Ticktock Love

[15] She's the Newswoman

When I scrambled out of my house the next morning, a familiar Prius was already parked in the driveway.

"Twice in a week, Amber?" I asked as she rolled down the driver's side window. The bright, late-August sun beat down on her face, layering her skin in golden hues. She flashed her teeth as she slid her tinted sunglasses down her nose.

"What can I say, I'm a goddess."

Before giving me an impressed nod, she had assessed my outfit of the day, a denim dress with frayed edges and a sweetheart neckline, spruced up with a button-down closure on the front. The hemline barely dropped to my knees, but I hoped that the round toe flats I was wearing made my legs look shorter and less dress-code-breaking.

Her grin got wider when my squinting reflected my suspicion.

"You want something, don't you?"

She sighed in defeat. "Jump in and I'll tell you."

I obliged and climbed up into the passenger seat. Like a true friend returning the favor, I granted her two thumb-ups for her white, wide-leg pants and peach tie front top. As I reached for the seatbelt, an unopened bag of Skittles fell under my seat, tumbling out of my eyesight with a rustle. Focusing, I bit my lower lip and felt around the rubber floor mat, making a mental note to wash my hands before homeroom.

"Just put them in the door," Amber suggested once I triumphantly picked them up, so I complied, dropping them next to an unopened bottle of water and empty candy wraps.

Once we were both safely restrained, she started the engine and reversed out of the driveway.

I had absolutely no clue what she wanted to talk about. We had spent the entire evening gushing about my date in the group chat, analyzing every single word that came out of Aiden's mouth. Amber had even done several BuzzFeed quizzes and found out that our Disney couple was Flynn Rider and Rapunzel, that we were getting married in five years, and that our wedding theme should be lasers. Once she reached the topic of our fiftieth anniversary, there was nothing more to discuss.

We drove in silence for a minute, Amber too busy focusing on a tricky intersection to pay much attention to anything else. After she made a safe turn and started tailgating the red Tesla ahead of us, she reached for the stereo and changed the radio station to the newest Taylor Swift's single.

"We have to do something about J and G," she told me when Taylor hit a particularly high note. She didn't even glance at me, too focused on the traffic lights. Two middle-school boys wavered at the curb, doing the will-they-won't-they dance like they were the main characters in a low-budget romantic comedy.

"What, we're using codenames now?" I simpered.

"Let me be extra for once, Liz."

The kids decided to jaywalk just as the light turned green, so Amber stepped on the brake pedal and cursed their ancestors for good measure. Instead of doing the same, I barely blinked, used to the dangers of everyday commute.

"Fine. Live your best life. What are you proposing we do?"

"Well, we can ambush them, but that's boring. I have the keys to the yearbook room," her eyes sparkled in excitement. "If you lure in Julia, and I deal with Grace, we can lock them in. Make them talk it out, braid each other's hair, whatever."

"No. That's horrible."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? Would you like to be locked in a room with someone you're in a fight with, like Naomi?"

"Fair point," she scowled and, having run into another red light, muttered a choice of curse words under her breath. "But they're friends. They haven't spoken in five days. That's longer than some celebrity marriages."