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“He really thinks you got in last night?”
“He’s not home yet, so I think I’m in the clear.”
“Yeah, I talked to my mom a little bit this morning—she’s not thrilled with me either. When you disappear after a music festival and don’t reach out for hours, it seems to make people upset. Who knew?” We approached a gatehouse, and Russell slowed the car. The woman inside nodded at him, and a second later, this gate rose up. “She says we’re going to have a discussion about it when I get home tonight,” he said with a wince.
We drove in silence for a little while. I unrolled my window and let the morning breeze lift my hair, then looked across the car at him—he was just an arm’s length away.
“What?” he asked, glancing over at me.
“Nothing. I just realized that this is the first time we’ve been in a car together. We did a helicopter before a car. We’re doing things all out of order.”
“We were on that bus, though. Does that count?”
“Maybe. It’s just funny that this is the first time I’m seeing you drive.”
“And? Verdict?”
I turned a little bit to face him more, drawing one leg up. These lap belts really did make it easier to move around.
That’s because they don’t work as well, Didi pointed out. You get that, right?
“Very safe.” He was driving carefully, if a bit slowly, his hands gripping the wheel at ten and two. “You’re a driving instructor’s dream.”
“Yeah,” Russell said with a short laugh. “I, um, was in a car accident right after I got my license. I was with the Bens, and Tall Ben was driving. This car ran the red, slammed into us—we spun around in the intersection, and hit another car.…”
“Oh my god. Was everyone okay?”
“Ben broke his collarbone when the airbag deployed. I got pretty scratched up. One cut was so deep they actually had to take a skin graft for it.”
“Really? I didn’t see anything.”
“It was actually from, uh, my butt.” I could see that Russell was blushing, his cheeks turning red.
“Right, then I guess I wouldn’t have…” I trailed off as I suddenly remembered just how much of Russell’s skin I had, in fact, seen, feeling like my face was probably matching his.
“So, ever since then, I drive pretty slowly. My friends always make fun of me. Actually Tall Ben calls me the Little Old Lady from Pasadena.”
“But—the whole point of that song is that she drives fast.” Every time summer rolled around, like clockwork, my dad went on a Beach Boys kick. “Summer in California music,” he’d call it, grooving in the kitchen as he made dinner to “Fun, Fun, Fun” or “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” or “God Only Knows.” Just like I’d absorbed all the Nighthawks songs as though through osmosis, it was the same with the Beach Boys. There wasn’t a moment I remembered learning them, but in my brain was every word on Pet Sounds, in there along with my ABCs. “She’s the terror of Colorado Boulevard. Remember?”
Russell shook his head. “Don’t tell my dad. He’ll never forgive me.”
“I mean—the Bens might have been calling you that for some other reason that had nothing to do with your driving.”
Russell laughed again. “I’m okay now, but it used to stress me out to drive on surface streets. Too many intersections, too much stopping and starting—too many red lights. But on the highway, it’s always just been easier. It’s why I normally drive out here.”
“You mean—to Vegas? From LA?”
Russell nodded. “It’s the perfect road trip, as far as I’m concerned. Four and a half hours, the scenery is beautiful—and just about the time you’re getting sick of driving, you’re home.”
“Don’t tell Jesse, Nevada.”
Russell laughed. “I won’t.”
“Well, I’ll try to appreciate it from the bus.”
“Speaking of buses—how do you think they’re doing?” Russell asked as he changed lanes.
“Who?”
