“What are you going to do if there’s a zombie apocalypse? Dance your way to safety?”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. That’s a pretty sweet image.
“What if there’s a big earthquake? A tsunami warning? A hurricane headed for San Francisco? Mandatory Godzilla or alien-attack-related evacuations?”
“I’ll callyouand ask you to send Richard to pick me up, because even if I could drive, I don’t have a car, and neither does Callie,” I tell him.
“I will buy you a car.”
“A fake car?”
“A Batmobile,” he says. “Or a Prius. Probably a Prius.”
“That’s ridiculous. You can’t buy me a car.”
“Obviously I can. I can buy you a car manufacturer. But I can’t buy you the ability to safely and legally drive. Have you evertrieddriving a car?”
This is the most annoyed I’ve ever been with him. “Are you kidding me right now? Why do you care?”
“I’ve already told you why I care. I don’t have time to argue about this. You need to get a license. It’s irresponsible not to. One day you’ll have a family, and you need to be able to drive them around—and no, you can’t put it off until you’ve danced the lead inGiselle.”
Oh, shit. He wants a family soon. He’s not going to wait for me.
“If I’d been around when you were sixteen, I would have given you driving lessons by force.Get into the driver’s seat, Olivia. Now.”
There’s something about the tone of his voice and the idea of being in a car alone with Johnny when I was sixteen that makes me release my seat belt, get out of the car, and silently curse my nipples for suddenly standing at attention. Like, if Idocrash this car, an airbag will not be necessary, because my very alert nipples will prevent the rest of me from hitting anything.
When I get into the driver’s seat, John is already calmly belted up next to me. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and twists his torso in my direction. “Buckle up.”
“I will! Duh.”
“Now adjust the mirrors.”
“Yes. I know what to do,” I say. “I’ve seen other people do it a million times, while selfishly and irresponsibly allowing them to drive me places.”
I adjust the seat and all the mirrors. I place my right foot on the brake pedal.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“What?”
I tear my eyes away from the asphalt ahead to find him staring at the outline of my boobs in my very tight T-shirt. He licks his lips, shakes his head, and turns to face straight ahead. “Just drive. Slowly.”
“You really trust me to do this?”
“There’s half a square mile of flat, open space and no one else around. Yes, I trust you.” He adjusts his jeans. Serves him right.
Take that, John’s penis!
I take a deep breath. It’s really dumb that I’m even the least bit nervous, because there’s maybe a five percent chance that I’d accidentally ram my foot against the gas pedal, that the gas pedal would get stuck, and that we’d crash into the side of the old brick warehouse. A warehouse that is so far away I wouldn’t even want to get out and walk there.
“Hands at nine and three o’clock,” he barks.
“What?”
He looks at me like he can’t believe I didn’t understand the words that just came out of his mouth. It’s the same look he gave me when he was explaining calculus to me when I was thirteen.
“Pretend the steering wheel is a clock.” He places his hands on mine and slides them up the steering wheel. “Keep your hands at nine o’clock and three o’clock when you’re driving a car with an airbag.”
