go out so we brought the celebration here.”

  I look over my shoulder at the general direction of my parents. “I don’t know if Mom and—”

  He kisses me again. “We worked it out at the hospital. They’re good.”

  I smile up at him, at this boy who came out of nowhere and seems to know exactly what I want. Not what I need—what I want. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being you.” I step to the side and smile at everyone crowded on the porch. “Well, come on in.”

  Hannah waits until the others head to the living room, a huge smile on her face.

  “What’s up?”

  “That race was so awesome!” I give her a hug and she whispers in my ear. “Seriously, they’re amazing. They ride like a pack and included me the whole time.”

  My heart swells at what I already knew. Hearing it from someone else—especially someone who knows my former friends and how awful they were—feels like validation that I’m finally making good decisions in my life. I want to ask what she thinks about Topher, but it’ll have to wait.

  We’re sprawled out in the living room and just digging into the pizza when the doorbell rings again. “I’ll get it,” Mom calls from the kitchen.

  A moment later, Cally and Blake appear.

  “You came too!” I try to jump up but wooziness knocks me back down.

  “I’ll come to you,” Cally says. I texted her from the hospital to fill her in, but clearly someone else texted her too. She plops on the floor next to me and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I hear you showed that tree who’s boss.”

  “Yeah she did!” Topher pumps a fist in the air and Hannah throws a napkin at him.

  “You weren’t even there!”

  He throws it back and I get a little thrill that she’s already fitting in. And that she and Topher have noticed each other.

  Blake fist bumps the guys, grabs slices for him and Cally, then joins the group on the floor. Alex and Kurt launch into the story of their race, and I lean against Mica’s side.

  “I’m proud of you,” he whispers.

  I look up at him. “For what?”

  “For today. For competing. For not giving up. I knew you could do it, but it seemed like maybe you didn’t think you could.”

  I touch his face and he lowers his lips to mine. I never knew what having someone understand me so completely would feel like. And I’m proud of myself too. School and college and everything else will sort itself out. But I’ve finally realized that I can’t do anything if I can’t stand on my own two feet.

  Concussion notwithstanding.

  I look around at their laughing faces and a sense of belonging washes over me. A year ago I didn’t know any of them—or only in passing—and now they’re my closest friends. Just goes to show that the most important Trail Rule is right: Sometimes you have to make your own trail to find happiness.

  To you, the reader

  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you are why I do this. I’ve always loved telling stories and being able to entertain people with my imagination, so thank you for spending time with me.

  Want more of Mica?

  If you write a review on Goodreads and the bookseller website where you bought this, email the link to MelanieHooyenga@gmail.com and as a thank you, I’ll send you bonus scenes from Mica’s perspective.

  One final note.

  Boulder, Eldora, and Monarch High School are real places, and while I did my best to research them (thank you internet!) any factual errors are entirely mine.

  *****

  Keep reading for a peek at the next book in

  the Rules Series, THE EDGE RULES.

  Chapter 1

  I adjust my goggles and breathe in the cool mountain air. Snow clings to the spruces towering above me, which border the edge of this run, preventing less-experienced skiers from tumbling down the side of the mountain. I tighten my grip on my poles, then push off from where I was resting. Pierre, the exquisite French boy I met on the chairlift, smiles at me, and together we swoosh, swoosh, swoosh down the slope.

  I’m not a flashy skier—I prefer to always be in control and have worked for years to perfect my form—but it still takes work to make it look effortless. My leg muscles flex as I keep my skies inches apart, and I toss another smile to Pierre.

  We round a bend and my breath catches. Lake of St. Moritz stretches out before us, its clear blue water reflecting the clouds in the sky. I’ve taken this run at least a dozen times but I never get tired of this view.

  Pierre slows next to me. “Is pretty, yes?”

  I nod. “Yes.” A lump forms in my throat. I never want to go home. Everything about this moment is so wonderful and—

  Pierre slaps his pole against mine, making a loud clanging noise.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Brianna.” His sexy French accent slips away and he sounds angry. He hits my pole again and the sound echoes off the trees.

  I reach for his hand. “Stop. You’re ruining the moment.”

  “Miss Vines!” His voice comes out a growl and I jump. Then I open my eyes and the Swiss mountains fade away, replaced by a cold cement room flanked with metal benches on three sides. Floor to ceiling metal bars make up the fourth wall, and that’s where a very irritated-looking guard is glaring at me.

  I scramble to my feet.

  “Your father is here.”

  I sink back onto the bench.

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  Cold from the bench seeps through my jeans, but this might be better than having to face my father.

  “He posted your bail. Time to go.”

  I stand on shaky legs, and he opens the door with a clang. I always thought they added that to movies for effect, but it made that horrible noise when they put me in here two hours ago. Right after they took my picture—I refuse to call it a mug shot—and my fingerprints. Which wasn’t too long after I was unceremoniously shoved into the back of a police car a block from the Pearl Street Mall, after that screechy storeowner caught me with a necklace that may have bypassed the cash register and found its way into my pocket.

  The guard leads me down a dingy green hall, through a locked door, and into the main room where I first came in. Dad rises from a chair along the far wall when he sees me, and I take a step back, bumping into the guard.

  Frank Vines isn’t a large man, but his presence commands respect. From his power suit to his two-hundred dollar haircut to his piercing blue eyes that are currently pinning me to this spot, he is not a man to be trifled with.

  “Good luck,” the guard murmurs, then walks away.

  I force my feet to carry me forward. Just get it over with. He can’t say anything I haven’t already thought. His glare hardens as I approach and a cold sweat breaks out over my skin. His cologne hits me first, and for a second I’m five-years old, sitting on his lap eating breakfast while he reads the morning paper, but the moment is gone and he takes a step toward me.

  His voice is low, carefully trained to not be overheard. “I will never do this again.”

  My head bobbles. “Yes, sir.”

  He gives me one more heart-stopping glare before stalking out of
the Boulder Police Station with me on his heels. His sleek Mercedes is parked in the lot and he doesn’t wait for me to climb in. The engine is already running by the time I fasten my seatbelt.

  “Dad, I’m sorry.” My voice comes out whiny—something not tolerated in the Vines household—and I cringe. I stop myself from apologizing again, but the words dance on my tongue.

  His head shakes from side to side, but at least his eyes stay on the road.

  My pocket burns where the necklace was. I don’t know why I took it. Or why I’ve been taking things. It’s not like we don’t have the money to buy anything I want, and I don’t even wear the things I’ve stolen. But I get a rush when my fingers slip around whatever random thing catches my eye and I tuck it into my pocket. At first they sat in a pile on my dresser, reminding me of my poor judgment, but as the pile grew, I pushed them into the top drawer. The necklace was just another conquest after another miserable day.

  Dad still doesn’t say anything as we turn into our neighborhood. At one point I think I hear him mumble “tonight of all nights,” but when I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, his jaw is clenched and his lips are firmly shut.

  We glide past mega-mansions tastefully decked out for Halloween—pumpkins and corn stalks, that sort of thing—and he pulls through the gate that’s always open and up the long drive. Lights blaze from the downstairs windows but our porch is pumpkin-free. Mom hasn’t done much in the way of decorating since the flowers this summer, and those lie withered in the window boxes and pots that line the walkway.

  Dad doesn’t wait for me to go inside—but the lock beeps after I close the door, telling me he’s waiting for me.

  I drag my feet, dreading what awaits inside. Dad is the tyrant of the family, but Mom’s no pushover and she’s going to lose her shit over this. I step inside, expecting an ambush, but they aren’t in the foyer. I shut the heavy door and the sound of the metal lock catching throws me back into the jail cell. How could I be so stupid?