Till Forever is Ours

14.

IT WAS VERY HARD, IN THE MORNING, TO ARGUE WITH the part of me that was sure last night was a dream. Logic wasn't on my side, or common sense. I clung to the parts I couldn't have imagined— like her smell. I was sure I could never have dreamed that up on my own.

It was foggy and dark outside my window, absolutely perfect. She had no reason not to be in school today. I dressed in my heavy clothes, remembering I didn't have a jacket. Further proof that my memory was real.

When I got downstairs, Derek was gone again— I was running later than I'd realized. I swallowed a granola bar in three bites, chased it down with milk straight from the carton, and then hurried out the door. Hopefully the rain would hold off until I could find America.

It was unusually foggy; the air was almost smoky with it. The mist was ice cold where it clung to the exposed skin on my face and neck. I couldn't wait to get the heat going in my truck. It was such a thick fog that I was a few feet down the driveway before I realized there was a car in it: a silver car. My heart thudded, stuttered, and then picked up again in double time.

I didn't see where she came from, but suddenly she was there, pulling the door open for me.

"Do you want to ride with me today?" she asked, amused by my expression as she caught me by surprise yet again. There was uncertainty in her voice. She was really giving me a choice— I was free to refuse, and part of her hoped for that. It was a vain hope.

"Yes, thank you," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

As I stepped into the warm car, I noticed her brown checkered coat was slung over the headrest of the passenger seat. The door closed behind me, and, sooner than should be possible, she was sitting next to me, starting the car.

"I brought the jacket for you. I didn't want you to get sick or something." Her voice was guarded. I noticed that she wore no jacket herself, just a blood red sweater with long sleeves.

"I'm not that delicate," I said, but I pulled the coat onto my lap, pushing my arms through the too-long sleeves, curious to see if the scent could possibly be as good as I remembered. It was better.

"Aren't you?" she contradicted in a voice so low I wasn't sure if she meant for me to hear.

We drove through the fog-shrouded streets, always too fast, feeling awkward. I was, at least. Last night all the walls were down... almost all. I didn't know if we were still being as candid today. It left me tongue-tied. I waited for her to speak.

She turned to smirk at me. "What, no twenty questions today?"

"Do my questions bother you?" I asked, relieved.

"Not as much as your reactions do." She looked like she was joking, but I couldn't be sure.

I frowned. "Do I react badly?"

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly— it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"I always tell you what I'm really thinking."

"You edit," she accused.

"Not very much."

"Enough to drive me insane."

"You don't want to hear it," I mumbled, almost whispered. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. The pain in my voice was very faint; I could only hope she hadn't noticed it.

She didn't respond, and I wondered if I had ruined the mood. Her face was unreadable as we drove into the school parking lot. Something occurred to me belatedly.