It’s quiet again, and I find myself wanting her to tell me everything on her mind. I remember growing up and lying on the grass as she talked. It made me feel important because I was special enough to be told her deepest thoughts.
I want to be special again.
“You never answered my question,” I say.
“Sure, I did.”
“No, you deflected instead of answering me.”
She clears her throat. “Since when are you a detective?”
I narrow my eyes, stealing a glance at her. “You’re deflecting again.”
She makes a sound crossed between a huff and a sigh, like she’s trying to decide if she’s frustrated or not. “You’re going to think it’s silly.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t laugh,” she says.
“I promise.”
She brings her legs up, sitting cross-legged in the seat as she clears her throat. “I was thinking about how much it would hurt if a bird flew into my arm.”
Here I was expecting something elaborate, and the whole time she’s been imagining a scene out of a horror film.
I burst out laughing. “What?”
“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” she says, scolding me, but she’s laughing too.
I tilt my head to the side. “Okay, but did you hear yourself? And”—I jerk her closer—“get your arm inside the car before you find out.”
“The odds of it actually happening are probably like zeropoint zero, zero, zero, one percent.” She tugs away from me, challenging me with her eyes as she sticks her arm back outside.
“And you really want to take that risk?”
She smirks, a coy little smile I’ve missed. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
“Well, don’t come crying to me when you end up being the zero point zero, zero, one percent.”
“You forgot a zero,” she says.
“Oh, hush.”
“I thought you wanted me to talk.” She raises an eyebrow in a playful way. “Already sick of me?”
“No, I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Having a bird fly into my arm wasn’t even on your mind until I brought it up.”
“True. But there are plenty of other ways you could get hurt with your arm hanging out there. What if a rock gets kicked up from a car in front of us or what if you get a sunburn?”
She gasps. “Oh, no. Not a sunburn.”
I bite my lip, refusing to look in her direction because I know her mocking expression would melt me. It would remind me of who we were. “It’s a real possibility, you know.”
“My skin doesn’t burn, it tans.”
“Since when? Last I checked, the closest you get to a tan is your freckles merging together.”
