Slate | ✓

NINE | ATHENA

"No! Wait," I sit up on the edge of the cushion. "You know what you look like? With your hair like that you kind of look like Spike from Buffy the—"

"Okay, that's enough of that." Darcy spins on his heel to face me. "Athena, where does John keep his backpack? Please tell me you know." His face is wound like a wire, and it looks really weird on him. Usually John's the uptight one between the two of them.

I point to the coat hangers beside the front door. "You walked right by it when you came in."

"Oh, thank God." He hustles back to the other side of the room, crouching down next to the bag and rummaging through the pockets. "My boyfriend is an idiot," Darcy explains, "he took my laptop charger by mistake, and I need it for my presentation." When he pulls out the curled, white wire from the bag he looks as if he's just stumbled upon the Holy Grail.

"When's your meeting?" I ask, noticing an opportunity.

Darcy closes the bag and returns it to its spot slumped against the wall. "A couple of hours."

I get up from the couch, walking towards him. I fold my hands together, as if praying, and place them under my chin as I look up at him. "Can you please, please, please drive me to school? It would only be, like, a fifteen minute detour."

Darcy hesitates.

"Don't listen to her, she can take some public transportation for once," Annie calls from the kitchen.

"Please, Darcy," I give him my best smile. "You know you're my favourite."

"Oh, shut up," he sighs dramatically. "You're ready to leave right this second?"

"Yeah!" To illustrate, I grab my own backpack from where it's crumpled on the floor, practically empty except for some loose sheets of paper, my makeup, a single pen, and earphones.

Darcy opens the front door, gesturing me through. "Thanks, Annie!" He shouts behind us.

He drives the same car he bought used at sixteen. It's been on its last fuel-guzzling, dying gasps of life for years now. At least once every few months John will have to rescue Darcy from auto-repair shops or the side of the road. The car is actively trying to off itself at this point, but Darcy won't let it go gently into the good night.

As I climb into the passenger side, Darcy scrambles to grab all the miscellaneous food wrappers and papers that clutter the inside, tossing it all into the back seat. "You don't have to do that," I tell him, stowing my backpack by my feet.

"Just be careful, my lunch is down there somewhere." He clips his seatbelt into place and turns the ignition key until the engine reluctantly sputters awake.

"So, what's this meeting about? I thought you worked from home."

Darcy places a hand on the back of my headrest as he twists to back out the driveway. I watch a muscle in his neck strain. "Yeah, well, it's time I adapt or die, I guess."

"It's a job interview? You're not going to freelance anymore?"

He shifts into drive and suddenly we're going down the street at a speed I'm surprised the car can handle. "I'm not going to say no, because I haven't gotten the job yet and I don't want to jinx it."

"I thought you liked what you did."

Darcy rolls down his window, using the manual hand crank that makes the glass descend in slow, shuddering movements. "By the way, don't try to open your window, it'll pop out," he informs me. I removed my hand from where it was resting against the glass. "I like freelancing," Darcy explains, "but I also want John and I to have a proper home one day, and I want to drive a car that isn't a piece of shit." There's so much gel in his hair that it doesn't budge, even in the wind. "I don't know, it's just frustrating. All the work I'm getting right now is fucking listacles."