I'm On Your Side

11 | God, he's really good at making me uncomfortable.

ABOUT THREE MINUTES into the car ride, Mason starts speaking. I would've spoken sooner, but because I'm too lazy and would rather just sit back and relax, I stay quiet. "You seem awfully quiet for something you know nothing about," Mason says as I lean back in my seat.

I look at him. "What?"

"Y'know, the fact that you don't even know where I'm taking you," he says.

"Oh," I shrug my shoulders, nonchalantly, "I don't really care."

"Damn. That SAT really did something to you." Suddenly, he looks at me. "Are you even Isha?"

I look at him confused before understanding his joke (if you would even call it one, it's more stupid to me). "No."

"I was just joking. I know it's you." He glances at me quickly as if to undermine that statement.

"Yeah, I know, I just want to... unwind and relax. Do you even know how long I've been holding that suicidal thing against me?"

"Against you?" Mason repeats. "Shit. I mean, I know I was right, but, Isha, damn."

"Well, not against me," I start to object, but Mason shakes his head.

"No, I'm right. I know I'm right. It just seems so weird actually acknowledging that I'm right. Especially about something like that." He looks at me, but only for a second 'cause he's driving. "So that conversation helped then?" And I nod my head, glad to get out of this conversation. I no longer want to talk about this suicidal thing—I guess that's what I'm referring it to—anymore, something about talking about doesn't feel right, and what if Mason decides to bring up the story that I wrote again? God. No, I just don't want to think about it anymore.

"Yeah."

"Good," Mason says, although he doesn't seem to mean it. I don't know. I don't bother with it as much 'cause, like I said, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I gaze at the window: all these unfamiliar stores and empty streets. Maybe I should ask where we're going—at least that'll change the subject. "You should play something." I look at Mason, suddenly. "You have some song you wanna play?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Really?" Mason cocks his head to the side, as if to intimidate me. "What about some Jonas Brother song?" And my eyes light up, only for a second though, because I do have a Jonas Brother song in mind.

"Um," I start, but Mason already notices my eyes light up.

"Don't say you don't have any 'cause I saw those eyes light up."

"Shit," I mutter.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he says jokingly and I find myself laughing. "Here."

He hands me the aux cord as soon as we stop at a red light and I eye it reluctantly. Should I really play the song? I could always just make up a lie and say that I don't have the song downloaded. It's not like it doesn't make sense, it does.

"Isha," Mason says with these consoling eyes. It's weird actually. I mean, he cares, but why? He looks like he's about to pressure me into confiding whatever I'm thinking—like I will, I snort, but maybe I will—but he just tugs onto the aux cord.

"Take it," he urges and I grab it because the green light will turn on anytime soon and I have a feeling there's no other choice than to take it otherwise something bad might happen—like an argument that could result in a car crash.

I connect my iPhone to the aux cord and scroll through the music on my iPhone absentmindedly.

What am I planning on doing? I think.