“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Vee’s voice is shrill.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t—” I just look at Anders and shake my head.
She pushes herself onto her knees. “Steve, get your stuff. I’m taking you home.”
“No way are you driving my car again.” Steve shakes his head maniacally, his eyes half closed.Also drunk.“My transmission can’t handle it, Vee.”
“Should have thought of that before you got trashed here…again,” Vee says.
“I’ll drive it.” I basically just assaulted a girl I barely know, with my elbow. A girl I’ve sort-of, kind-of, but-not-really, been stalking. I have to do something to redeem myself. “I can drive a stick. Vee can follow me and bring me back to get my car?” I look to her for confirmation.
“Or I can just drive your car, andyoucan pick me up for school in the morning?” She’s asking me, but she’s glaring at Logan.I don’t mind the sound of that.
“No way are you driving his car,” Logan says.
Vee is on her feet, one arm still wrapped around her ribs. “Why the hell not?”
I agree. Who made Logan in charge of anything? This idea is brilliant.
“I don’t let you drivemycar, and it’s a total piece of junk compared to his.”
“It’s cool, she can drive. I’ll drop off Steve, then I’ll drop her off at home.” I turn to Vee. “You good with that?”
She nods and without a word she’s headed toward the steps.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Logan is next to me. “Seriously, your car’s sweet. You’ll have to letmetake it out sometime.” Logan smacks my back, like we’re friends.Maybe we are.“Parents?”
I freeze, glancing to where Vee just escaped. “Drug money.”Another nervous answer.I’m Cam, a Cheesehead drug dealer. Nice to meet you.
“Ha. Nice, man.” Does he know I’m joking?I’m joking, Logan.“Glad you’re here.”
When I get outside, Vee is standing next to my car. Both of them are almost invisible in the unlit darkness of the driveway. Steve gets into the passenger side of his car.
I cross the driveway and hold the keys out in front of Vee. “Here.”
“I can’t drive this.”
I shake the keys at her again. “You’ll be fine, it’s an automatic.”
Vee still looks skeptical, her eyes glancing down toward the gleaming chrome of the handle.
“It’s just a car.” It’s actually a BMW 4 Series Coupe with leather racing interior, custom rims, Italian tires, and a bunch of touch-screen controls I still haven’t learned how to use in the last two months. I could have bought a small house in Riverton for what it cost, but I didn’t care about that. I got it, because I could.And it didn’t cross my mind that it would stand out like a sore thumb in this town.I want to tell her not to stress—that most of the time I fucking loathe the thing.Thisis what having dead parents looks like: a fancy car, a poorly decorated apartment, and an autographed guitar that I’m too guilty to play. And of course, the stupid surfboard. Grand total: $74,752.
I’ve barely made a dent in the blood money. My dad was an engineer for an alternative energy startup, and my mom was VP of a telecom. We didn’t live what I would have considered flashy lives, because my parents didn’t grow up like that. But we could have. And I could have moved to somewhere tropical off my portion of their insurance and stock portfolio. Instead, I’m standing in the middle of Cornfield, USA, arguing about letting a cute girl drive my stupid car.Is this all to get out of riding toschool with me in the morning?I push the keys into her palm, and walk back to Steve’s boxy red Buick.
“I won’t even tell if you bump it over the speed limit once or twice.” I wink at her and duck into the driver’s side of Steve’s car before she has a chance to argue.
In the rearview mirror, I watch as she hesitantly gets into my car, carefully adjusting all three mirrors. Steve is slumped against the window and I’m reaching over to pull the seat belt across him when a tap against the glass echoes through the silent car. Vee’s face is just an inch away and I roll it down, ready for the fight over my car to continue. “What’s wrong?”
She holds out her phone. “In case we get separated. I don’t want you driving aimlessly through the country with Drunkie McDrunkerson over there.” She nods toward Steve, who is motionless against the window, his breath creating moist circles on the glass.
I type in my number, press send, and a second later my own phone is vibrating in my hand. “Cam’s Taxi Service. Providing rides to underage drinkers and middle-aged alcoholics since 2016.”
***
By the time I dump Steve at his front door, Vee has moved to the passenger seat of my car. I make my way around to the driver’s side, sliding behind the wheel.
She fidgets in her seat when I sit down, like she’s trying to put space between us. Her voice is quiet. “My house is in town, by the school.” She tips her head back and closes her eyes. All I can hear is her breathing and mine. It reminds me of the nursing home, and listening to her through the curtain, sure she’d find me eavesdropping.
