Second Chance Snowmance

3.

Lydia Stanford. 

As my favourite movie, Mean Girls, once stated: How do I even begin explaining Lydia Stanford?

I loathed bearing any resemblance to pa pa George and resort to rambly anecdotes with lots of unnecessary details, but I didn't see any other way to explain her. 

Smart people said everything in the universe was energy. With the existence of Eden's Creek, we posed a challenge to the universe to create an equally strong opposite reaction. It came with the birth of Lydia Stanford. Wherever she went, pure chaos followed. That part didn't change even when she was in a coma after a motorcycle accident.

For three months, wedged between the principal's office and the lockers, there was a glass case with Lydia's picture and a huge pile of bottle caps underneath it. There were no flowers—nobody who knew Lydia would get her flowers—and everyone knew her. Whether it was from sneaking whiskey into school in juice boxes, running around donned in a long, black coat at night and scaring all the parents, to sabotaging the school intercom and playing heavy metal music during the announcements. 

Some people called her Satan's intern. I had called her 'stranger' until prom night. 

Except she hadn't been a stranger, not really. We'd started talking after she woke up from her coma. I texted her, wishing her a speedy recovery, and she'd texted me back asking who the fuck I even was and why I cared now. Cue some more insults back and forth, and suddenly we were talking all day and night. 

It was complicated. We weren't friends. Our ties to one another were more similar to how scholars described two historical figures of the same sex who were obviously banging as having a 'special' connection. Heaven forbid we'd call it what it actually is. 

That being said: we only met where nobody, not even in a small town where everyone knows everything about everyone, could see us: online. In school, we had our own friends, our own lives. Until prom. 

I grimaced remembering that night. It was no wonder Lydia hated me now, to be honest. 

I had always expected her to be one of the runners too, but Lydia never left Eden's Creek. Mom still called her a she-Devil, but I cut her off every time she tried talking about Lydia Stanford to me. Now I wished I had asked Mom for the village gossip. It would've at least prepared me for Lydia apparently helping pa pa George run the garage nowadays. 

Ten minutes passed during which my heart beat increasingly faster until I heard pounding in my ears. I couldn't feel my face anymore, but that probably had something to do with the cold as well. Finally, after two more minutes, headlights appeared in the distance. 

Lydia arrived in a flatbed truck which made my car dwarf in comparison. I wished I could disappear behind a truck just like my car did. But when Lydia hopped out of the truck, she didn't even spare me a glance and focused solely on attaching the towing cable to the front of my broken car. 

She wore the same dark-blue overall pa pa George did, with the same smears all over the fabric. Her unruly blond mane of hair was tied in a ponytail. She used to straighten it religiously every day. Now, she had her natural curls. I'd always told her I liked that look much better on her, but I strongly doubted she'd changed her hair-straightening habits for me. 

I scoffed, crossed my arms, and looked away. If Lydia wanted to ignore me, fine. I would ignore her harder and she would have to talk to me first. 

Despite my fingers freezing, I took out my phone and aggressively browsed for new handbags while Lydia loaded my car onto the truck. 

"Oi!" Lydia eventually called out to me. I internally cheered for 'winning' at ignoring her longer, until I realised she'd already gotten back in the truck and stared down at me from her seat behind the wheel. 

"I get paid to tow your car, not to drive you to town," she said. "I see you've decided to walk." 

"Hey! Stop!" I yelled when Lydia put the truck in motion. I ran after the truck on my heels, swearing until Lydia finally stopped again a few feet ahead and allowed me to get in the truck.

I climbed in, planted my ass in the passenger's seat, and shot Lydia my best all-destructive glare, which I usually reserved for my freelance customers who tried to weasel out of payment. A smirk played on Lydia's lips. 

"Not funny," I huffed. 

"Oh, I disagree. You looked cold, but I bet you feel warmer now after that run." 

Lydia smiled pleasantly. The same way she used to smile at teachers after swearing she truly and honestly wasn't behind the heavy metal music on the intercom.

I sighed. "Let's just be civil and keep this strictly bustiness, okay?" I said. "How much do I owe you for the tow? I have cash. I'll pay you right away, and then you just treat me like a customer." 

"Sure. Two hundred for towing your car. Plus additional costs for a new tire," Lydia replied, making me gape at her. 

"Two hundred? We're barely two miles away from the garage!" 

Lydia pressed her lips together and pretended to think. "Yeah, you're right. For you, it's four hundred." 

"Ugh! Never mind!" 

I groaned in frustration, and turned away from Lydia to look out the window. She was impossible! I'd just wait and talk to pa pa George instead. I'd never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather listen to his rambling for an hour than put up a second longer with Lydia Stanford.