This Girl Is Different (10 page)

Jacinda smiles like she’s relieved that I’m back to
business. She pushes her fingers through her hair, making
it spiky. “Booker’s room is in the back of the house
on the first floor. Off the kitchen?” She shivers. “He’s
looking for it in there.”

I nod to Jacinda and throw a scowl—only half teasing—
toward Rajas. “Sure you won’t help?”

“Sure as—”

“All right,” I cut him off. “I’ll be back.” I open the front
door and step into Brookner’s living room.

It is not at all what I would have thought. You’d think
neat, adult, literary: rooms lined with mahogany bookshelves.
Maybe some iconic pieces of modern furniture
sitting atop a faux-zebra rug, as indicated by his trendy
eyeglasses and decent sense of style. But this place is
more
Animal House
than
Dwell
. A stained, naked futon
slouches on an unfinished pine frame; stacked pizza
boxes serve as end tables. One of those awful halogen
torchiere lamps spotlights cobwebs and ceiling cracks.
The staircase is covered in laundry. There is not one
book in sight. Not even a magazine.

“Hello?” I call. No answer. I keep going, into the
kitchen. It is bright, functional, less filthy than the other
rooms. Maybe Jacinda tidied up earlier? “Hello?”

“In here!” A child’s voice, overrun with panic. “He
usually goes under my bed, but this time I can’t—” A
muffled crash. “Nope, crud! He’s not anywhere!”

Booker’s room is stuffed with toys, clothes, a bunk
bed, books, boxes, junk. Butt sticking up, he is kneeling
to look under the bed. “He likes it where it’s dark.”
Booker crawls around to face me. “I can’t find him.” His
cheeks are mottled from crying. He looks about eight or
nine, but I’m bad at judging little kids’ ages.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find your snake,” I say.

“What if he gets lost or hurt or something?”

“We’ll find him. What’s his name?”

“Javier.” Booker starts plowing through toys and
clothes on the floor. “He’s a Colombian red tail boa.”

“Oh, I bet he’s a real beauty.” I inspect the empty
snake habitat in Booker’s room. “It’s cool that you’re
more concerned about his well-being than you are
freaked out.”

He stops digging through clothes to give me a withering
look. “Why would I be freaked out? I’m not a
girl
or anything.”

Wowzer. Hello, incipient sexist. “Perhaps it’s escaped
your attention that I am a girl? And I’m here to help
you?” I smile to soften the words. “Just consider it your
first lesson in feminism.” Surveying the room, I point to
the radiator. “At least you have steam heat, so there
aren’t air ducts for him to get into. That’s good news.”

Booker just blinks, his little chin trembling. We start
searching.

An hour later, the downstairs sufficiently ransacked,
Booker and I head upstairs. He is trying hard not to cry.
“What if he starves? What if he gets in the street and
someone runs him over?” He rubs his eyes.

I pick my way through the piles of clothes on the
stairs. “We’ll look up here and then we’ll…do you have
a basement?”

He nods, sniffing.

“And an attic?”

He nods again.

This would be simpler if they lived in a yurt. “Javier
will want warm before cool,” I say. “So we’ll check the
attic next if we don’t find him up here.”

“Okay.” His eyebrows are completely bunched
together. “You do Dad’s room, I’ll do the library.”

“No no no. Back it up there, buddy.” I am not stepping
foot in Brookner’s bedroom. It’s way too personal.

He shrugs. “Okay. Library’s that one.”

The library. Ah. Now this is what I expected. Heck
yes. The big desk, the antique wooden desk chair, the
laptop perched on a pile of papers, it’s all here. An open
dictionary, a baby monitor, a phone. Hanging above
the desk, there’s an old sign that says
Loafer’s Paradise.
The oak floorboards groan when I move; the floor is
straining under the weight of the books.

The books. They encase the perimeter of the room.
Dragging my fingers along their spines, it looks like
Brookner has organized them into fiction and non -
fiction, sorted by category. And then alphabetically by
author. Big candles are interspersed with his books. It’s
a shrine to literature. I inspect the shelves for my own
canon, my favorites, the books I return to over and over:
for comfort, or inspiration, or to know that someone out
there feels the same things I do, knows the words, has
written them down. Soul medicine.

