Chance Encounters

twenty-seven

[a/n: i apologize for the delayed updates, and while this doesn't mean that i'll get back to updating regularly yet, i hope you find this chapter worth the wait. just a little warning, this chapter ends in a cliffhanger, and i'm not sure when i'll be able to write the next one, so bear with me for a while. thank you and i love you all.

sam xo]

Chapter 27

"It's not me," I huffed out, "it's Georgina."

"For the last time," Austin argued, "Georgina is innocent, so stop hurting her feelings and just go back to driving."

Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the road and squared my shoulders, mentally running over the mistakes I'd managed to do so far. Austin had been correcting me over and over, and while I was more or less getting the hang of it, progress was pretty slow.

But progress was progress, so I decided to stick with it, and even though it had already taken approximately seven little arguments between us, I was eventually getting better. By the time the clock ticked four, Austin decided I was ready to get off the spacious parking lot I'd been practicing on and begin driving on the main road.

There weren't a lot of cars, but this offered little comfort. The only drivers out this late are either drunk or sleepy, and that seemed just as dangerous.

"You worry too much," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I'd rather not get us, you know, killed."

Waving a hand dismissively, he merely dismissed me with a flippant "You won't."

"And how, exactly, would you know that?"

"If we were going to die tonight," he said, "then Madame Aurelie would have already told you."

I narrowed my eyes at him, my lips automatically sinking to a disgusted frown. "That woman is batshit crazy."

"Why do you hate her so much?"

"Didn't you see her?" I gave him a quick sideways glance. He had on a small, amused smile, making it clear that he was only teasing me, but even so, I couldn't stop myself from saying, "I mean, the eyeliner alone definitely warrants a Batshit Crazy label."

"You really don't expect me to believe that you hate someone for their makeup choices, do you?"

"You wouldn't know," I said, "but you can tell a lot about people from their makeup choices."

I proceeded to tell him pretty much everything I gathered from years of observing (or, more accurately, judging) the people I'd met because of Tori-from the blue-eyeshadow-pink-lipstick blonde Barbie dolls to the all-black-topped-with-a-piercing rocker chicks.

"Wait, that doesn't make sense," he said. "Why is the girl with too much makeup the obvious non-girly one?"

"Because every girl knows that less is more," I replied. "And only girls who aren't used to the whole makeup thing would make the mistake of putting too much on."

"Oh."

I made a right turn and was happy to find that the car hadn't stalled. The driving was beginning to feel more natural, and though my throat still constricted in panic whenever a truck was coming our way, I was more or less doing great.

Silence filled the car, but I could feel Austin's intent stare on me. I gave him a look, fighting the urge to self-consciously touch my hair. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied, immediately looking away.

"What is it?"

"I was just wondering," he said, "which type you fall into."