“I don’t have a license,” I say matter-of-factly, knowing people can have a wide range of reactions to this.
“But you’re eighteen, right? And there’s no other reason youcouldn’tget one?”
“Nah, I’ve just always had a ton of other ways to get around, so I never dedicated the time to it.”
“If you’re going to tease me about not participating in thevery importantstudent government electoral process,” she says with a smirk, calling back to what I said, “then I can definitely give you grief about not having a driver’s license yet.”
“Fair enough.” I don’t mind at all.
“It’s just—you seem so on top of things. Like the type of person who grows up and thinks filing their taxes or scheduling doctors’ appointments is fun. You know? Like you’d be extra eager to get that license so you can run all sorts of errands.”
“Let’s get one thing straight.” I pause for effect. “I’m perfectly happy to let my mom continue to make my dentist appointments forever,” I joke, if only slightly. Obviously, one day I’ll take care of it on my own, but that doesn’t have to be anytime soon.
“I got my license the second I could,” Ellie says. “Even if you don’t plan on driving yourself most of the time, don’t you want to have the option? To be able to get yourself wherever you need to go, not rely on anyone else?”
“When you put it that way. But cars do kind of suck.”
“True.” She tilts her head, considering this. “I’m ditching mine as soon as we get high-speed rail.”
My ride pulls up along the curb, and for a change, I wish the car had taken longer to arrive. “Well, this is me. I’ll see you soon,” I say, waving goodbye and getting in the sedan, but before the driver pulls away, I roll down my window. Despite all the hectic election preparations this week, there is something else I managed to arrange.
“I forgot to say that I found us a new lunch spot!” I shout as Ellie crosses the lot to her car. “I’ll take you there Monday.”
“What?” she calls back, hand cupped behind her hearing aid.
The driver does me a solid and slowly passes near her on our way out, so I repeat, “I got us a new lunch spot!”
Ellie smiles. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about that.”
Chapter Nine
Ellie
On Monday, Iwake up eager to go to Amber High. Something I never thought possible. The contrarian in me doesn’t want to admit it, even to myself. I don’t snooze my earthquake of an alarm clock five times this morning. Only twice.
But then I arrive at school and remember I have to slog through morning classes with Pamela. The initial catastrophe might have been her first-day jitters or something, because she’s beenfine enough, I guess, but the lingering distaste continues to be mutual. We’re professional but not friendly. I know I should be better about trying to hide my obvious preference for working with Kim, but I still can’t shake that disastrous first day. It wasn’t just my first impression of Pamela. It was also my classmates’ first impression ofme. A major setback at a new school.
During lunch, I’m not sure where to go, but I find Jackson waiting for me near the cafeteria entrance. He’s holding his lunch box athis side, scanning the hall as other seniors rush through the doorway while juniors exit.
“Hey,” I say, waving for his attention.
“All right!” Jackson gets right to business, motioning for me to walk alongside him. “Okay, it’s aninterestingnew lunch spot,” he says, swerving to dodge oncoming students. I hop at his heels to do the same. “Don’t judge it too harshly.”
He leads us to a narrow hallway between the school library and the teachers’ lounge, where there’s a small circular table with two chairs. I choose the spot facing the hallway, not realizing there’d be plenty of people in front of and behind me, with faculty and staff trafficking in and out of their break room leisurely. Several of them give us strange looks for being here, but no one questions it. At least, not that I can tell.
I notice the door to the lounge is ajar and whisper to Jackson, “Are they saying anything about us being here?”
He scrunches his lips to the side, listening intently, before texting a message out on his phone.
JACKSON:
Yep, but Ms. Lily’s in there, so she keeps being like, “It’s the best spot for our new disabled student and her friend. What? Am I supposed to stick two students alone in some classroom? You all know how that ends up going.”
“Right,” I sign, mouthing my words so he hopefully follows along. “It’s like, if two people are alone, then…” With my index fingers extended, I bring my hands together, motioning like a couple making out, all while emphasizing it with a kissy face. It’s super casual, the way I’d gossip with friends.
Yet Jackson’s face grows beet red. He’s flustered. I forget he’s probably not used to such visual descriptions. I drop my hands as another teacher passes by, eyeing us suspiciously.
Jackson’s looking off to the side—did he realize I was joking? Or is he still listening to whatever commentary is going on in the teachers’ lounge.
