Joyride by Anna Banks

accomplice.”
    â€œBecause?”
    â€œBecause of work.”
    â€œSo what part were you messing with me about?”
    She blinks. Her mouth tightens into a pout. “You said we would be doing things after school. At night. I can’t. I have to work. At the Breeze Mart.”
    â€œWhat do you make there, minimum wage?”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œI’m just saying, it doesn’t seem like a job worth keeping.”
    â€œHave you ever had a job, Arden?”
    â€œI’ve worked for my uncle a few summers.”
    She rolls her eyes. “I’ll bet that was backbreaking. You probably overdosed on your aunt Dorothy’s lemonade.”
    Maybe. “About as backbreaking as doing homework on the clock, I guess.”
    She folds her hands in front of her. “I need that job. It’s not something I’d expect someone like you to understand. In fact, I need more hours.”
    â€œHere we go again. The silver platter talk. Let’s skip that today, okay? I get it. I’m privileged and that makes me a bad person.”
    A glint of remorse flashes across her face, giving him hope. Until she opens her mouth again. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I’m just not, well, in the same position you are. It’s not that I didn’t have fun with you. I did. I just have things that I have to do and they’re more important than what I want to do.”
    Arden runs a hand through his hair. Obviously this is a bigger deal than he’d originally thought. He knew she was different from all of his friends but he thought it was by choice. Now he can see the differences as if a flashlight were shining on them in a dark room. All of his friends have their own cars, where Carly rides a bike everywhere—even to the next town over to work the graveyard shift at a dumpy convenience store. She wears T-shirts and jeans—something he thought was preference—and as far as he can tell, she only owns one pair of shoes, which happen to be filthy off-brand Converse. What girl would wear dingy shoes every day if she could help it? But it’s not that she doesn’t care about her appearance. He can tell Carly would be girly if she had the chance. Even now she has a complicated-looking braid in her hair and her nails are painted a deep purple.
    How he missed these things before, Arden is not sure.
    So, Carly Vega is poor. But, unless she’s lying, she wants to have fun with him. She just has an obstacle in her—and therefore his—way.
    There’s got to be something I can do . “I’ll pay you,” he blurts. “I’ll pay you for your company.” Whoa, that sounded way wrong. And other people heard it. It’s like the air actually gasped.
    Tables of kids around them stop eating. Stop talking. He’s in danger of a chocolate milk bath, he can tell. Carly’s eyes flash with the ferocity of a starved predator. He wouldn’t be surprised if she bared her teeth.
    At this moment, there is no amount of salt that would make his foot taste better.
    Carly rises from the bench seat. She gathers up her homework in a neat pile, tapping the edges straight, shutting her book with a deliberation so cool it could chill a deep fryer. She tugs at the strap on her backpack and eases it up, onto her shoulder, which is squared perfectly with the other despite the added weight.
    â€œCarly, I—” Arden chokes out. I what, exactly? I’m sorry falls infinitely short of what it will take to get her to speak to him again. Miles short of what it will take to make it up to her. Years short of what it will take for everyone to forget that he said that today.
    Carly turns and walks away. Before she opens the cafeteria door, she wipes her feet on the floor mat, as if symbolically. And then she’s gone.
    *   *   *
    Out of the corner of his eye, Arden feels Deputy Glass glance at him. Once. Twice. Again. Arden shifts in