“We’re roommates with Danica Patrick,” Kai deadpans.
“Gemma, where did you learn to drive like that? Is it the shoes? Are they made out of lead?”
I’m still holding onto the door as I turn my head to catch her response.
She gives a little shrug and fixes her hair in the rearview mirror. “They trained me to do my own stunt driving in that last movie I filmed.”
“Dude. I don’t want to have to follow you.”
“Yeah, you’re going to make us look bad.”
The guys say that, but they get out of the cruiser to trade seats.
I stare at Gemma. She’s still wearing her silly outfit, but she’s changed. While I’d thought this would be a humbling experience for her, it’s been empowering. And I can’t help but be impressed.
Her light eyes meet mine with a glimmer of good humor. “Did I scare you?”
“Yes.”
She lifts her chin. “Good.”
There’s an energy between us that I want to write off as endorphins.
I watched a dumb dating show once where a man went on two dates. One was all his choice. He got to pick the girl and their destination based on what he thought he wanted. Then the second date was determined by science. Experts showed him photographs of women, and they picked his date based on how his body physically responded. The scientists sent the couple bungee jumping to get their hearts pumping. This led to a chemical response that created attraction between the two.
In the end, the man chose the woman scientists picked for him over who he’d thought he wanted.
When Gemma asked me if she scared me, that’s really what I was talking about. In my head, Gemma’s not who I want, but here I am, wanting nothing else more.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GEMMA
I shouldn’t be the superhero’s girlfriend. I should be the superhero.
—KRISTENSTEWART
It’s common after a failure to feel as though every aspect of pursuing the goal has failed, but driving a cop car in citizen’s police academy reminded me that it’s more about the journey than the destination. If I hadn’t pursued screenplay writing, I never would have fallen into a few acting roles. And had I never acted, I wouldn’t have taken stunt-driving classes. Thus, I wouldn’t have gotten to see that look on Karson’s face when he said I scared him.
I scared a big, strong, grumpy cop. He fights bad guys as his day job, and he was scared of little ol’ me.
After that, I’m invincible. I don’t have to try to avoid Karson’s eye contact anymore. On the other hand, I don’t vie for his attention either. I simply don’t care. It’s the greatest feeling in the world.
I proved myself here, at least. I belong. Clown shoes or not.
“Can I get my shoes back?” Erin asks when it’s almost her turn to drive. “As much as I’d love to wear your beautiful sandals, I have flat soles and need good arch support.”
“Oh yeah.” I look down at my funky feet. Of all the reasons why Erin still wears these ancient trainers, I never guessed it was for the arch support. “These shoes are so comfortable, I forgot I was wearing them.”
“We didn’t,” Kai quips.
“You’re hysterical.” I laugh, not so much at my roommate’s sense of humor as at my appearance.
I’m not bothered by Kai’s joke, as he knew I wouldn’t be. I feel good from my victory on the racecourse, and when I feel good about myself, I don’t care as much about what others think. I wish I could bottle this feeling and drink it right before my next pitch to Zach Price. Or my next humiliating moment in front of Karson. Or my next dinner with Jewel.
If my sister saw me dressed like this, she’d definitely have something negative to say. The time she rigged homecoming court elections, my mom told me it was out of envy. I’d thought that was dumb. She was class president. She took AP classes and graduated from high school with her associate’s degree. I would have gladly traded her my tiara for such a head start on life. If anybody should have been envious, it should have been me.
As for today, Jewel has everything I’m working toward. Why does she still need to mock me? Perhaps for the same reason I feel as though I have to prove myself. Our whole life has been a competition.
