Westbound Sign ➵ Billie Joe Armstrong

Shifting Gears

Collin

Billie was already halfway out the motel room door, keys in hand - my keys, mind you - when he turned and shot me that smug, crooked grin I was starting to associate with trouble.

"I'm driving the truck," he said.

I froze mid step. "Excuse me?"

He swung the keys around his finger like he'd just hotwired a getaway car. "What? I wanna see how this antique handles."

I crossed my arms. "You've insulted her too many times to be trusted behind the wheel. She's sensitive."

Tre popped up behind him, hands full of leftover donut holes and an open bottle of Sprite. "I'm driving the van today," he announced proudly, as if it were a great honor bestowed upon him by the gods of rock and rubber tires.

Erin raised a brow. "You? You're driving? That's... bold."

He clutched his heart in mock betrayal. "I'll have you know, I am an extremely responsible driver."

She gave him a once over. "You asked if headlights needed gas."

"That was a joke," Tre defended. "And that was one time."

Mike slung an arm casually over Erin's shoulder, and I swear she did a double take before leaning slightly into him, her smirk tilting wicked. "Honestly, I kind of want to see how that turns out. Tre behind the wheel, the chaos of it all."

Tre narrowed his eyes like he was weighing the pros and cons of swerving just enough to scare her.

"Oh, it's gonna be a day," Mike said, then looked at Billie. "You sure you're up for driving her truck?"

Billie had already climbed into the cab like it belonged to him. "Don't question me, bassist."

"I'm questioning your survival instincts," Mike replied, deadpan.

I moved toward the passenger door, still unconvinced this wasn't some elaborate prank. "Seriously, though. You insulted her. Said she looked like she came out of a swamp."

Billie grinned wider, hand on the gearshift. "I meant it as a compliment. Swamp creatures are mysterious and resilient. Like her."

"Your apology skills are unmatched," I muttered, slamming the door as I got in.

He reached over and adjusted the mirror like he wasn't already getting on my nerves. "You're really gonna give me grief after letting me wear your boots last night?"

"I did not let you wear my boots."

"You looked away for five seconds. It was implied consent."

I rolled my eyes but didn't stop him. Not really. Not when he looked so gleeful just to be next to me, turning the key like he'd been waiting his whole life to hear the low rumble of that old engine.

Behind us, Tre waved his Sprite bottle like a rallying flag. "See you losers on the highway!"

"Try not to flip the van," Erin called back.

Tre placed a dramatic hand to his chest. "I'm offended by your lack of faith."

"I'm offended by your driving history," she quipped.

We all heard Mike say, "He actually is a good driver," and Erin looked up at him, surprised.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, teasing.

Mike shrugged. "Well, I mean, he hasn't killed us yet."

"High praise," I muttered.

As the van started backing out with Tre at the helm and Erin settling into shotgun beside Mike, Billie pulled us out of the lot. The tires crunched over gravel and old cigarette butts, the morning sun creeping higher above the horizon, casting golden streaks through the windshield.