Brookner has my canon. Every title.
My Ántonia
, by
Willa Cather.
Ahab’s Wife
, Sena Jeter Naslund.
The
Poisonwood Bible
, by Barbara Kingsolver.
Be More
Chill
, Ned Vizzini. All the
Little House
books.
His Dark
Materials
, the trilogy by Philip Pullman. Even Daniel
Pinkwater’s
Alan Mendelsohn, the Boy from Mars
is
here. And he has nonfiction essentials:
A Pattern Language
, by Christopher Alexander, et al.,
Pedagogy
of the Oppressed
, by Paulo Freire.
Feminist Theory,
from Margin to Center
by bell hooks. Howard Zinn’s
A
People’s History of the United States.
Incidents in the Life
of a Slave Girl
, Harriet Ann Jacobs.
Endurance:
Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage
, by Alfred Lansing.

Okay. He’s got a ton of books. Why should I be so
surprised that my favorites are all here? It’s not like he
pressed his fingers to my temples, read my aura, and
cataloged it by color, according to the books I love.
But then again it
is
like that, somehow. That is the
paradox of the Brookner—the way he can be alluring
one minute, slightly shady and standing too close the
next.

Just as I start to tip out the hardcover of
Ahab’s Wife
,
I freeze. There’s a scraping sound from behind the
bookcase. Yes. It’s reptile scales slithering over wood.

Quietly, I slip the book back and tiptoe to the end of
the bookcase. Javier is sliding himself behind it. Only his
sinewy midsection and brick-red tail are in view.

Another sound, voices exploding. From where? No
one is in here! Oh—the baby monitor. Its indicator lights
glow brighter as the voices get louder.

It’s Jacinda and Brookner.

I make for the monitor. I have a bad feeling that whatever
they’re about to say is none of my business. But
behind me, Javier is on the move. Crap. “Come here, you,”
I whisper, trying to project good vibes. “I won’t hurt you.”
Just before he disappears, I grab the very tip of his tail. I
pull slowly, slowly, hand over hand. He’s heavy and
strong, but he doesn’t put up a fight. “It’s okay, Javier. It’s
okay, boy.” When I can, I lift him, holding his head with
one hand, supporting his body with the other. He rotates
to get a good look at me and flicks his tongue.

“Hi, sweetie. How do I smell?” I stroke him. He is
lovely. “Booker! I found—” I start to say, but my attention
snaps to the baby monitor. I heard my name. Is it
still none of my business if they’re talking about me?
No, I’m sure it’s nothing. Jacinda’s probably telling him
about Operation Snake Search and Rescue.

I shift Javier and look for the power switch on the
monitor. It shouldn’t be that difficult to turn this thing
off—

Another name spoken:
Rajas
.

Sliding his head into my hair, Javier wraps himself
around me like I’m an old friend. Where the hell is the
stupid off switch?

“You brought them
here
?” Brookner’s voice.
Annoyed.

“I needed Evie!” Jacinda. Pleading. “If you answered
your phone like you promised, would it have been a
problem? I don’t think so.” Jacinda sounds uncharacteristically
irritated—and very, very, strangely, on waytoo-
familiar terms with Brookner.

A pause. “The point of all this was to have a good
reason for me to call you and see you outside of
school—”

“A deadly viper was not part of our plan!”

Oh man. Jacinda, what are you doing? You and
Brookner have a
plan
? Why are you seeing him outside
of school?

My stomach roils. I’m terrified that I know what she’s
doing—and I do not want to know. Tell me I’m wrong.
Brookner’s habit of standing too close, of grazing his
fingers across my palm as he hands over a hall pass. It’s
all falling into place.

But he’s such a cool teacher. He actually seems to
want to teach his students something interesting.

A little
too
interesting.

Rajas is right. He is so right to be worried.

I don’t want to hear another word. Grabbing the
monitor wire, I yank the plug out of the wall. “BOOKER!
I FOUND YOUR SNAKE!” I scream, willing to risk setting
Javier on edge as long as the entire house can hear.
Anything to interrupt Jacinda and Brookner. “DID YOU
HEAR ME? I’VE GOT JAVIER!”

Javier squeezes me, coiling tighter, but he’s the least
of my worries. I trust him a lot more than I trust the
snake that’s downstairs scheming with my friend.

