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Like that first day when they tried every stop, she’s gone.
August finds her six cars up, and they weave their way to the back and try again.
“This is annoying,” Jane says when she reappears behind August like an exasperated Bloody Mary.
“We have to keep trying,” August tells her. “It’s—”
Before August can finish her sentence, Jane brushes past her and jumps off the platform—aiming straight for the third rail.
“Jane, don’t—!”
She lands firmly on her feet, both sneakers planted on the third rail, and she grins. No shock. Not a single singed hair. August gapes.
“I knew it!” Jane crows. “I’m part of the electricity! It can’t hurt me!”
“You—” The train’s brakes disengage, and August has to hold her breath and jump, throwing herself hard in the opposite direction of Jane. She lands in the packed dirt to the side of the tracks, ripping one knee of her jeans, and rolls to look at Jane’s smug expression. “You could have died!”
“I’m pretty confident I can’t,” Jane says, like it’s nothing. “At least, not that way.” She paces down the rail, one foot in front of the other, headed toward the fork in the tracks. “Come on! Next train’s coming soon!”
“Un-fucking-believable,” August mumbles, but she dusts herself off and follows.
When they reach the relative safety of the tunnel toward City Hall, the light from the station starts to shrink, and they’re lit only by blue and yellow lights lining the tunnel. It’s strange to walk alongside Jane without stopping, but when Jane shouts happily into the echoing dark, it’s infectious. She starts to run, and August runs after her, hair flying and the hard floor of the tracks under her shoes. It feels like she could run forever if it’s with Jane.
But Jane’s footsteps stutter abruptly to a halt.
“Oh,” she says.
August turns back to her, out of breath. “What?”
“I can’t—I don’t think I can go any farther. It’s—it feels weird. Wrong.” She touches a hand to the center of her chest, like she’s having existential heartburn. “Oh, yikes. Yeah, this is it. This is as far as I can go.”
She sits on the third rail.
“Still cool though, right?”
August nods. “Yeah, and, this is only, like, a taste. An appetizer. An amuse-bouche of freedom. We’re gonna get you the real deal.”
“I know. I believe you,” Jane says, looking at August like she means it.
August sinks down across from her, sitting gingerly on a track. She’s read that the other two rails are very lightly electrified, only enough to carry signals, so she figures she’s okay. “We can sit here for a while, if you want.”
“Yeah,” Jane says, pulling her knees up. She stretches her arms out like she’s trying to touch as much open air as she can, even in the stuffy confines of the tunnel. “Yeah, this is nice.”
“I have—” August feels around the bottom of her bag. “Um, one orange, if you want to split it.”
“Oh, yeah, please.”
August tosses it over, and she catches it smoothly.
More and more lately, August has stopped studying Jane. She’s stopped looking for clues in every expression or offhand comment, and it feels good to just see her. To listen to the sound of her low voice talking about nothing, to watch her fingers effortlessly work the orange rind, to soak in her company. August feels like one of the little packets of cream she always dumps into Jane’s coffee, steeping in sugar and warmth.
Jane piles bits of orange peel on her knee and splits the segments into halves. When August reaches out to take one, her fingertips brush the back of Jane’s hand, and she yelps and jumps backward from a short, sharp shock.
“Whoa,” Jane says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” August says, shaking out her hand. “You’re, like, conductive.”
Jane holds her fingers up in front of her face, going slightly cross-eyed to examine them. “Cool.” She glances up to see August watching her. “What?”
