Letters to Nowhere #1 (Completed!)

Letters to Nowhere: Part 55

"We're not going inside?" Jordan asked.

            I shook my head and fought off the emotions threatening to drown me. Be strong...look the beast in the eye, I said over and over again inside my head.

            Jordan and I stood in my garage, staring at a very neglected, nearly new silver Audi. It was hard enough to go into the garage. I couldn't handle stepping inside the house. But Blair was right; I had to force this on myself in order to really gain control of my emotions.

            Or at least that was the theory I'd adopted. I fumbled for the keys in my backpack and unlocked the door. I sat in the driver's seat and started the ignition. Already the familiar smell had my head spinning, but this had to be easier than going in the house again. I sat still, letting the car warm up for a few minutes.

            Jordan held the driver door open, leaning in closer to me. "Let me ride with you first. Just a couple laps around the block. It's icy, and we didn't even tell my dad..."

            I let out a frustrated breath. "Jordan, I'm a licensed driver. My grandmother told me to come get my car whenever I'm ready. Stop worrying."

            His face reflected very conflicting emotions. "How long did you have your license?"

            "Three months," I answered staring at the steering wheel. "What are you going to do to rescue me while you're sitting in the passenger seat that you can't do by following me in your car?"

            "Fine," he said, clearly pissed off at me.

            He was just worried about Bentley blaming him, since he was the one who had driven me over here. I would have taken the bus if he'd said no, anyway.

            "Can you even reach the pedals?" Jordan said in a last-second plea.

            I glared at him and pulled the door shut. I'd nearly put the car in reverse when he knocked on the window. I hit the button to roll it down. "What?"

            He leaned on the frame, looking so, so cute and stressed out. "Nothing...I'm sorry. You're right. You have to do this. Just don't, you know...drive angry."

            I burst out laughing. "Thanks for the PSA."

            I watched in the rearview mirror as he jogged down the driveway and got into his car. And yes, I was totally and completely nervous, but in all fairness, I wasn't a bad driver. In fact, I had gotten a perfect score on my driving test, but due to last year's shoulder surgery, I had to wait several months to complete my driver's ed course. I put the car in reverse and backed out, hitting the button to shut the garage door. I waited until it sealed completely, freezing my home exactly as it had been left, then I was headed down the block, Jordon and his puke green car behind me.

            When I pulled into the Bentleys' complex, parking a few spaces from their town house door, I could feel myself ready to grin. I hadn't flipped out or felt that weird chest tightening dizziness or nausea. Jordan's friend Tony was waiting with Jordan at the front door.

            Tony stuck his hand out for me to high-five him. "Nice wheels, Campbell!"

            Jordan rolled his eyes. "He's got the exact same car but blue."

            I looked where Jordan had just pointed and saw an identical Audi in a deep blue. "Cool."

            Jordan stared at me like he wanted to say something, but maybe not in front of Tony. "Okay, you two," Tony said. "Big party at my house tonight. You're coming, right?"

            The front door was finally opened by Jordan. Tony and I followed him in. I'd had several days to figure out a plan for getting the information I needed about my parents' accident, and Tony's presence today made the last piece fall into place.

            "I'm totally up for it," I said. "If we can figure out something to tell Jordan's dad."

            Jordan looked at me in surprise, but then yanked his phone from his pocket as it vibrated. I wasn't trying to look. I really wasn't. But the front of it was flashed in my line of sight for half a second.

            Stevie Davis.

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