Booker comes tearing out of Brookner’s bedroom,
almost collapsing with relief. “Thank you thank you
thank you! Evie, you are the
best
!”

I run my hand down Javier, coaxing him to unwrap
himself.

Booker takes Javier as I continue to uncoil him from
around my chest and arm. He gushes a stream of words
and love: “Javier where were you I was so worried
about you come here boy don’t you ever do that again!”

Down in the kitchen, Brookner and Jacinda are waiting
for us. The air is tense. Jacinda’s arms are crossed
close to her chest and her foot is tapping. Brookner is
leaning against the counter. Oblivious, Booker disappears
into his room, still whispering sweet nothings to
Javier.

I blow out a breath and muster a smile. “So. We meet
again.”

Brookner adjusts his glasses. “Good evening, Evie.
Nice to see you.” He tips his head toward Jacinda without
looking at her. “Jacinda tells me that the great Javier
liberated himself again, hmm?” He rocks onto his heels.
“Thanks for…ah…thanks for your help. Apparently my
baby-sitter is quite frightened of snakes.”

Lips pursed, Jacinda’s movements seem prim and
skittish. “Evie knows I’m fricking terrified of snakes. So
she, like, rescued me.”

I look from my friend to our teacher. They don’t
seem to realize they are repeating each other, recapping
events I was here for.

On the counter behind Brookner, near the doorway
to Booker’s room, the other baby monitor sits there…
monitoring. Booker isn’t a baby, but this house is big,
old, creaky; I bet Brookner uses it at night, when he’s up
in the library and Booker’s in bed. Listening out for bad
dreams. Will Brookner notice that the one upstairs is
unplugged? Maybe he’ll assume that I snagged the wire
while searching for Javier. The last thing I want is for
Brookner to know I unplugged it because I overheard
him and Jacinda.

“No problem at all,” I say. “But you might want to put
something heavier on the lid of Javier’s habitat.”

Brookner claps once. “Well! That is a fantastic idea.
We will do that.” He points at me as though I’m a
genius. “We will definitely do that.”

Awkward, heavy silence.

“So, Jacinda. We should get going, right?”

“Um. Yeah. Let’s go.” Sounding subdued, overwhelmed,
she turns to Brookner. “Okay. Ta-ta. I’m
sleeping over at Evie’s tonight.” Brookner lifts an eyebrow
like he already knew this. Jacinda pulls her purse
over her shoulder and walks out.

“Um, Jacinda?” I say.

She spins to look at me.

“Don’t you want to say goodbye? To Booker?”

“Ohmigod. Booker.”

Back in his room, Booker is stacking paperback
books onto the lid of Javier’s habitat.

“I’d use hardcovers. They’re heavier,” I tell him.
Jacinda is silent. “Well, we’re going now,” I say. “See you
later.”

“Thanks again, Evie!” Booker places a Harry Potter
hardcover on top of the pile. “Javier is so happy to be
home. Aren’t you, Javier? Yes, you are.”

Taking hold of Jacinda’s hand, I lead her out of the
house and down the front steps.

Rajas slides off the hood of the Biohazard. “Crisis
averted?” He draws me into a kiss.

“Not quite,” I whisper.

With those incredible dark eyes, he squints, like he’s
trying to glean information from my face.

“I’ll fill you in later.”

Next to us, Jacinda is staring into the middle distance.
She might as well be in another dimension.

“Can you take us home?” I ask Rajas.

“Already?” He makes a face. “Fine. But you owe me
an uninterrupted evening.” He turns to wag a finger at
his cousin. “You got that, Jay?”

“Hmm?” She looks up. “Sorry. I guess I was, like,
spacing out.”

“Toxic effects of Brookner. Come on, let’s get the hell
out of—”

“Pandora?” I say.

He smiles. “You got it.”

Jacinda looks back at Brookner’s house. Her forehead
is creased, her feathery lashes hide her eyes. I open the
door of the Biohazard and motion for her to get in.

We have a whole lot to talk about when we get
home.

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.

—A
BRAHAM
L
INCOLN,
A
MERICAN PRESIDENT,
1809–1865

It’s a tense ride to The Dome Home. Rajas’s eyes
glint with annoyance at Jacinda for interrupting our
date. Jacinda stares out the window. I don’t bother
attempting to generate conversation; my mind is racing,
replaying what I heard. Brookner said something
like
so we could be together outside of school
and
the
point of this plan…
They had a plan. A plan! My stomach
is still in knots. Jacinda, what are you mixed up in?

