Laney by Joann I. Martin Sowles

as an “oldie” or a remake.

    “Yeah, from the early ‘90s,” he trailed off, his voice quiet now, like he wished he hadn’t said anything, or like he’d just remembered something about it.

    “You seem to know a few things about the ‘80s and ‘90s. You into pop culture?” He laughed out loud—just one sharp “Ha.” It startled me. It was beautiful, lyrical, and frightening all at once.

    Then Kiera fell down the steep steps of the club. She slid on her knees down three or four steps to the bottom and was hurt. Dropping Oliver’s hand, I rushed down the last few steps and crouched beside her.

    “Ow,” she said in pain, wincing as Carter helped her up.

    “There’s nothing to see here, people,” Zoey announced, as others stared at our little group while walking past us on the sidewalk or up into the club. “Move it along, people. Just keep moving.” She gestured with both hands for the looky-loos to keep going.

    Kiera was favoring a knee. We moved out of the way of the entrance, Carter propped her up against a large cement planter near the street, and we crowded around her. “I just fell down. I’m okay.” She was trying to play it off like it was no big deal.

    “No, you’re not,” Carter argued. He was trying to get her to sit down so he could look at her knee.

    “I’m fine!” she snapped, obviously embarrassed. Her face was bright red.

    “I think she got dizzy again. She said it happened a couple times tonight,” Carter said.

    “Kiera, honey, you’re bleeding,” Zoey said, rushing forward. She crouched in front of Kiera to examine her knee and her dress fanned out around her. Kiera’s jeans were ripped at the knee and blood had started to soak into the fabric. I took a couple steps back to make room and bumped into Oliver. He was standing behind me, transfixed on the scene. I glanced at his face and something didn’t seem right. It took me a moment and then I realized that the green in his eyes was gone. I gasped. He blinked a couple of times and focused on me; now the green was back. Maybe I’d just imagined it. Maybe my strawberry daiquiri hadn’t been a virgin, after all.

    “There’s nothing we can do for her here. Let’s get her home,” Carter said, taking charge. “Oliver, any chance you drove?” he asked.

    Oliver shook his head.

    “Piggyback her,” I said. They all shot me a “what the hell?” look. Idiots. “Give her a piggyback ride,” I said again, slower this time. They seemed to get it.

    Kiera had trouble hopping up onto Carter’s back. It seemed like such a simple thing, but she was favoring one knee and trying to use only the other one to hop onto his back. It was actually quite comical to watch and I had to stifle a giggle. Oliver gave me a crooked smile and a raised eyebrow. Then he easily lifted Kiera onto Carter’s back.

    The night air was cool as we walked home. There was a slight breeze and it felt good; it had been hot for so long and the bar had been somewhat stifling. It actually felt like fall was finally coming.

    Oliver and I walked silently beside each other, just behind the other three, as they laughed and joked about Kiera’s fall. She did seem to be quite clumsy, now that I thought about it, at least when Carter was around. Oliver was distant and way too quiet. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders were hunched a little, and he seemed focused on kicking little rocks and oak balls out of his path. I thought about sharing my oak ball thoughts, but then figured it might not be so wise—some thoughts are best kept to yourself.

    Not knowing what to say, I started focusing on my flip-flops. Flip, flop, flip, flop—huh, they really do make that sound—flip, flop, flip, flop . No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make them “flip, flip” or “flop, flop.” I was lost in my flipping and flopping when I heard Carter curse quietly. I looked up, assuming Kiera was getting heavy on his back, when I saw Ashton and