I start to type it in, then I put my phone down, uneasiness curling in my gut. “What if it’s wrong?”
John’s only response is a shrug, which would usually make me want to throttle him but which right now I feel is probably a fair response. If it’s wrong, it’s wrong. And it’s not like I can think of any other words to try.
I bite my lip and nod. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
S, C, A, R, F.
I hold my breath, click enter—
I let out a squeal of excitement and dance around a bit in my car seat. John’s eyebrows lift, but not in a mean way. He actually looks kind of amused.
Beaming, I show him my phone screen. “It’s right!” I do another little jig in my seat. “Three hundred and three days!”
“Nice,” he says.
I let out a loud sigh of relief and slump back in my seat, grinning contentedly. “Man, that was so close.”
“Mm.”
Normally, a nonresponse like that would make me want to smack him, but right now I just beam at him appreciatively. “Thanks for your help,” I say. “I don’t know why I couldn’t get that.”
“No worries,” he says. “I had trouble with it too. There’s Liam,” he adds, as bright lights flash in the rearview mirror. A truck is approaching, flashing its four-ways as it turns onto the gravel strip behind us. John opens his car door, but my brain is still stuck on what he said.
I had trouble with it too.
“You... do Wordle?” I say.
John glances back as he gets out of the car, flashing me a smile that appears on his face out of nowhere, like a splintery burst of lightning.
“Yeah,” he says. “All the time.”
6
John does Wordle.
Johndoes Wordle.
John doesWordle.
Nope. No matter how many ways I think it, it still sounds strange. I can’t reconcile this new information with reality.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t think John is smart, it’s just... well, look at him! He and Liam have been staring at Liam’s tow truck with their arms crossed for, like, ten minutes now, talking about its towing capacity like it’s the most interesting topic in the entire world. John actually kneels down on the ground to inspect—I don’t know, that metal thing that connects the truck bit to the towing bit—and stands up again with his hands dirty and an impressed look on his face. You’re telling me that same man goes home and curls up with a cup of tea to do his daily Wordle?
No. I just can’t believe it.
I hover awkwardly to one side as the two of them load my car onto Liam’s truck, then John says, “Thanks, man” to Liam and heads back toward his own car. I start to follow him, but he frowns at me like I’m being odd and says, “Liam will take you.”
Then he gets in his own car and drives away without another word.
Seriously, you’re telling methatguy does Wordle?
I walk back to Liam’s truck, acutely uncomfortable, but it turnsout he’s actually a really nice guy. Unlike John, Liam’s capable of talking about more than cars, and he tells me about his wife and kids as we drive. He drops me off at my house and says he’ll take my car to the shop. I thank him profusely, but he waves me off.
“Don’t worry about it. I love an excuse to drive this thing.”
I glance dubiously at the truck, a thousand tons of ugly, rattly, metal, but Liam really sounds like he means it. No wonder he and John get along.
I thank him again and head inside, fighting a yawn. I don’t have the energy to do anything but change into sweats and crawl into bed. I stare up at the ceiling with a faint buzzing in my head, like the ringing you get in your ears after you’ve been to a loud concert. It’s been a very long, very weird day. My date was disappointing, my car is broken and will cost god knows how much to fix, and I scraped through my three hundred and third Wordle day by the skin of my teeth. Really, nothing has improved from this morning. If anything, things are even worse.
