Between the Lines

- 15 -

Stuck is an understatement, but not nearly as much as “weird” is. This whole situation just became incredibly weird.

The last person I would expect to pull up in front of me while I’m on the side of the road is Braden. But then again, I didn’t expect to find myself alone on the side of the road in the middle of the night, either.

A small voice in the back of my brain bothers to hope that Braden isn’t actually some weird stalker who followed me out here to kidnap me, but mostly I’m just glad I don’t have to walk several miles home in the dark. Or worse, to call my dad to come get me out here while there are probably black trails of mascara down my cheeks.

Putting the mascara on after Kyle messaged me on Facebook was my first mistake.

In any case, as I’m surreptitiously wiping at my cheeks with the sleeve of my jacket, Braden is walking around his car to the passenger door.

Creepy stalkers don’t open the door for girls, right?

Or maybe I’m thinking of football player boyfriends.

“Sorry,” Braden says, waving his hand toward his car.

I frown. “You’re sorry for giving me a ride?”

“About the car,” he says, pulling on the rusted door handle – a detail I probably wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so obviously self-conscious about it. “I know it’s not exactly what you’re used to riding in.”

I slide onto the bench seat, wondering what kind of girl he thinks I am that he’s worried I’m scrutinizing his car when he’s being nice and offering me a ride. It’s not a good kind of wondering.

And, anyway, he’s wrong. I might not have been in anything like this lately, but as soon as the door closes behind me – he has to push twice to make it actually latch shut – a wave of nostalgia washes over me.

Cale’s car wasn’t exactly like this one, but it was close. Braden’s car has almost the same springy red cloth on the seat, the same wood paneling on the dash. He left the lights on, and in the pale green glow of the interior lights, I can see the chipped silver buttons of the heater.

It’s the smell that gets me, immediately transporting me somewhere else, even though it’s been five years now. I’m blindsided entirely by the familiar scent of motor oil, and old fabric, and some kind of leftover food wrappers probably hidden underneath the seat. That’s what I would have found in Cale’s car, anyway. He’d always said it was a good hiding place for trash and treasures – and at least once for a birthday present for a little sister.

No. Now is not the time to go for that kind of stroll down Memory Lane. Braden opens the driver’s side door, and the wave of fresh, cold air is welcoming because it snaps me out of my reminiscing and back to reality.

Once he slides in next to me, it’s better. He smells good – not in the slathered-in-expensive-body spray way that Kyle does – but like laundry soap and mint gum, and something distinctly him under that. Still, as soon as the door’s closed behind him, I reach over and crank down my window, too afraid of being overpowered like I almost was a minute ago.

“Sorry,” he says again, in a way that makes my cheeks hot and my stomach churn. “I know it’s not…”

“Stop,” I say. “Your car’s fine. It’s me. I just need some air.”

He nods, though the way his shoulders rise and fall sharply, I’m not sure he believes me. I feel terrible, but I don’t know how to fix it, either, so I don’t say anything else; I just reach for the seatbelt as he slips the key into the ignition the old car grumbles reluctantly to life.

Because this whole situation isn’t already awkward enough, I run into an issue as soon as I try to put the buckle in the latch. It doesn’t fit. I know why – this latch belongs to the middle seatbelt on the long three-person seat. It wouldn’t have been a big problem, except then I then I can’t find the right latch. I pat the seat beside me several times, then dig behind me into the crack.

“Here,” Braden says, reaching over to help me search. Before I can get my hand out of the way, his hand brushes against it, and his fingers close over my wrist before he realizes what he’s touching and recoils instantly. “I – I’m sorry,” he stammers.

Even with the window open, the temperature inside the car is steadily rising, and I don’t know if it’s from his blush or mine.

I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, but I know that I made it bad to begin with, and I’m only continuing to make it worse.

Thankfully, I find the seat belt latch after only another couple seconds of digging, and the buckle clicks in without further incident.

Braden shifts the car into drive and checks the mirrors before making a U-turn. We’re both silent for several minutes, which does nothing to help with the weirdness. I’m trying desperately to think of something to say that isn’t going to come off as mean or rude, because I seem to have a special talent for making him feel bad, and right now the only thing I’m feeling towards him is grateful.

He speaks before I can manage to, though.

“Are you all right?” His voice is quiet over the roar of wind past the open window, but I hear it.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I say. “I’m better than I was a few minutes ago, and better than I will be when I get home.”

“Is it after your curfew or something?”

“Something like that.” The thing is, I don’t even actually have a curfew. My dad wouldn’t care how late I was out, as long as he knew where I was – except alone with Kyle. His requests of me are beyond reasonable, especially considering, and here I am breaking all of them. And I don’t even know why. I didn’t even want to in the first place.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and press the power button. No messages from Kyle yet, although I’m sure those are coming. He wasn’t finished yelling at me before I opened the door and got out at the stop sign in front of the railroad tracks.

Just as I’m about to turn the screen off again, I notice there’s a little envelope icon up in the corner – I must have missed a text somewhere. Dread fills my stomach as I pull down the notification screen. It’s either from my dad or Kyle, and the thought of either one makes me glad the window’s open, just in case.

But it isn’t from Kyle or my dad. It’s from a number I don’t recognize. It’s now that I vaguely remember noticing this message earlier, but I forgot all about it. I stare at the words on the screen, trying to make sense of them. “Did you text me?” I ask Braden.

“What?” he says, a little too quickly. “Uh, yeah, I did. Like hours ago.”

This response oddly makes sense to me; if the rest of his day’s been anything like mine, then our exchange in English class feels like it happened weeks ago.

“Why did you want me to text you back before I worked on the story?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. I don’t look up from my phone. My mind is only half here in the car, anyway, because now I’m trying to decide whether to text my dad or not. He’s probably home by now, and if he’s not freaked out by my absence already, he will be any minute. I’m torn between making that moment come faster and trying to head it off.

“Oh, I uh… I just wanted to fix something on my part of it before you worked on it again.”

“Why? Isn’t the whole point of it to try to frustrate me?”

He looks over at me finally, raising an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a little grin. “Is that what I did?”

It’s late, I’m probably giving my father a horrible panic attack right at this moment, and I know I’ve caused myself a huge problem with Kyle that’s going to blow up in my face at any moment, and yet, somehow, all I can think about right this second is that smirk on Braden’s face. I can’t even remember what we were talking about.

And a second later, it doesn’t matter anyway, because Braden is turning his car onto my street.

Just as he pulls up in front of my mailbox, I realize that he never asked me for directions.