by Peter Rock
Kayla switched off the light, and followed Chris outside, across the yard and under the cedar tree, onto the gravel road. The moon was full, their pale shadows sliding along beside them as they walked.
“Maybe I didn’t understand it right,” Kayla said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Chris said. “It’s over.”
“It’s not over,” Kayla said. “No matter what, that’s not true. Where we are now is slower, but still different, after everything that’s happened. No one else is like we are.”
They walked in silence, the ground turning from gravel to blacktop beneath their feet. Without speaking, they set down their boards and pushed off, sliding through the darkness. Chris followed Kayla, then Kayla followed Chris; their eight wheels echoed hollowly in the night air as they swept past dark houses, under the black shadows of trees.
