Get this: I got a car for my birthday.
Adam:
No way.
Jolene:
Yep, and my mom let me keep it for about twelve hours before her lawyers motioned to have a forensic accountant go through my dad’s finances to find the money he spent on it.
Adam:
I want you to be kidding.
Jolene:
But you know I’m not.
Adam:
At least tell me you got to drive it first.
My thumbs hovered over my phone. I wanted to break out in hives thinking about the hours I’d wasted sitting outside my dad’s apartment. I knew what Adam would say—or text—if I told him the truth. It’d be my name followed by a single period. Pity was the last thing I wanted, especially since the night had turned out okay hanging out with Guy, or more specific, hanging out with Guy’s movie collection. But it wasn’t like I could tell Adam one thing without the other.
Jolene:
I starred in a shot-for-shot remake
of Easy Rider, but in a Lexus instead of on a motorcycle.
Adam:
Is that a road trip movie?
Jolene:
Wow.
Adam:
So I should probably stop admitting that I haven’t heard of half the
movies you talk about?
Jolene:
Probably. Want to hang out?
Adam:
Don’t we always?
Jolene:
I mean today.
It was already Thursday, so there was only one more day until we’d be at the apartment together, but those stretches between seeing him were feeling longer and longer to me lately.
Adam:
