You and Me and Us | Muffy

Part 2

Marty's POV

She runs down the steps and up to my car. As she enters the vehicle, I notice the way the golden sunlight illuminates her smile. I didn't think it was possible, but somehow she got more beautiful since I last saw her. As I twist my key in the ignition, I wonder for a moment about if it's safe to drive with my heart pounding like this. I glance over at her, then back to the road. Who cares if it's safe? She's here and I want to spend every possible second I can with her.

As I shift the gear out of park and pull into the road, Buffy takes it upon herself to turn off my radio and plug her own phone into the aux cord.

"You still do that?" I say with a laugh.

"Of course," she says. "Anything else would be out of character."

Hearing her laugh again makes me realize how much I've missed it. It feels like a part of myself is being restored.

She scrolls through her music, finally settling on a country song I recognize: "Wastin' Gas" by Dallas Smith.

"Since when do you like country?" I ask.

"Since I realized it's not actually as terrible as I thought it was."

"Eh, that's debatable," I tease.

I can tell she wants to shove my shoulder, but she controls the urge, probably because I'm driving. Instead she just rolls her eyes.

"What about you?" she asks. "Do you still like that Garrett Shake whoever?"

"Garren Lake?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," I answer

"Yeah," she breathes once more.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see her looking out the window at the buildings as we pass them.

"What was it like in Portland?" she asks. "Did you have any friends? No, of course you had friends. Like, what were they like?"

I chuckle a little at the awkwardness of how she asked her question before answering, "I did have friends. They were cool."

"Do you miss them?"

"Nah," I reply. "See, right before I left, they started getting into some . . . not so great stuff."

"Ah, yes. I know that stuff."

"Exactly. I didn't want to do—well—that stuff, so I stopped hanging out with them."

"That sucks," she says.

"Nah. Made it easier to leave."

I see her staring at me out of the corner of my eye, so when I stop at a traffic light, I turn to match her gaze only for her to avert her eyes immediately.

"Did you have any girlfriends?" she asks me.

"Yeah," I respond. But none like you.

I had four, to be exact, but none of those relationships lasted more than a month. I just couldn't find anyone who made me feel the way she did.

"Oh," she says.

"Did you have any boyfriends?"

She shakes her head. "Not really. I went on a few dates, but . . . nothing ever felt right."

"I get that," I admit.

There's a moment of silence between us, and she watches as we pass the sign that reads 'You are now leaving Shadyside.'