The Road Trip

• Two •

This was such a bad idea.

Twenty minutes in and we hadn't said a word to each other. My brain had been seething with anger the whole time.

He maneuvered the Massachusetts Turnpike, weaving in and out, as we listened to music I'd never heard. He'd glance out his rear view mirror every few minutes. He'd lean slightly to look out the side mirror on my side.

I kept trying not to study his profile as I texted Colin to let him know I wouldn't be there later that day.

You will never guess whose car I'm in. Luke Finn. Driving to see you because the whole country crumbles without airplanes.

He didn't respond. He was probably off doing some fun teenage thing on the Friday before his graduation. Like he should have been.

I texted Paige instead.

Sit down before you read this because you may have a stroke. I am in a car with Luke Finn and driving from Boston to Seattle.

HA. I'm not that gullible, she replied.

No really.

I pressed record and tilted my phone covertly toward Luke when he wasn't looking, then back at me and mouthed what the hell.

I'm not a liar, I added after I sent her the video.

She sent twenty exclamation marks before she said, He's so hot still.

And an asshole, I replied.

I don't understand why you hate him so much but still. You should get something from him for once. Hate sex is hot.

Bye, Paige.

You better keep me posted.

I didn't want to talk to Luke, so I went back on my goodbye: This was supposed to be the summer to take my life back. Shit luck. It's not starting out of so great.

That's premature to say, she responded with a drool emoji.

Nope—now I didn't want to talk to either of them.

I kept glancing at Luke's arm. I definitely did not like how it made me feel with his hand lightly gripping the gear stick and his muscle right below his elbow making an appearance every now and then. I looked out the window as we passed Boston University.

"Why did you invite me then?" I asked eventually. Maybe he had that list tacked up on the wall of his bedroom.

"Is that what you've been thinking about for the last thirty minutes?"

I shrugged.

"Relax, Reese."

I could never relax. I was a twenty-three-year-old with a pseudo-child.

Here's a quick recap of my formative middle and high school years: My mom died when I was in sixth grade, so I, as a twelve-year-old, had to quickly grow up and help my dad raise my seven-year-old little brother because our dad had to work evenings and overtime to keep the roof over our head, to keep us at our private school, and to feed us.

So, I didn't get to be a normal teenager. And I had to bust my ass for everything. I got a scholarship to Harvard—my dream school—and I had been sending money back home for the past five years when I could to help Colin. But of course, college jobs and being an entry level accountant didn't coat me in riches. I'd finally gotten a nice raise and a bonus when I passed all four CPA exams the prior month.

After twelve long years my little brother was finally graduating from high school. I felt proud like I thought a mother would feel—and I had to be there. I wanted to push him out into the real world. Maybe partly for myself. So I could finally relax and have my summer to do things for myself for a change.