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So kiss him! Katy screamed at me.
She decided they’re just going to be friends, Didi reminded her, and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
Yeah, like, five seconds ago. It’s not a binding treaty. She can un-decide it. Kiss this cute boy who obviously wants to kiss you!
I looked out at the highway, at the cars rushing past, while just for a moment, I got to stand still. I pulled out my phone to check our ETA. There was a tiny bit of red coming up on the map, but we would still make it in time. But even so, I could practically hear a ticking clock, one that was starting to get louder. Last night, in Jesse, it had felt like we were the only two people on the planet—and like nothing needed to be rushed, like time was stretching out endlessly before us. But now, it felt like it was counting down, sand through the hourglass disappearing until soon there would be nothing left.
“Hey.” I turned and saw Russell walking toward me. His sunglasses were on, but even without being able to see his eyes, I could tell that something was bothering him.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
“Kind of? I’m not sure. It’s… a thing. I’ll tell you on the road.” Russell headed for the driver’s side.
“I can take a turn driving.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I can’t let you do this the whole time. We should share it, right?” A second later, I suddenly worried that, given the way Wylie had talked about the Bronco, this might not be allowed. “Unless your dad doesn’t want me to—that’s fine too.”
“No, it’s not that,” he said, taking the keys out of his pocket. “I was just trying to be gallant.”
“It was very gallant,” I assured him. “In a, um, friendly way.” Russell handed me the keys, I fished my sunglasses out of my bag, got into the driver’s seat—and then we had to figure out how to move the bench seat up so that I could actually reach the pedals. Russell wasn’t that much taller than me, but I was realizing that he liked to sit farther back from the wheel than I did.
“Nice,” he said nodding at me, and it took me a moment to realize that he was talking about my scratched aviators.
“Thanks,” I said, giving him a smile before starting the car. “Whoa.” I had an old Prius and my dad had an electric car, so it felt like it had been a while since I’d driven a car like this—the steering wheel seemed to be shaking from the vibrations of the engine.
“I know,” Russell said. “You get used to it, I promise.”
I backed up carefully, then pulled out of the parking lot, Russell giving me directions to get back on the freeway. The steering wheel was wider than I was used to, and thinner, but I liked it—it made me feel like I was driving a truck.
And despite the growling engine, it was a pretty easy car to handle, which I was glad about. I could feel myself relaxing back against the seats, not gripping the steering wheel quite so hard. After five minutes in which I drove in silence so I could concentrate, very aware of don’t crash the rock star’s car, I felt like I had a handle on things. “Should we listen to music?”
“Sure—want me to play something of yours?”
“You be the DJ. Clearly, I need to increase my musical theater knowledge.”
“How about we trade off? I’ll DJ for a while and then when I start driving again, you can do it?”
I nodded, and gave him a quick smile before switching to the middle lane so I could speed up a bit. “Sounds good.” I nodded down at his phone. “Hit me with your best shot.”
But ten minutes later, there still had been no music. “Sorry,” Russell said, sounding flustered. “I’ve almost narrowed it down.”
“Anything is fine,” I assured him, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face. He’d spent the last few minutes hunched over his phone, scrolling through it furiously and muttering to himself.
“No, it’s not. Darcy.”
“Russell?”
“This is one of the finest American art forms, and it is one that you have shockingly little knowledge of.”
“I wouldn’t say shocking—”
“So I need to make sure I’m playing the right songs, or I might miss my window to make you fall in love.” I looked over at him, and he blinked for just a moment before adding quickly, “With musical theater. If I play you the wrong songs, you might think you don’t like it, and you’ll continue to only know the three musicals that you do.”
“And god knows, we can’t have that.”
“We really can’t. Okay,” he said, holding up his phone. “I think I’ve got it.”
