I dig my nails into my palms, praying I won’t have to break up a fight.

Daniel wads up a piece of paper and chucks it at the other boy. “I keep telling people because none of you can pronounce it. And not all Italians are in the mob, Carlos.”

The paper hits Carlos, and he falls back in his chair like he’s wounded. They’re just joking around. Instantly, I relax.

Kumiko yawns. “Tony Soprano isn’t a real person. He’s from a TV show, genius.”

Carlos turns around in his chair and glares at her. “I’m not the one failing government after only a week of school.”

“It was one quiz,” she snaps.

Time to change the subject. “So do you know a lot about cars, Daniel?”

He laughs, along with some of the other kids.

“Everyone in the Downs knows about cars,” Carlos says.

“Except you.” Daniel smirks at Carlos, who responds by throwing a fake jab.

He grins. “But I know how to box.”

The cute girl with the book takes a break from staring at Daniel and moves two seats closer to me. She has long brown hair that’s so dark it almost looks black and thick lashes fluttering against her light brown skin.

She gestures at my textbook. “It’s easier to remember the parts if you know how they work. There’s a cool app that lets you take the engine apart and put it back together again. Want me to find it for you?”

I key the passcode into my cell phone and hand it to her. “Thanks…?”

“Sofia.” She scrolls through the list of apps. “Got it.” She turns in her chair so I can see the screen, too. Raised pink-and-white slash marks—scars from some kind of cuts—cover the left side of the beautiful thirteen-year-old’s face, as if she survived an animal attack.

I try not to stare.

“Car accident,” Sofia says, as if she’s used to explaining.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

She shrugs. “No big deal. It could’ve been worse.”

I point at the diagram, ashamed of myself for staring at this brave girl’s scars. “So tell me how it works.”

“The rectangular thing in the middle is called the block.…”

Thirty minutes later, I can identify the block, pistons, camshaft, and flywheel, thanks to Sofia.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go over the pistons, piston rings, connecting rods and bearings,” she says proudly.

It’s like listening to someone speaking a foreign language. “Thanks. I need the help, and you’re a great teacher.”

“My brother taught me. He knows everything about cars, and he’s really patient.”

Daniel leans over his desk and checks out my book again. “Are you gonna start racing now, Frankie?”

“I’m not exactly Danica Patrick. I just want to pass Shop.” I laugh, hoping to impress them by mentioning the female NASCAR driver. I’m not about to tell them that I read about her in a fashion magazine.

The other kids smirk and trade glances. I’m definitely missing something.

“He’s talking about street racing,” Sofia whispers, filling in the blanks.

Ugh … how did I miss that? I’ve heard about the illegal street races in the Downs, but I’ve never given them much thought. Nobody I know has ever been to one. My friends from the Heights avoid the Downs like it’s a nuclear waste site. “Is that a big thing around here?”

Sofia leans toward me, and her dark waves fall over one shoulder, covering her scars. “For lots of people, it’s the only thing.”

* * *

By seven o’clock, Sofia is the only kid left in the room.

“My brother should be here any minute. He comes straight from work.” She watches the door. “I’m not allowed to walk home alone. He’s super strict.”

“I don’t mind waiting. Does he keep an eye on you after you leave the rec center?”

She shoves her books inside her backpack. “And the rest of the time. My mom died of cancer when I was nine, and my dad’s not around…” She pauses. “Much.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sofia smiles, and it lights up her whole face. “At least I have my brother.”

Someone knocks on the window, and the door opens.

Marco Leone walks in and my heart slams against my chest.

What’s he doing here?

“Hey, Sopaipilla, how was school?” His gentle tone sounds unrecognizable—it’s not the one that belonged to the fierce fighter in the quad or the cocky guy in the school office. He lifts Sofia’s backpack off her shoulder.

“It was good,” she says. “And this afternoon, I taught Frankie about engine blocks.”

The side of his mouth tips up. “Who’s Frankie? A boy at school?”

I bite my lip, and my throat turns to sandpaper.

Sofia laughs and wheels her brother around. “No, silly.”

Our eyes meet, and his go wide. It’s the third time I’ve seen Marco up close—at least when I wasn’t terrified—and he gets better-looking every time.

I give him a tiny wave. “Hi.”

Sofia seems to sense the awkwardness between us. “Do you know each other?” She frowns and puts a hand on her hip. “Marco, you didn’t…”

“No, it’s nothing like that.” He rubs his hands over his face.

My cheeks heat up when I realize she thinks we hooked up … or something.

Sofia turns to me. “But you guys do know each other, right?”

“No,” I say at the same time Marco says, “Yes.”

I shrug. “Sort of.”

“Are you positive you didn’t mess around with her?” Sofia whispers to her brother a little too loudly.

Now my cheeks are on fire.

Marco flashes me a dangerous smile. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember.”

CHAPTER 8

HIGHWAY RUNNERS

When I get home, there’s a note from Dad and a pizza box on the kitchen counter. He’s investigating a “big case” with his partner, Tyson. He’s really sorry.

Whatever.

I have no idea what makes a case big or small, unless it’s related to the value of the stolen car. What I do know is that the investigation requires him to work lots of nights, a fact that makes me so happy I almost feel guilty.