heezing from the
effort。 Sucking down three joints a day will do that to you。
Out of breath and sweating； he climbed back on the bike at the hill？s summit and drifted down；
letting gravity do the work。 He looked down and poked at his forearm to see if the pink skin
turned white when he touched it。 It was something Blair used to do to him when they went to the
beach together。 After declaring him burned； she？d gently slather him with her fancy sunscreen。 He
pushed at his forearm again。 Definitely a little cooked。
That？s what you get for skipping the Coppertone！
Then he looked up and realized he was speeding straight for the road？s shoulder。 He pulled on
the handlebars； swerving across the road； but he was going so fast that he wiped out。 Hard。
There was a polite round of applause； like at a golf match。 Nate looked up； realizing he was
splayed out in the dirt parking lot in front the Oyster Shack； a gray clapboard seafood joint about
halfway between Coach？s house and his family？s hundred…year…old estate near Georgica Pond in
East Hampton。 A group of high…school…age kids was sitting at a picnic table； strewn with sweating
beer bottles and baskets of fried food； and they were all staring at him。
？Shit；？ Nate muttered。 Tiny pebbles were embedded in the palms of his hands； and he？d torn the
faded lime…green Stussy shirt he？d been working in all day。 He brushed the dirt from his hands and
looked down at his cutoff khakis？no damage there。
Leave it to Nate Archibald to look even better covered with sweat； blood； and grime。
He crouched to examine the bike？s front wheel。 It was bent。
？Tough break。？
Nate looked up。 The voice belonged to a