Run (The Tesla Effect #2) (9 page)

Bizzy paused, and for a moment she was merely quiet. Her legs were still, and relaxed. In a moment, she was ready to talk again. “They took me out of the house that same day, of course, but I stayed in foster care for a long time. After that I was a lot smarter, though, and, you know the fact that some random stranger saved me, it’s like it made me braver, somehow. Certainly more hopeful. Nothing really bad happened in the other homes. People are generally nice, I think. And—well, you know when I turned sixteen Lydia sponsored me with the court, and my emancipation this year is something I’ll always be thankful to her for, whatever else she did, because I’ll never have to be at anyone’s mercy again.”

Finn put his hand over hers that rested on the counter between them. He ducked his head down a little so his eyes were on a level with hers. “Bizzy, listen to me, I’ve never been more serious about anything. You always have me—I know you can take care of yourself, but I’m here for you anytime, whatever you need. No one is ever going to hurt you like that again.”

She grinned—actually grinned at him. “I know,” she said, hopping down and pulling at her spikey hair, then adjusting the studded leather dog collar she wore around her neck. “I know you and Joley and Beckett all have my back, you guys are my family. And I’m happy here—partly because of that, but also because I’m kind of a badass now. Anybody would think twice before they came after me.”

Finn took in the painfully thin body, the darkly-lined eyes and facial piercings, her statement clothing, all blacks and purples and blood-reds, some of it shredded, layered and deliberately tight, as if holding her together, but just barely.

He had never seen anyone in his life who looked more vulnerable.

CHAPTER 11

“You have no protection on the bike, Tesla. You have to wear body armor.”

Weighing her options, Tesla decided not to fight Sam on this one. He’d been willing enough to teach her to ride his motorcycle, and after he’d kissed her—after the
way
he’d kissed her—she wasn’t sure she had as much leverage with him as she’d thought. It was probably best to let him have this one.

“Fine.” She zipped up the black leather jacket that was too big across the shoulders, too long in the body, but for all that, snug enough. It was heavy, weighed down by the metal sewn into it, designed to keep her from winding up road kill on the pavement.

“And gloves,” he said, holding them out to her.

She pulled them on, then laced her fingers together to push them all the way up, and flexed, indicating she was ready. They sat in the most remote area of the mall parking lot, empty this far away from the stores except during the busiest holiday shopping times. A light breeze blew a few leaves around, and a Starbucks cup with its plastic top firmly attached rolled noisily nearby.

When they’d left the house earlier, Sam still stealing quick, uncomfortable looks at Tesla’s dark hair, wondering if he could ever get used to her like this, Tesla had suddenly stopped halfway between the front door and his bike.

“Will you teach me to drive it?”

“Teach you to—you mean my motorcycle?”

“Yes, your motorcycle. What else?” Since it was a rhetorical question, she didn’t wait for him to answer. “Will you?”

“I guess,” he said, reluctant but unable to come up with a good reason to refuse.

“You don’t need to be at work for a couple of hours, right? And it’s the weekend, so no school till Monday, so…”

“You mean right now?”

“Why not?”

And so here they were, Tesla looking at him expectantly, waiting. She’d agreed too quickly to wear the armor, and he was suspicious.

“Okay, no running shoes, right?” he looked down at her feet, noted the boots, and nodded once, all business.

“Why’s that important?”

“The laces can catch on things,” he said. “You don’t want that to happen.” He paused a moment, thinking. “Okay, a couple of things before you get on. Come over here,” he said, and she stepped in close, both of them right next to the long seat, facing the front of the bike. “The set-up is pretty simple. The left side of the bike is for the mechanics of driving, you’ve got a clutch and gears. Just like in a car with a standard transmission.”

He looked at her to see if she was tracking, but he couldn’t tell. She just looked intent. “Do you know how to drive a stick?”

“Theoretically,” she said. “But I never have.”

“You know how it works, though, right?”

Tesla nodded. “You step on the clutch with your foot, which disengages the motor so you can change gears. Once you shift into the new gear, you release the clutch and the motor engages again. And then, you know. Zoom-zoom.”

