Would You Rather

54 - WYR: procrastinate getting to Weyburn or get fed to the cows?

FIDAN 

I'm chill. I'm cool. Everything is cool.

I should be totally fine. Very chill. Very cool.

I am very cool and fine and cool.

Finley's got her feet kicked up on my dash in the middle of actual buttfuck nowhere, sipping a coffee and reading her textbook while I get gas and I'm thirty minutes outside of Weyburn, Saskatchewan.

Also, there's a set of three kids using a dirtbike and a skimboard to ski through a field about forty feet away from me but I'm not even going to think about that. Goddamn Canadian Prairie kids are insane. I should know. There was a Canadian Prairie girl rocking my entire world last night for well over an hour. I shouldn't even be shocked that this is the cultural pool that mouth came from.

But I have to keep a cool head. Because I'm cool. And not afraid of cows.

I am definitely not afraid of cows.

Or Mark Shaw. Or the twins.

Or fucking up and saying something stupid to Dani.

Or, like, her mom.

Or the dogs or something.

I cross my arms, watching the meter roll through numbers, the air puffing out of my mouth in clouds only to be messed up immediately by the wind out here. Sometimes, I forget that Regina really is the middle of nowhere, and then I re-enter nowhere and I realize that this isn't jack shit like Minnesota, wherein you could at least drive to civilization within a day in the car. The nearest city to me at the moment with over a million people in it is in a whole different province.

But nope, this is Finley's home. Necking it. The backwoods. Back-wheat. You get what I mean.

"Hey, loser." She pops my driver's side door, looking up at me, her reading glasses pushed up over her forehead. I stare at her for just a second, because, like, christ. Woah. She gets hotter every time I look back at her.

"Hey, loser." I hit back, reaching over to steal the glasses off the top of her head, sliding them on over my nose and my perfect vision, squinting through them.

"You look like an idiot in my glasses." She laughs. "Take those off before you spill gas everywhere."

I push them up my nose, putting on a posh posture. "I'm afraid I cannot hear you over the sounds of my gargantuan brain working overdrive."

"Oh, cork it." She snorts. "The tank in this thing can't be taking this long."

"Perhaps the petrol is a tad chilly due to the weather," I say, flourishing my hand. "Moving a bit sluggish through the pipe, I would assume."

The station gets my memo and clanks in time with the end of my sentence, alerting me that we've hit pressure in my car so we're good to go. I push the glasses up over my head and finish up what I was up to, trying to keep myself chill, ignoring the fact that I've stopped like four separate times on the drive to pee and get a snack. There's not a lot of places to stop, so I have to give it to myself for being creative with it.

"I'm taking these back." She pulls the glasses off my head the second I'm back in the car, only tugging on a little of my hair. "You know, before you graduate med school before me and all that."

"Aw, rats." I hit the ignition. "Are you telling me the only reason I was a shit student was because I didn't have genius glasses?"

She's squinting at me, glasses not on yet, but it's definitely not a sight squint. "You're acting weird."