The Storm Runner (The Storm Runner 1)

“I know! Jazz said it’s part of the enchantment—the quality you hate most about yourself is hidden.” He beamed. “And you? Dude, who knew you were so guapo? I mean, it definitely comes from my side of the family, but still.”

With a deep breath, I walked toward him. His eyes bugged out. “Your limp…” he said quietly.

“Gone.”

But I knew that wouldn’t last forever. “We look like those dudes from Men in Black.”

Hondo went to the mirror and adjusted his tie. “Yeah, well, they kicked some serious alien butt!”

The door opened and Jazz came in smiling ear to ear. Brooks was right behind him.

Let me tell you, I’d seen movies, and I’d seen magazines. But never, and I mean never, had I seen someone who looked like her. And I didn’t care what Jazz said—it wasn’t the enchantment, or the fact that she wore her white one-shouldered dress like some kind of Roman goddess, or the way her long dark hair was swept off her face and tied back with two small braids. It was what shone through all that—the Brooks who had showed up outside Father Baumgarten’s office that day with the beat-up combat boots and million-watt smile. The girl who’d risk her own life to save yours.

I stopped breathing.

Hondo walked over to her. “You clean up good, Capitán.”

I thought Brooks’s face would get red or she’d look down shyly, but no, she owned it. She wore her beauty like she was… used to it. Her hawk eyes met mine and I was the one whose cheeks got hot. I was the one who had to look down, because, seriously, looking at her was like trying to gaze at the sun.

I was glad when Hondo spoke up. “Will there be any food at this fiesta?” he asked, patting his stomach. “Because I’m starving!”

“Plenty,” Jazz said, looking at his massive gold watch. “But Sleeping Beauty here put you guys seriously behind schedule. The doors close in, like, thirty minutes. And you’ll never make it in traffic.”

“Can we walk?” I asked, because with my new leg, I felt like I could run a marathon.

Jazz stroked his chin, thinking. “I’ve got a better idea. Come on. I’ll show you.”

A minute later we were back in his surf shop. He threaded between a row of bikes and went to a closet where he rolled out what looked like an electric scooter, except this one was built for someone Jazz’s size. I’m talking a massive platform and two wide wheels at the front.

“You want us to ride a scooter to the party?” Brooks asked.

Jazz sucked in a gulp of air like he was offended. “This is not a scooter!” He shook his head and added, “I call it the Super Turbo Jazz. This baby’s a high-powered, heavy-duty package. Equipped with disc brakes and shockers.”

Hondo was nodding and smiling while he traced his hands over the thing like it was some kind of magic. I could tell he couldn’t wait to get it on the road. “Dude, the tires are, like, built for off-roading. Check out the treads.”

“And I’ve messed with the GPS,” Jazz said proudly. “It practically drives itself. But whatever you do, don’t hit the Turbo button.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Last time I tried it, the thing burst into flames.” He rubbed his chin, thinking. “I’m pretty sure I’ve fixed the wiring, but I haven’t tested it yet.”

“Got it,” Brooks said. “No Turbo button. How long will it take to get there?”

Jazz tapped the control panel, then said, “It’s programmed all the way to Beverly Hills. Should take you five minutes, tops.”

Brooks blinked and her mouth fell open. “You think we can go fifteen miles in five minutes in… in this?”

“Like I said”—Jazz beamed—“it’s fast. You can weave right through traffic. Could even jump the curb. Just don’t kill any pedestrians—I don’t need any more tickets. Oh, and that reminds me—it’s sort of an illegal vehicle, so don’t let any cops see you.”

“Guess we’ll have to blaze,” Hondo said a little too excitedly.

A second later we

stood on the boardwalk with the Super Turbo Jazz. A silvery fog was rolling in. The pedestrian traffic was waning, vendors (if you could call them that) were packing up, music was fading. Even the sidewalk art seemed to be vanishing like the last traces of sun.

“So who’s going to take the wheel?” Jazz asked.

“That would be me,” Hondo said.