“That’s right,” Sam said. “Same thing, except the clutch is up here on the handlebar.” He pointed to the lever on the left handle of the bike. “The gears are down here,” he said, indicating a small bar by the left footrest. “So you pull the clutch tight into the handlebar, use your foot to switch gears, and then you let the clutch out.”

“Got it,” she said.

Sam smiled. “Well, it’s important to understand how it works, but it takes practice. Clutch-work is really a ‘feel’ kind of thing. You’ll get it, though.”

Patronizing little shit!
Tesla thought, thoroughly irritated in a flash.

“So the left side of the bike is for gears, and the right side is for accelerating—giving it gas—and for breaking,” he continued, moving around to the other side of the motorcycle. Tesla followed, and looked where he pointed. “You’ve got a foot break here for the back wheel, and a hand break here for the front.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit Tesla already knew showed up when he was worried. “When you’re just learning, you’re going to go really slow, of course, so you won’t have any need to use the higher gears—and that means you’ll really only need the back break. Otherwise you might lock it up and the bike will fall over. And trust me, even though it’s a relatively small bike, it is heavier than it looks.”

“Okay, cool. Got it. I’m ready.” Tesla walked back around to the other side, Sam following a bit more slowly. She stopped next to the seat and held out her hand for the helmet. She raised one eyebrow when he hesitated, and he handed it over.

She swung her leg over and settled in on the bike, then put the helmet on and buckled it. “What now?”

Sam sighed. Loudly.

“Oh for God’s sake, Sam, I’m not going to break it, or get girl germs on it, or make it like me better than it likes you.”

“Okay, fine. Now look—you have your indicators here, fuel and speed and RPMs. Here’s the ignition, right here.”

Tesla took the key he handed her and inserted it.

“Wait! Don’t turn the key yet,” Sam said quickly. “When you start it, the fuel injection does exactly what the name implies, and this red light here comes on. Now—this is important—there’s another light over here that will always come on if the bike is in neutral. If that light is not on, you know you’re in gear.”

“And?” Tesla said, impatient to be off.

“And, if you start the motor while you’re in gear without depressing the clutch, you’ll jerk forward, maybe hit something if it’s close, stall the bike, and probably fall over and be crushed to death. Or at least humiliated.”

“Speaking from experience, I assume,” she muttered. “So, what, I pull the clutch in before I start it?”

“Yes, always. I was taught to pull the clutch in, then kick the gear down to first, then bring it up once to neutral, and
then
, once I saw the light go on, start the bike.”

“But that’s not really necessary if you just never start the bike without the clutch depressed, right?”

“Right,” he said, knowing he should be happier that she was such a quick study. It had taken him a while to understand the logic of the thing, though, and just when he’d thought they were on a more even footing, what with that kiss and all, he was forced to remember just how smart she was.

It was unbelievably annoying.

“So the gears are pretty simple, and again you have to get the feel through practice. Try it—clutch in—if you kick the gear bar down all the way, you’re in first gear. One up is neutral. Next up is second gear, next third, and so on. In ascending order.” He stood there, and she waited, as the seconds ticked by. “Okay, you’re almost ready to start it.”

“Yeah, any day now, Sam.”

“Look, this bike cost me every bit of money I had,” he said hotly. “I need it to work, I need it to get to school. And now you need it, for whatever—I’m still not clear on that, but I’m assuming you’re preparing to ask if you can use my bike when I’m working. So what’s with all the snark about me being careful with it?”

Tesla’s face flushed deeply. “Sorry, Sam. You’re right.”

He said nothing, his stormy face turned away from her, gazing off toward the mall in the distance.

She reached out her gloved hand and touched his, hanging by his side. She couldn’t feel his skin, couldn’t feel anything but the pressure of the light contact through the stiff leather. “Really, Sam. I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” He crossed his arms over his chest as a chill wind sent the coffee cup skittering across the parking lot. He followed it with his eyes for a moment, and when he looked at her again his expression was more relaxed.

Tesla pulled the clutch in with the fingers of her left hand, toward the handlebar she gripped lightly. But just as she was about to reach for the key, Sam put his hand on her arm.

