we gain speed, blue ribbons everywhere.
“I know,” Nick says into the phone. “I’m sorry.”
I find the button to lower the passenger window. The breeze dries my damp neck.
“Not sure,” Nick says. “Dorrie—” Then he holds the phone out for a second, looking at it in disbelief before turning it off and folding it shut. He tosses it into the cup holder and accelerates, upshifting as we hit the straightaway on Main. “My old car couldn’t do this. It was a four-cylinder automatic. That’s not driving.” He glances at me. “Do you have your license yet?”
“Next year. My dad’s supposed to teach me to drive this summer.” I’m wondering how Dorrie Clark could hang up on Nick, especially with everything that’s going on.
“The clock is kind of running down on ‘this summer.’ ” He accelerates again. “Here. In about five seconds I’m going to put the clutch in and you’re gonna put it in fourth. See the little diagram here?” He taps the stick shift. “Just follow the map. Ready?”
“Really? What if I break it?”
“You won’t. One, two, three… now.”
I touch the shifter tentatively. Then Nick puts his hand over mine, firm. “Straight down. There you go.” He lifts his hand, completely unaware that it’s as close to holding hands as I’ve ever come. He eases his foot off the clutch and now we’re flying, the speed of the truck cooling down the air that blows through the open windows. “I wish we could take it out onto the freeway,” he says. “But I guess I should get you home.”
No rush, I want to say. But at the corner of Sagebrush and Main I tell him, “You can turn here to get to my house.”
He stops but doesn’t signal, letting the truck rock back and forth while he keeps one foot on the gas and one on the clutch. “Let’s at least drive it back up Main. You can try the other gears.”
A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face, the air still again. I can see the hardware store up ahead on the next block, the window display lit up but the shop lights out.
“Just ten more minutes,” Nick says. He must take my silence for hesitation, which it isn’t. It’s just silence. “Five. I don’t want to go home yet. I really, really just don’t want to go home.”
I turn and study his profile the way I figure every girl who’s ever known Nick has studied him. His face has perfect symmetry. Each feature works with the others: eyes set at the right width and depth, leading to the nose that’s exactly centered and straight, leading to a dip above his mouth that you want to put your finger on, tracing it down to his wide lips and strong jaw. He could probably be a model.
“What?” he asks, looking back at me and smiling a little.
“We can keep driving for a while,” I say. “Five minutes.”
“Okay. Cool.” The whole time we’ve been idling here, there’s been exactly one car coming from the other direction, and one car behind us, which simply went around without beeping or anything. “When I tell you,” Nick says, “ease it from first to second.” We’re in motion again. “Go.”
I move the gearshift down.
“Good. Third is trickier. Follow the map.”
I look at the shifter and try to maneuver into third gear. The truck makes a sick grinding noise.
“Whoa, whoa, not yet,” Nick says. I jerk my hand away, and he laughs. “Wait for me to say when.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He accelerates and puts in the clutch. “Now.”
He puts his hand over mine again and we move the truck into gear, and it’s so gentle, his hand, like when he danced with me that one time, and I don’t know what to think. Two hours ago I barely knew Nick and now he’s not moving his hand off of mine and his long fingers are curled over my shorter ones. We’re just driving, I think, trying to ignore my tingling fingertips.
A car shoots out in front of us from nowhere. Nick takes his hand off mine to honk the horn and swerve to avoid a collision. I
“I know,” Nick says into the phone. “I’m sorry.”
I find the button to lower the passenger window. The breeze dries my damp neck.
“Not sure,” Nick says. “Dorrie—” Then he holds the phone out for a second, looking at it in disbelief before turning it off and folding it shut. He tosses it into the cup holder and accelerates, upshifting as we hit the straightaway on Main. “My old car couldn’t do this. It was a four-cylinder automatic. That’s not driving.” He glances at me. “Do you have your license yet?”
“Next year. My dad’s supposed to teach me to drive this summer.” I’m wondering how Dorrie Clark could hang up on Nick, especially with everything that’s going on.
“The clock is kind of running down on ‘this summer.’ ” He accelerates again. “Here. In about five seconds I’m going to put the clutch in and you’re gonna put it in fourth. See the little diagram here?” He taps the stick shift. “Just follow the map. Ready?”
“Really? What if I break it?”
“You won’t. One, two, three… now.”
I touch the shifter tentatively. Then Nick puts his hand over mine, firm. “Straight down. There you go.” He lifts his hand, completely unaware that it’s as close to holding hands as I’ve ever come. He eases his foot off the clutch and now we’re flying, the speed of the truck cooling down the air that blows through the open windows. “I wish we could take it out onto the freeway,” he says. “But I guess I should get you home.”
No rush, I want to say. But at the corner of Sagebrush and Main I tell him, “You can turn here to get to my house.”
He stops but doesn’t signal, letting the truck rock back and forth while he keeps one foot on the gas and one on the clutch. “Let’s at least drive it back up Main. You can try the other gears.”
A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face, the air still again. I can see the hardware store up ahead on the next block, the window display lit up but the shop lights out.
“Just ten more minutes,” Nick says. He must take my silence for hesitation, which it isn’t. It’s just silence. “Five. I don’t want to go home yet. I really, really just don’t want to go home.”
I turn and study his profile the way I figure every girl who’s ever known Nick has studied him. His face has perfect symmetry. Each feature works with the others: eyes set at the right width and depth, leading to the nose that’s exactly centered and straight, leading to a dip above his mouth that you want to put your finger on, tracing it down to his wide lips and strong jaw. He could probably be a model.
“What?” he asks, looking back at me and smiling a little.
“We can keep driving for a while,” I say. “Five minutes.”
“Okay. Cool.” The whole time we’ve been idling here, there’s been exactly one car coming from the other direction, and one car behind us, which simply went around without beeping or anything. “When I tell you,” Nick says, “ease it from first to second.” We’re in motion again. “Go.”
I move the gearshift down.
“Good. Third is trickier. Follow the map.”
I look at the shifter and try to maneuver into third gear. The truck makes a sick grinding noise.
“Whoa, whoa, not yet,” Nick says. I jerk my hand away, and he laughs. “Wait for me to say when.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He accelerates and puts in the clutch. “Now.”
He puts his hand over mine again and we move the truck into gear, and it’s so gentle, his hand, like when he danced with me that one time, and I don’t know what to think. Two hours ago I barely knew Nick and now he’s not moving his hand off of mine and his long fingers are curled over my shorter ones. We’re just driving, I think, trying to ignore my tingling fingertips.
A car shoots out in front of us from nowhere. Nick takes his hand off mine to honk the horn and swerve to avoid a collision. I
Similar Books
