As soon as I'm home from school, I message Thatcher. I don't want to come across as too eager, but I still want to make sure I try to make plans to carpool to Patti's with him before it's too late.
Janie Myers: Since we're basically neighbors, wanna carpool to Patti's? (3:44pm)
He replies quickly.
Thatcher Gorsky: Yeah, sounds like a plan. I was going to drive over there. (3:45pm)
Janie Myers: You drive???? (3:45pm)
Thatcher Gorsky: Yeah... you didn't know that? Aren't you 16 too? When do you get your license?? (3:46pm)
I frown as I type.
Janie Myers: Yup, 16. Don't have my license yet, because my mom is terrified of me driving. She doesn't trust me on the road. (3:47pm)
Thatcher Gorsky: That sucks! My dad is the worst human, but I think that worked out for me on the driving front. I'm basically the Uber driver of the family. Any time my brothers need to go somewhere, I'm the guy. Dad's going out drinking? I drive. (3:48pm)
I don't really know what to type, because while his delivery was funny, it's not actually comical that he has to be the adult of the family. I decide not to touch the family stuff and just keep on with the playful vibe Thatcher's going with.
Janie Myers: So, what will I owe you for the ride to Patti's? (3:49pm)
Thatcher Gorsky: With the friend discount, it will come to $0 (3:49pm)
Then he sends a smiley face emoji, the one with the blushing cheeks.
Janie Myers: Awesome, because that's all I have. Pick me up at like 4:45? (3:50pm)
Thatcher Gorsky: That works, see you then. (3:50pm)
It's not until I'm on my way downstairs to work on my homework at the dining room table that it occurs to me Mom will never allow a 16-year-old boy to drive me to a friend's house. I've never had to ask, but I already hear her shrill voice in my mind, lecturing me on the dangers of teen driving. It'll be the same lecture I got on my 16th birthday when I had the audacity to ask when we would be going to get my permit.
"Hey Mom," I start as I walk into the kitchen.
"What do you want?" she asks. She knows my tones too well.
"Patti is having us over to rehearse and eat dinner at her place, right?"
"Right, that's fine. When do you want to leave?"
"Well, that's the thing. Thatcher actually has his license, and he—"
"—No."
"You didn't even let me finish."
"He offered to drive you? No. I don't trust teen drivers."
"I know, I know," I say after mouthing the words teen drivers along with her. "But he's really responsible. She doesn't live far either, it'll be just a five-minute drive."
"The answer is no."
"Please."
"Janie, I said no. Ask me again and you won't go at all."
I stop and turn to walk right into the dining room. There's no convincing her now, which drives me nuts. My mom turns makes me feel so crazy sometimes, because I can never make up my mind about how I feel about her. Our relationship is always so hot and cold. Sometimes she's making food for me and my friends and dancing with us in the dining room, and other times she puts her foot down and refuses to budge on a stupid little ride. I know I'm the only thing she has, but sometimes I wonder what she'll do when I go to college. If she allows me to go to college. If she doesn't register as a freshman too, so we can be roommates. Forever.
I unzip my backpack as angrily as I can without yanking the zipper off the bag and slam my binder on the table, opening it up to my agenda. I want to laugh at myself, because I'm being super dramatic; but Mom needs to know I'm mad.
"Don't break the table," she calls sternly.
I don't respond, I just start my homework. Math first: it's the class I care the least about, so if it's all wrong because I did it in a fury, it's whatever. I should be messaging Thatcher to let him know not to pick me up, but I decide to wait. First, because I don't want to end up crying while I'm texting him or saying something to him that I'll be embarrassed about. And second, because if I wait until later, I can pretend like my mom and I didn't just have this fight and that she just was really looking forward to driving me or something.
Despite my best efforts, my eyes start to water. What a shitty day. From Layla taunting me, to Gina, and now to my mom. Well, she's not so much taunting me as she is just being unfair. I've never given her any reason not to trust me, and yet... I don't think she ever will.
She comes into the dining room and sits down at the table in the seat across from me. She sets a bowl of vegan cheese crackers between us.
"Your favorite," she offers.
Her voice is softer now, but I don't want it to be because I'm about to cry. I hide my face in my worksheet.
"Can you hear me out?" she asks. "I want to explain myself."
"Fine," I mutter.
I don't look up, but she starts talking anyway. Usually, she'll make me face her before she does that. "Your life could begin to unravel after just one bad choice. One bad boy, or one puff of a joint, or one car ride."
I cut her off. "Yeah, but my life could also just begin. I'm never going to learn to make good choices if you're always making them for me."
She bites the inside of her cheek. "I just want you to be safe."
"You're going to need to trust me to make sure I'm safe on my own. Mom, I don't want to die or get hurt either. I don't want to do drugs, I don't want to have sex, I don't want to do any of the bad stuff you're worried about. I just want to be a teenager. I finally found a group of friends I want to, like, grow with and be myself around and I need to have the freedom to start doing that. You know I'll be an adult one day, and I won't be in your house, right? Like, I'm going to have to figure it out eventually, and my new friends are literally the best-case scenario. They are focused, they are goofy, they are kind. They are better influences on me than Gina ever was, and I just want the chance to be a real part of their group."
