The Takedown

THE SHOVE from behind jostled me forward, and I almost spilled my coffee on the person ahead of me. “Hey,” I shouted, shaking coffee off my hand and counting.

Five.

Ahead of me, the boy who’d been forcing his way through the crowded sidewalk spun around. “Sorry,” he said, grinning. Then he winked and nodded.

Three.

Let me tell you, that boy was cute. Cute enough to take a risk for.

One.

This was it.

I spun around, coffee extended—and my timing was perfect. A heavy body slammed into me. Coffee splattered everywhere. I flailed out and grabbed the man who had hit me as I fell to the ground, making sure to drag him with me.

“Ow!” I wailed, trying to sound hurt. Trying not to laugh once I confirmed I’d tackled a security guard.

“Sorry, Miss,” the guard said, and he scrambled to stand. So I shifted positions, jammed my leg between his, and rolled, tripping him again.

A concerned crowd gathered in a circle around the guard and me as I moaned and forced tears from my eyes. They blocked his way and asked if I was all right.

“N-no,” I stammered. “I think something’s broken.”

But trust me—I couldn’t have felt better. And beneath my tears and theatrics, I was smiling.

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