She felt as though she was spiraling to hell as she ran breathlessly down the hill. She was not a runner, she had not done this often, but there was a man chasing her and she had seen out of the corner of her eye, the danger he carried in his right hand, its barrel pointing to the ground.
Why hadn’t she listened to her mother? She should have been at home, her brother had been sick. But she loved the way the wind blew through her hair as she gripped his waist on the back of his motorcycle, and she resented the way her mother ordered her around.
Why should she? She knew these people well, came here all the time, they were cool people, they treated her like she belonged, always offered her a Guinness, always shared their weed. Tonight they wanted to make it official, make her one of them.