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment of exasperation. She doesn't open them until she's done asking me, "And you'll share your location with me the entire time?"
I smile. "Yeah."
"And text me when you're there, when you're leaving, and when you're out front again?"
"Yes."
"And leave your phone on so I can text you too? Just in case I need to?"
"Yes, Mom."
She reaches across the table and takes my hands, my pencil poking out from our embrace. "I'm not ready for you to be all grown-up."
I smile. "Yeah, I can tell."
"But you're right. You need to learn. Promise you'll be safe."
"I promise. I already told you, I don't want to get into trouble or do anything that could be dangerous for me."
She pauses. "But you like Thatcher, right?"
My cheeks fill with heat. "Don't tell him."
"I won't," she laughs. "Just... no funny stuff with him. Kissing only, and even limit that."
"Gross, Mom, I'm not talking about this with you. But don't worry, I won't do anything weird."
"Well, you know, maybe we should talk about that stuff," she says with a smile. "You see, when a man and a woman love each other...."
"Mom, stop," I squeal, reaching into the bowl and tossing a cracker at her face.
She laughs and pushes herself up to stand. "Another day then."
"How about never?"
She picks up the cracker and tosses it back at me across the table. It lands on my math worksheet. "Just finish your homework before you go."
I smile. "Thanks, Mom."
I get a text from Thatcher that he's outside at 4:43pm, but before I can go, Mom goes through one last round of her paranoia's checklist.
Yes, Thatcher has his license.
Yes, I will have my phone on me the whole time.
Yes, I can text you Patti's home number in case of emergency.
No, you don't have to pick me up later.
Yes, Thatcher will drive me home too.
No, we won't be too late. I'll be home by curfew.
No, he's not my boyfriend.
Yes, we are really going to Patti's house to practice.
Yes, I promise to be safe.
Once I have officially answered all of Mom's questions to her satisfaction and turn on my GPS so she can track me, I'm granted passage to Thatcher's car.
"See you at nine o'clock," she calls after me as I open the door to Thatcher's old, beige four door. I wave bye in response, then slide into the passenger seat.
"Your chariot, m'lady," Thatcher says after I close the car door.
"It's... nice," I respond. The truth is, the car is old, dirty, and pretty much falling apart. Thank goodness Mom didn't walk me to the car or she would have definitely taken back all the trust she had in Thatcher to get me to and from Patti's house safely. Not because of Thatcher, but because the car is a piece of crap.
The passenger seat has a huge tear right under my butt, where some stuffing is poking out from between my thighs. There are crumbs from who knows what sprinkled all over the console and gear shift. Maybe they're crumbs from Nilla Wafers? I honestly don't know, but they're beige, like the car's exterior paint. There's a hole in the floor of the car by where my feet are, and I can see the bottom frame and the street beneath us. Good thing I'm wearing boots, I think.
"The car is fine for now," Thatcher says, more seriously now. "But my dad's saving up for a new one. Plus, I'm pretty sure the car is illegal or something. It hasn't passed inspections since I was in middle school."
"It probably isn't," I agree. "Does that make us outlaws for driving in it?"
He turns to look at me, revs the engine, and lifts his brows. "You better believe it, kid."
I laugh. "Okay, just get me to Patti's without killing me or sending me to jail, will you?"
"Your wish is my command." He puts the car into drive and as it shakes awake, he peers at me with concern. "You should seriously wear your seatbelt, though."
My smile drops, and I quickly snap the seatbelt around me. He nods and pulls into the street, toward the main drag and the bridge that leads to Patti's house on the rich side of town.
The main road in Riverside, Weber Road, apparently named after Riverside's founder, splits the town down the center. All homes south of it where Thatcher and I live are closer together, smaller, and cheaper, whereas all the homes north of it are basically beautiful historic mansions. That's what happens when you live in one of the oldest towns in Pennsylvania. Some people live in the founders' mansions and the rest live where the old rich guys' workers lived.
It's only a five-minute drive, maybe a couple of minutes more, but without any music or conversation, it feels like an eternity. I want to say something to fill up the silence, but suddenly my head is completely empty of thought. All I can think to ask is, "does your radio work?"
"Oh yeah," he says, leaning over to turn it on, "it's one of the few things in this car that does."
His radio is tuned to the "Today's Hits" radio station 96.1FM, and a familiar song is on. Without even thinking, I start humming along, and I'm immediately embarrassed that I let myself even do that in front of Thatcher. He doesn't seem to care though, because he starts singing. I allow myself to join him. He can't laugh at me if both of us are doing it, that's what I learned from my years of friendship with Gina. Neither of our voices sound good, but we're both smiling. That's enough.
[Bridge]
Come on now, baby,
We'll use the night,
To hide us maybe,
Or just shine bright.
It doesn't matter.
As long as you're here,
The stars could shatter,
The oceans disappear,
[Chorus]
But we will run away,
Chase the day,
Live our lives,
Like love will never die.
We drive down the street, singing and dancing to the song. It's enough to stay warm until the heater really kicks in, and by then, we're already on Patti's street.
Continue in the next part...