Author’s Note: This is a work in progress that I’ve been writing sporadically over the past couple of years. I’m sharing it unedited and unfinished. The story follows Thomas Conrad, a new student in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and his encounter with a mysterious girl on a yellow Vespa.
Prelude
I knew I was going to regret what I was about to do. The certainty of it sat heavy in my chest, a weight I couldn’t shake. But knowing didn’t stop me. It never does.
I took a breath and stepped into the path of the speeding yellow Vespa.
Chapter One
Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Junior high school. New student.
Thomas Conrad didn’t know the town well yet—didn’t know the shortcuts, the safe crossings, or which streets to avoid. He definitely didn’t know that you don’t just step into traffic without looking, especially when someone on a yellow Vespa is barreling toward you.
The scooter swerved. The driver, dressed head to toe in yellow, shouted something he couldn’t quite make out. They missed each other by inches.
She pulled over, furious. “What is wrong with you? You could have gotten us both killed!”
Thomas stood frozen, heart pounding. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
“Obviously!” She yanked off her helmet, revealing a tangle of curly hair and thick glasses that magnified her glare. “You can’t just walk into the street like that!”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m new here. I got lost.”
She studied him for a moment, her anger softening just slightly. “You read Ray Bradbury?”
The question caught him off guard. “What?”
“Ray Bradbury. The October Country. You were holding it when you almost became roadkill.”
Thomas glanced down at the book in his hand, surprised he’d managed to hold onto it. “Yeah. I mean, I’m reading it. For class.”
“Good book.” She adjusted her glasses. “Where are you trying to get to?”
“Home. Pinehurst.”
“Pinehurst?” She raised an eyebrow. “Fancy neighborhood.”
“I guess.”
“You guess.” She shook her head. “Get on. I’ll give you a ride.”
“Really?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
Thomas climbed onto the back of the Vespa, gripping the edges nervously. The scooter was old, worn, covered in scratches and stickers. The girl kicked it into gear.
“Rule number one,” she called over her shoulder. “No talking to the driver.”
Thomas nodded, though she couldn’t see him. They rode in silence through the tree-lined streets of Chapel Hill, past old houses and newer developments, until they reached Pinehurst. She stopped in front of his house—a large, pristine home with a manicured lawn.
“Thanks,” Thomas said, climbing off. “I’m—”
“Don’t care,” she interrupted, pulling her helmet back on. “Just look both ways next time.”
“Wait—what’s your name?”
But she was already revving the engine, speeding away in a blur of yellow and black.
Thomas stood there, watching her disappear around the corner. A voice called from the driveway.
“Her name’s Murder Hornet.”
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are products of the author’s imagination.
Photo by Tatiana Tochilova on Unsplash