“Lemme just say one more thing. The clutch is the trickiest part, just like in a car. There’s a particular point where the clutch engages, and it’s different on every bike. You need to learn where that point is, and so you have to release the clutch slowly. You can play with the clutch and gas together, find the point of engagement, and move forward. But slow is the key. You really only need to hit two thousand RPMs to get rolling. You’ll probably stall it—more than once. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Tesla turned and looked at him through the visor, and he finally took his hand off her arm and stepped back. She paused for a moment, let her gaze take in the indicators, her gloved hands on the handlebars, the clutch and break, and, down by her boots, the gear bar and rear break. She took one slow, steady breath, and exhaled.

With the clutch held in firmly against the left handle, Tesla reached over and turned the ignition key. The engine rumbled to life, and she gave two quick turns of her right wrist to give it some gas and hear it race. She didn’t look down as she placed her left foot on the rest and found the gear bar exactly two inches forward and up three. She kicked the bar down once, kicked it again and saw the light go on, and yet again before it wouldn’t go any farther.
It was in second
, she thought automatically.

Without hesitation and without a glance at Sam, she revved the engine to five thousand RPMs as she let the clutch out fast, feeling the exact moment of engagement at thirty degrees, and the back tire chirped on the cement as the bike leaped forward, smooth and powerful and far, far too fast.

The back end fishtailed just once as she compensated, straightened the bike up, and raced away from Sam, the sound of the engine rising in pitch as it wound itself out, a whine that rose to a point that was tension itself, telling her that she must shift gears and release that tension, and with one swift, perfectly synchronized action she pulled in the clutch and kicked the gear bar up through neutral and into second and let the clutch out again without the tiniest hitch in speed or momentum.

The immediately lowered pitch of the engine, the deep, satisfying sound of tension released, was everything she’d hoped for.

This is awesome
, she thought.

“Ho-lee shit,” Sam said under his breath as he watched her brake front and back like a pro, turn the bike on a dime and bring it to a stop, one booted foot planted on the concrete as she faced him from across the parking lot. She revved the engine once, and he could see her grin from where he stood.

By the time she got back to him he was shaking his head, thunderstruck.

“What the hell, there’s no way this was your first time,” he called to her over the engine, laughing.

Tesla turned the key and removed it, and the shock of silence and the cessation of the bike reverberating beneath her were oddly jarring. She pulled off the helmet and her dark hair spilled out, catching Sam off guard. He’d forgotten.

“That was so—unbelievably—fun,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh my God, Sam, how do you make yourself do anything except just ride?”

“It is pretty great,” he agreed. “But seriously, Tesla, what was that?”

“How do you mean?”

“Come on, you looked like a pro out there! I mean, yeah, you said you understood how the engine and the gears work. But the physical part takes time—at least it does for anybody else in the world.”

Tesla squirmed a little. “Yeah, I guess I was kind of showing off, but…I don’t know…I should probably tell you. I mean, it’s not like this is a secret—just kind of weird and embarrassing. I can’t think how this information would change anything, you know, later. In the future.”

He was looking at her,
with those eyes
, she thought, and it was like he was this sweet boy and the older version of him that she also knew, all at once, and she rushed to finish, to just get this out, before she fell right into those eyes.

“I have this thing…I can do things, sometimes, and lately….”

Sam just looked confused, so she started over.

“I’ve always been able to understand the physical realities around me,” she said. “Distance, speed, trajectory, force, mass. That sort of thing. Immediately and without thinking. It’s always meant that I can shoot a basketball well, and other stuff that doesn’t really matter. Or at least it never mattered before. But lately—I’m not sure why—it all seems to be, well, increasing, or expanding, or something. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t understand it myself.”

“You mean, like
The Matrix
? You see distance and that other stuff—physics stuff—in code or something, like equations?”

“No, not at all! How weird would that be? No, I see everything the same way you do, the world doesn’t look any different. But the moment I see it, I also know, instinctively somehow, the dimensions and relationship of everything to everything else. I
know
it.”

“Well…wow. Okay.”

“Wait, there’s more. There’s some kind of perfect connection between what I know and my body—not that I can do things my body isn’t capable of, I mean I can’t lift a car or anything—again, weird—but riding your motorcycle today, that’s all part of this. I understand, intellectually, how the motorcycle works. And since my brain gets it, my body can do its part. Flawlessly. Without practice, without really thinking about it.”