Throughout class, we analyze the meaning and symbolism of some British poem. I’m mostly quiet, even though Casper tries to make small talk, but I don’t bite.
As soon as the bell rings, I’m out of the room. I make my way outside and dark clouds warn me that any second it will start raining. I toss my backpack into my car and climb in. It’s cold and the heater doesn’t work. Neither does the radio. I hate this car, but Ron is adamant that I pay them back for the car that I didn’t get to pick out. I turn the ignition, but it doesn’t start. My stomach sinks. I try again and again, but nothing happens. I hate this car. This is the third time it’s left me stranded.
Could this day get worse? I want to cry. I miss Vincent, and I’m angry that he hasn’t even bothered to talk to me. We’re a couple. Aren’t couples supposed to tell each other everything?
Someone knocks on the window and I almost jump out of my skin. I turn and see Casper by the car. Of course. I open the door and get out. “What?”
“Is everything okay?”
“Why are you here? Aren’t you afraid that Amber will see us?” I cross my arms.
“Are you having car problems?”
“Are you stalking me?”
“I was trying to catch you. What’s wrong with your car?”
“I don’t know. It won’t start.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“I have to work,” I snap.
“I can take you. Are you sure you want to go?”
“No,” I answer mildly. I’m tired of being angry. I want to sleep, but I know if my parents found me asleep instead of at work they would yell or worse ground me. I learned my lesson before. Once I had given blood at school and came home feeling a little disoriented and faint, so I called into work. Big mistake. Ron was not pleased. I never call out, so I’m sure my manager won’t mind. She’s always been understanding with me.
A harsh wind blows, cutting through my coat. I hug myself and turn away from the wind.
“Come on. We can hang out and talk. Please?”
I really need a ride. Everyone I know is working and I can’t call Cherry because she has to work. Vincent…who knows what’s up with him. “Fine. Where are we going?”
“Wherever you want.”
“I have a weird request.” I bite my lip. “Can you take me home first?” I need my work uniform to change into so that when I come home, my parents will think I went to work. Sounds dumb, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do sometimes.
“Yeah, sure.”
I follow him to his hideous yellow SUV he’d gotten for his birthday. He opens the passenger door for me, and I get in. Of course, he got a brand-new car. The new car smell makes me nauseous, though I usually like it. He comes around to the other side, and slides on an old faded crimson Alabama hat as he gets in.
“Ugh. As if I needed one more reason to dislike you.” I look out the window.
“Why? Are you an Auburn fan?”
“Yes.”
If there’s one thing people don’t understand about the South, or Alabama more specifically, football is intense here. You’re born either an Alabama or Auburn fan. Not like you have much choice at birth.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth and puts his hand to his heart. “That stings,” he teases but I’m not in the mood to laugh. I think he senses it because he turns serious. “I’m sorry about your cheek.”
“You should be. She did it because you won’t leave me alone.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Oh really? Will you be my knight and shining armor and make her stop? I doubt it. She punched me. Who does that?”
“She has issues.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
He pulls up the driveway to my house and I glance at the clock. It’s after 4:30.
“Give me a minute,” I tell him as I climb out of the SUV and close the door. Inside the house, my dogs jump and happily greet me. I jog upstairs, toss my books on the bed and grab my teal polo. I glance into the mirror. Bad idea. My cheek is purple and puffy. It’s gruesome. I really don’t want people seeing it. I part my hair, so it covers the giant bruise.
A thrill of exhilaration courses through me. I’m about to spend time with Casper. I’m not sure I should feel this way. On my way out the door, I get a Ziploc bag and fill it with a couple of ice cubes.
I lift the handle of the passenger door and climb in, barely beating the pouring rain that dumps from the dark sky. He blasts the heat, to which I’m grateful.
“Okay, let’s go.”
I glance at the clock and my heart stops. We have to get out of my neighborhood before my parents see us. My stepdad has a habit of leaving work early.
“Don’t you need to wait and tell your parents about your car?”
“No. Can you start driving? Away from here. Please?”
“Okay,” he slowly replies. He shifts the car in reverse and backs out of the driveway and turns at the stop sign. “Are you afraid of being home?”
“No.”
“So why do you seem freaked out? You afraid someone will see us?”
“Yeah. My parents.”
“They don’t like you being with guys?”
“I don’t want to explain the giant bruise on my face. I also don’t want them knowing I called out of work.”
“I’m