Rajas maneuvers the Biohazard up my driveway. At
The Dome, we lean together to kiss goodnight.
Because Jacinda’s here, we keep it short, but our arms
find their way around each other. I ache for more time
alone with Rajas. But I need to talk to Jacinda.

We wave goodbye, and as the Biohazard’s taillights
disappear down the driveway, a long sigh floats out of
me, carried off by a crisp autumn breeze. I turn. The
Clunker is here; Martha’s home early. Too bad. I’d
hoped to talk to Jacinda alone, stat.

“Darlings! Hello!” Martha ushers us inside, careful
not to spill her glass of wine. She pulls Jacinda into a
hug, then me, and takes a drink. “I had quite an
evening. Members of the Horny Singletons titillated
with drama and intrigue.”

“You’re home early.” I try to hide my disappointment.

She laughs, swirling the wine in her glass. “It ended
rather abruptly. Ah,
c’est la vie
.” Martha takes another
sip. “How was your night, my love?”

“Good.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Good? Or
gooooood
?”

Jacinda slumps into a kitchen chair. “Evie helped me
out.”

Puzzled by the non sequitur, Martha looks from
Jacinda to me.

I shrug and sit down too. My ankle’s still a little sore.
“It was a long night.”

“I’m all ears, darlings!” She tops off her glass, holding
the wine bottle upside down and shaking out the
last drips.

Jacinda seems abjectly miserable.

“I think Jacinda and I need to talk,” I tell Martha.

“Agreed! Go right ahead.”

I hesitate. “Alone.”

Martha deflates. “Oh. Okay.” She takes a drink of
wine, swishes it around her mouth. “Well. Tell me later.”

I tell Jacinda, “Let’s go outside.”

She crinkles her nose, but shrugs. “Okay.”

I lead us to the barn and am soothed by the earthy,
familiar smells of cow and chicken and straw. I flip the
light on; golden dust motes float around the bulb. I lay
out an old blanket for Jacinda to sit on. She does, and
tucks her short skirt under her folded legs.

I pat Hannah Bramble’s warm side. “Hey, sweet girl.
How was your day?” With a swish of her tail, she shifts
her weight to accommodate me. “Oh, Hannah. It’s not
milking time.” Cats and kittens appear from all corners
of the barn to mewl a chorus. “Everyone thinks I’m here
to milk,” I explain to Jacinda.

Jacinda smiles, almost a grimace. She reaches for a
kitten but it squirms away. Jacinda frowns. Even her
pout is dainty.

“Don’t take it personally,” I tell her. “After he gets
some milk he’ll let you hold him.”

I rest my forehead on the warm, soft depression
between Hannah Bramble’s belly and her flank. If I
don’t milk her a little, there’ll be a feline mutiny. I grab
the cats’ bowl and start to milk. As the first squirts hit
the bowl, I look over at Jacinda. “Hey, you want to try?”

“Try what?” She pulls the ends of the blanket around
her to ward off the chill.

“Milking.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Ohmigod. No
thanks!”

“I’ll have you milking yet. You wait and see. A few
more weeks.”

She gives me a wan, pathetic smile.

Finished for now, I wipe my hands on my jeans and
set the bowl in the middle of what is now a cat maelstrom.
The mewing quiets as kittens and cats clamber
for drinks. When the last of the milk is gone, Jacinda
plucks a kitten from the group. It settles into her lap to
lick cream from its paws and whiskers.

“That’s Ferocious Tiger.”

“For the stripes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She presses the pads of his paws and inspects his
claws. She touches their points, lets them retract. She
runs her hand down his back. Ferocious Tiger purrs and
pushes his cheek into Jacinda’s hand.

I know how Ferocious Tiger feels. It’s how I feel
about Rajas’s touch: I rush to meet it, press myself into
him.

Oh man, please do not tell me that’s how Jacinda
feels about Brookner.

And please, please do not tell me that’s how
Brookner feels about Jacinda! I’m all for following your heart, but not if your heart is a nasty old wolf trying to
seduce an innocent puppy.

“So. That was kind of weird, at Brookner’s,” I say.
Sitting on the milking stool, higher than Jacinda, feels
too cross-examiny. I plop down on the straw.

