“Can you tell me how the hell you can stand driving that thing?” she says, pointing.
“Gas mileage. Efficiency. It gets me where I need to go. That’s what I care about,” I say, hating every word that spills out of my mouth. I unlock it and open the passenger door with a little flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”
She slides in like she’s doing it under protest, slamming the door hard enough that the whole car shudders. I circle around and get behind the wheel.
The second I start the engine, she says, “No talking.”
I laugh. “Bossy.”
“No. Talking.” She pulls her seatbelt on and stares straight ahead like the road might judge her. “I need to get my head on straight for my test. I didn’t count on having to deal with your half-naked bullshit this morning.”
I back out and head toward the main road, tires crunching on gravel. The morning is gray and damp, the kind of Oregon day that makes everything feel like it’s holding its breath. Trees line the street, wet and dark. The town’s still yawning awake — one gas station open, one truck rolling by, steam rising off asphalt.
Molly rubs her palms down her thighs once, sharp and restless, then grips her backpack like it’s a lifeline.
“You’re really taking accounting at the community college?” I ask anyway.
Her head snaps toward me. “I said no talking.”
“I heard you. I’m choosing violence.” I glance at her. “Accounting is brutal. Respect.”
Her mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Almost.
“I’m going for a business degree. Most of my courses are online to fit my schedule, but some things I have to do in person. With other people,” she says finally, like she hates admitting it. “It isn’t my favorite, but it’s worth it. I’m not pouring drinks forever.”
“Good. You shouldn’t.” She frowns at me as if she’s trying to figure out what angle I’m working. “I’m serious,” I add. “That takes guts.”
“Guts?” she scoffs. “It takes caffeine and masochism.”
“Masochism is an underrated fuel source.”
She stares out the window again, jaw tight, but the tension in her shoulders eases by one inch.
The college comes into view — low brick buildings hunkered down behind chain-link and a parking lot strewn with the battered hopes of every commuter student in the county. The place is already buzzing even though it’s barely eight—kids in hoodies dart between buildings, backpacks slapping their spines. I snake the sedan up to the curb by the front entrance and let the engine idle.
Molly stiffens in the passenger seat, clutching her bag like it might leap through the windshield without her say-so. For a second she just sits, glaring at the fortress of academia ahead, jaw set like she’s about to gear up for an assault. Then, with a long breath, she reaches for the handle.
But she doesn’t open the door. Not right away. Her hand hovers, knuckles white, and she glances at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Evan,” she says, the fight draining out of her voice. For the first time all morning, it’s soft. Almost a secret. “I don’t need —”
“A ride back?” I offer. I can’t help it, can’t let the moment slip. I’m half hoping she’ll take the bait and half dreading what she’ll do with it.
She scowls, but it’s more automatic than real. “I can call someone.”
“Who?” I ask, keeping my tone light. “A friend? A… member of your study group? Another neighbor you ask for emergency transportation in exchange for nothing but threats?”
She glares harder. “I’m not threatening you.”
“Look. I know you don’t enjoy asking for things.” I keep my eyes on the windshield, sidelong so it won’t feel like a lecture. “But it’s just two hours. I can wait.”
She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You’re gonna sit in this parking lot for two hours. For fun.”
“I’m a glutton for punishment. We’ve been over this.”
She stares out at the campus, brows low, lips pressed tight. “It’s not your problem.”
I cut my gaze to her. “I’m offering. Of my own free will.”
