“Hey, Dad.” I tried to inject some lightness and failed miserably. “So, funny story. My car has decided it no longer wants to be a car.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it won’t start. At all. It’s just... dead. Like, completely dead. I’m sitting in the library parking lot.”
There was rustling on the other end, probably him sitting up in bed. “Okay, does it make any sound when you turn the key?”
“Nothing. Complete silence. It’s giving me the cold shoulder.”
“Could be the battery. Or the starter.” A pause. “Where are you exactly?”
“Campus library. The one by the south parking structure.”
“All right, here’s what we’re going to do.” He shifted into Dad mode, that calm, authoritative tone that always made me feel like everything would somehow be okay. “Get a ride home tonight. I’ll call the tow company first thing tomorrow, have them pick it up, and take it to Manny’s shop. He’ll figure out what’s wrong. You have someone who can come get you?”
I glanced around the empty parking lot at the dark windows of the library. It was after midnight on a Tuesday. Everyone I knew was either asleep, or across the country, or...
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’ll figure it out.”
“You sure? I can try to call…”
“Dad, I’m twenty years old. I can manage getting a ride home.” The words came out sharp, my exhaustion bleeding through as irritation. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”
“I know, sweetheart.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry we’re not there.”
“I’m fine. Really. Go back to sleep.”
“Text me when you get home, and I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I ended the call and sat there, phone clutched in my hand, staring at the dark screen. My eyelids weighed ten pounds each. My whole body ached with the need to sleep somewhere, even this parking lot was starting to look appealing.
Okay. Think. Who could I call?
Syn had always been my go-to, but now she was gone, and so was everyone else. The only person I had left was… Owen.
My thumb was already moving, opening the Find My iPhone app.
Owen’s little dot blinked on the map, right where I knew it would be, the ice rink, down the road. Since we decided to take a break from each other, I skated early in the morning, and he apparently skated late in the evening.
I groaned, letting my head fall forward until my forehead pressed against the steering wheel.
It had been a week since I walked out of his apartment with my dignity in pieces. I avoided him at the rink, took alternate routes across campus, pretended he didn’t exist.
He told me he wanted distance.
And now I had to text him and ask for help.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a full minute before I finally typed:
Harlow: Hey. Are you still at the rink?
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
Owen: Yeah. Everything ok?
Harlow: My car won’t start. I’m stuck in the library parking lot.