Jacinda keeps her eyes on the kitten in her lap.
“Yeah. I am really not liking snakes right now. Not liking
snakes at all.”

I readjust my ponytail. “You and Brookner seemed
very…comfortable together.”

Her head snaps up so fast that Ferocious Tiger
mewls. “What do you mean?”

“I mean”—I select my words with care—“he seems
quite…familiar with you. And you with him.”

She smiles down at Ferocious Tiger. Her cheeks
darken. “You think so?” She asks it the same way I talk
about Rajas. This is not good.

“Uh-huh.” I undo my ponytail and twist it into a bun.

She doesn’t look up. “Like what, for instance?”

Oh no. The girl wants to bask in the details. I need to
change the course of this conversation. “Don’t get
mad—but when I was upstairs looking for Javier, I overheard
something.”

Her eyes get wide. “What do you mean?”

“The baby monitor was on in his office.”

All color leaves her face.

“The transmitter part is in the kitchen, next to
Booker’s door,” I continue.

Her hand is poised, motionless, over Ferocious Tiger.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But it was on while I
was catching Javier.”

“What did you hear?” On the blanket, her foot starts
wiggling. She sets her hand on the kitten but forgets to
stroke him.

“It kind of sounded like something is going on.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She’s not making this easy. Fine. I’ll just put it out
there: “Is Brookner crossing the line with you? Are you
two—” What are the right words? “Uh, involved?
Romantically?”

Her face becomes ashen. “I don’t think that’s, like,
any of your business.”

“I don’t mean to be nosy. But I’m concerned. You can
talk to me.”

She pats Ferocious Tiger’s head. She seems deep in
thought. She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it
again.

I wait.

“Ohmigod, I’m so fricking tired,” she finally says,
stretching and yawning for emphasis.

Okay, she needs more time. Press gently, ask the
questions, wait. Let the person come to you, let it be
their own idea.

“Come on.” I offer my hand. “Let’s get some sleep.
You can bring Ferocious Tiger in, if you want.”

“Martha won’t mind?”

“We usually don’t because of fleas and ticks in summer.
But you may have noticed we’re not real sticklers
for rules around here. Besides, it’s cooling off, so it’ll be
fine. He seems to really like you.”

In the morning we pull on sweatshirts and thick socks
and jam our feet into rubber chore boots. Jacinda follows
me to the henhouse. She tips her mug to her lips—real
coffee instead of yerba maté to ease her introduction to
hippie farm life. “Do you always get up this early?” she
asks, cupping her mug for warmth. “It’s fricking freezing.”

“Hannah Bramble and the piranha chickens wait for
no one. We usually take turns, but Martha had to do it
the whole time my ankle was hurting, so I owe her.” I
open the door of the chicken coop and shift the hens to
gather eggs.

“Ew! Those eggs are all covered with dirt.”

It’s not dirt, it’s chicken poop, but I’ll keep that tidbit
of information to myself for now.

“We’re going to eat those?” she asks.

I laugh. “Where do you think eggs come from,
exactly?”

“The grocery store, exactly?” She shivers.

“The barn will be warmer. Go on in. I’ll be there in a
sec.”

“Okay.”

She’s already settled on the blanket when I come in.
I scootch up the milking stool, wash Hannah Bramble’s
teats, grab the cats’ bowl. Kittens and cats come tumbling
out from the nether reaches of the barn.

“Ferocious Tiger!” Jacinda squeals. “There you are!”
He disappeared at some point last night. Martha must
have let him out.

We are quiet. Jacinda drinks her coffee, the cats
mewl until I give them their bowl of steamy cream.

Breathing in Hannah Bramble’s warm, honest scent,
I plunk down a clean milk pail and milk her in earnest.

After an interval of quiet, Jacinda’s foot starts wiggling.
“Can you keep a secret?”

I laugh without breaking my milking rhythm.
“Maybe you should have asked me that
before
we
started PLUTOs.” Hannah Bramble’s tail swishes. “You
better hope I can, or you’re not getting in to Cornell.”

She gives a wry smile. “I think you mean that
you
won’t be getting in. Blackmail works both ways.” She
sighs, changing the subject. “Okay. You know how you
eavesdropped on me and Brookner last night?”

