Shifting by Bethany Wiggins

and freshmen girls started jabbering and pressing their noses against the windows facing the school.
    The words “totally hot,” “prom,” and “staring right at this bus” carried over the low rumble of the engine.
    I stayed in my seat as the freshmen and sophomores filed out. When the bus was empty, I stood and choked my way through the fog of diesel exhaust that had filled the bus. As I stepped into the cold morning air, I knew what had gotten the girls so excited. Bridger O’Connell stood leaning against the school, staring at the bus. He looked picture-perfect wearing expensive jeans and a tan leather jacket, with the wind tousling his black hair. But there was something more about him. He seemed different than other guys—always still, always aware of everything around him.
    He waved. I looked over my shoulder to see who he was waving at, but the only thing behind me was the bus.
    â€œI’m waving at you, Maggie,” he called, striding toward me. Though it was nearing the end of April, the morning still held a hint of winter. Then Bridger smiled and the air seemed to warm ten degrees. He fell into step beside me.
    â€œHow do you know Ollie?” I asked as we walked.
    â€œOllie Williams? He’s Mike and Danni Williams’s uncle. You know—Danni who runs hurdles, with legs like a moose. Ollie comes to our track meets every now and then,” he explained.
    A wave of panic made it hard to breathe. What if Ollie mentioned my past to Danni, his niece? Danni, who already hated me without knowing my past? Or her brother, Mike?
    A hand clasped mine and pulled me to a gentle stop. Panic was replaced with warmth.
    â€œMaggie? Are you okay?” Bridger asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” I said, my voice disbelieving. I looked at our clasped hands, marveling how something so simple could send a wave of warmth through my body. “So, why were you waiting for me?” I eased my hand from his.
    â€œYou think I was waiting for you?”
    I smiled. “Weren’t you? It was pretty obvious, Bridger.” He returned my smile and took my hand again, pulling me past the stairs leading to the front entrance to the school.
    â€œIt’s time to race,” he said.
    â€œRight now?” I looked down at his feet. He wore running shoes.
    â€œYeah. Prom’s in five days. I figure if you win, you’ll need time to shop for a dress.”
    Something clicked in my head. Five days … Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Saturday night. I thought of the moon, a waxing gibbous, and my heart started pounding. The full moon was five days away. My birthday was on the eve of the full moon.
    I stopped walking and yanked my hand from Bridger’s.
    â€œMaggie?”
    â€œWhat?” I snapped. Speechless, I stared at him. I couldn’t go to prom. It was absolutely, ridiculously impossible. Saturday night was a bad night for me. Really, really bad. I wiped my damp palms on my jeans and shook my head. “I can’t go to prom.”
    Bridger lifted an eyebrow and studied me. “You haven’t won yet.”
    We walked to the rear of the school in silence. The track was empty. Bridger and I took our backpacks off and set them on the bleachers and then moved to the fifty-yard dash start line.
    We lined up side by side, each of us in a pre-sprint lunge, and stared at each other. His face was so close I could see his pupil surrounded by the coal-dark iris.
    â€œYou ready?” he asked, studying my eyes just like I was studying his.
    I nodded and looked forward.
    â€œJust so you know, I’ve been practicing. On your mark, get set … go!” he yelled. I dug my toes into the track and felt my muscles respond. Wind rushed through my loose hair, my pulse sped up, and my feet hardly touched the ground. I knew he couldn’t beat me.
    Until I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye and almost tripped. Bridger