The Turing Test

Chapter 8

September

Jimmy opens the door and climbs into the passenger seat of my car.

"You have aux," I hand him the chord, and as always, he refuses to plug his phone in for music. "Hey, no, I'm serious this time. I won't judge you, I just want to know what kind of music you listen to. Please," I beg him.

"I like your music though. Mine is...weird," he buries his chin in the collar of his flannel, like a turtle retreating into its shell.

"Don't worry guys, I'll take aux," a voice says as the car door shuts. I look behind my seat, and Klara has just gotten in, sprawling all of her stuff in the back.

"Damnit," I murmur to myself. I had a brief moment of false hope, because I hadn't seen her waiting by my car. I thought, just for a minute, that I might have a car ride without her.

"Okay, a couple questions," Klara leans forward, poking her head between Jimmy and I's. "First, what are we feeling for music today? Something a little more vibey?"

"Klara, get out of my car."

"No, you're right, it's a pump-up day. Secondly, who the hell is this guy?" she points at Jimmy. "Also, why is he in my seat?"

"He's not in your seat, because this isn't your seat, and this has never been your seat," I point out. "But if you're wondering, his name is Jimmy, and he tutors me. Jimmy, this is Klara, and she apparently has no other friends that she can torture besides me."

"Hi Klara," Jimmy gives her a curt wave, but he looks terrified. He's probably noticed how defined and striking her eyebrows are.

"Excuse me, I do have friends," Klara flicks her hair. "They just choose not to invite me to things, because apparently I'm dramatic or something."

"Really? You?"

Jimmy recognizes my sarcasm, and he does that thin smile of his.

"Okay but seriously, I've been riding in your car for like two weeks now, I feel like I should get shotgun. I'm just saying, it's only fair. Plus, I can't control music from the back seat, I need to sit closer to the front. Jimmy won't mind if I switch with him. Jimmy, you won't mind, right?"

"Right," Jimmy gulps.

"Too bad, I'm driving away," I start the car.

Klara only stays in her seat for a moment, and before we've even left the parking lot, she leans forward again. "Jimmy," she starts, "you're Mexican, right?"

"Hispanic."

"Sure. So do you know about Spanish rap then? Is that like, your kind of music?"

I groan, "Please, not the Spanish rap again. Don't start this up."

"Via, I think I should play it one more time, because I really think you're gonna like it," Klara starts to play the music at full volume.

"You can't even understand the words, it's in Spanish!" I exclaim.

"That's why we have Spanish class in school, Via. If you actually paid attention in that class, maybe you could sing along."

"I'm starting to see why none of your friends want to hang out with you."

"It'll grow on you. I promise. Plus, Jimmy can sing along, he's Mexican."

Jimmy gives me as sideways glance, his forehead wrinkled above his glasses. I think he's wondering if this girl is for real.

As we drive off, I am drowned out by the reggaeton beat of the Spanish rap.

* * * * *

Wes pauses our game suddenly. "What would you think about me picking up guitar?"