We examine the damage right as the driver exits his vehicle.
"I swear I wasn't texting." The driver is young, younger than the adult departing the passenger side. "I have my permit, and I was getting practice with my brother but I knew I wasn't ready for the freeway."
"Hey, Cooper, it's okay. It's a minor accident," the older guy reassures. "This is my younger brother, Cooper. He's sixteen and has his permit. I'm Dylan."
Amelia has stars in her eyes as she gawks at Dylan. He's tall—taller than me, and I'm 6'2. My leg muscles expand on instinct so I can reach his level. Or to feel superior with the height advantage.
"I'm so sorry," Cooper apologizes for the millionth time. This kid is already driving me crazy. Can't we exchange info already and get back to our lives?
"It doesn't look too bad," Amelia murmurs.
"Yeah," Dylan agrees. "I'm sure the dents can be popped out. All it needs is a good buff and paint job."
"No, she'll need a replacement," I confirm. "See how deep this dent is? It hit the framing."
"Please don't call the police," Cooper pleads.
Amelia and Dylan chuckle like they are best buds and I'm the one who wrecked her car.
"No one is calling the police." Amelia's tone is borderline flirting. "But we will need to exchange numbers. And I'll need your insurance information."
"Here." Dylan practically shoves his little brother aside into oncoming traffic. "Take my number. I'm sure I can pay for any repairs out of pocket, Ms…"
"Call me Amelia."
"I will, without a doubt, call you, Amelia."
It's comical as I watch Dylan put the moves on my stepsister. She doesn't seem like the type to fall for that—
"Give me your phone, I'll put in my information." Her voice is breathy, like Dylan is her first bump of oxygen after she was suffocating from being in the car with me.
Wow, okay I didn't expect that from her. I thought she wasn't even over her ex yet. Now she's taking dude's numbers off the side of a freeway?
"Thisisanexcellentmeet cute," she says now that we are back in her car.
I've regressed back into the quiet, moody stepbrother she's familiar with. The rare moment of honesty prior to the fender bender is extinguished, and I sulk in the front seat.
Dylan gets in the driver's seat, and she allows him to pull out first before starting her car.
Except it doesn't start.
She puts her foot on the brake and presses the start button, yet nothing inside her engine turns over.
"Are you serious?" Amelia shakes the steering wheel as if that will help.
"Might be your catalytic converter."
"This isn't a Cadillac, it's a Honda."
A boisterous laugh comes out of my mouth due to her innocent indignation that I can’t help but find adorable.
"If it's not starting now, it won't. The rear end collision might have jerked around your transmission, too. You'll need a tow."
"Are you serious?" she shouts again.
"Please stop yelling in my ear."
"I can't afford car repairs right now. Not on a minimum-wage salary."