“Overheard. Eavesdropping implies intent.”

“Whatever.” She reaches for Ferocious Tiger, lifts
him onto her lap. “So, yeah. Brookner and I have been,
like, talking. On the internet.”

“You’ve been talking on the internet, as in e-mailing
about assignments? Or talking on the internet, as in—”
Oh no. I flash back to her checking e-mail on her
phone, saving herself for…
Please
no. “Is Brookner your
InterWeb Lover?”

“Shut up!” She sounds almost pleased. “He’s not my
lover. But, yeah, he’s, like, the one I’ve been sort
of…seeing…online.”

“Jacinda. That is
so
not okay.” Hannah Bramble lows
a complaint about my tone. Deep yoga breath. Rein it
in. Managing to sound a bit calmer, I say, “It’s not okay,
you know that, right?” I pat Hannah Bramble to let her
know we’re done milking. “He’s a cool teacher. But
he’s our
teacher
.”

“It’s not like that! He knows I’m young—”

I can’t hold back my snort. I regret it right away.

“I am really not appreciating your judgmentalness
right now.” Ferocious Tiger jumps off her lap and
prances out of the barn.

“I’m sorry. I am. But—”

“We don’t
do
anything.” She picks at the blanket.
“Even though I want to. Last week at his place I told
him I’m ready to—”

“Last week! You’ve been getting together with him?
In person?” I can’t believe this.

She sighs like I’m slow. “Just once. Before last
night’s baby-sitting, I mean.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Wait. Does Rajas know?”

She levels a stare. Right. Of course he doesn’t know.
He would burst into flames.

“You have to stop. It’s not okay. He’s our teacher, for
crying out loud.”

“It’s platonic!” She hits the blanket, releasing straw
dust into the chilly air. “He says we have to wait until I
graduate before we can do anything.”

I stare at Hannah Bramble without really seeing her.
“Jacinda. Any way you look at it, this crosses the line.
There are boundaries.”

Jacinda pops up from the blanket. “He told me this
would happen! That in the end you’d be just the same
as everyone else. I stuck up for you!”

“You talk about
me
?”

“No! Just that he said you might not be as cool as
you appear.” She blows out a big breath. “I don’t know,
Evie. This, like, sucks. I expected more from you.”

Her disappointment confuses my heart.

Agitated, her body is quivering. “You’re the one who’s
into questioning authority. ‘Fight the power’ and all? But
you’re judging us because he’s older. That’s, like,
ageism. I thought you were supposed to be different.”

Damn. A punch to the gut. This girl
is
different. Am
I being hasty and judgmental? Or has Brookner already
anticipated my disapproval and done some masterful
manipulation? “Jacinda, don’t you see? He wants to
turn us against each other. Divide and conquer.”

She looks frantic, like an animal that’s been
spooked.

I calm my voice again. “For a teacher to be with his
student is an abuse of power. Do any of your other
friends know about this?”

“No!” Jacinda uncrosses her arms, recrosses them.
She starts to pace, so distraught that she doesn’t seem
to mind tromping through dirty straw. “It’s
not
abusing
power! Abusing power is like Ms. Gliss telling Marcie
that she is fat.
That
is an abuse of power. John would
never do something like that.”

“John?” First names now? I swallow to tamp down
my emotions. “Jacinda, it is not okay.” Maybe repetition
will get through to her. “This is as bad as Ms. Gliss, in
a different way.” Something else is nagging at me,
something about how Rajas warns us about Brookner,
how Rajas is always alluding to rumors and
what Nishi
said
, how he calls Brookner sketchy. “Hold on. Has
Brookner done this before, with other girls?”

It’s like pushing a button. Jacinda’s eyes go wild. She
yells, “You don’t know anything about any of this!
You’re a virgin! You just started school!” She whips out
her phone.

“What are you doing?”

She turns her back.

I can tell she’s tapping the screen. She brings the
phone to her ear and shakes her head. No answer? She
taps the screen again, holds it to her ear. “Hi,” she says
in an unconvincing perky voice. “I’m sorry to bother
you so early, but can you do me, like, a huge favor? I
need a ride? Can you get your mom’s car?” She pauses.
“Okay. Thanks anyway.” Pause. “No, I’m fine. It’s fine.
I’ll see you tomorrow.”