Page 16 of If We Say Goodbye

My stomach turns again, and my heart is pounding. Every little sound is amplified. The wind, the hum of the car, the birds in the distance. There are so many sounds I can’t think straight.

Another car piles up behind Caleb’s.

“If I get in the car, will you knock it off? You’re driving me crazy,” I say.

He grimaces with a shrug. “Hard to say. I guess you’ll have to find out.”

I eye the car, studying his hand position on the steering wheel. “Driving record?”

“Clean.”

“What if I say no?”

“I have all day. Do you?” His stare is strong and determined.

The only way to get him to move is to start running or get in the car. The horn behind him honks again, and I jump closer. My hand fumbles on the handle. When I pull it, the door doesn’t open.

He’s watching me. I know that he sees the car is locked.

I raise my eyebrows and clear my throat. “Door.”

He stares, trying to see what I’ll do if he waits.

I’m not patient, and I don’t like his games. They’re immature.

I reach through the open window and unlock the door myself. Then I open it and climb in with a huff, holding onto my backpack for dear life.

His car is nice. I stick out like a sore thumb the second I get in. It’s perfectly clean and there isn’t a speck of dust on the dash. Me, on the other hand . . . well, my shoes are covered in mud, and my sweatshirt is covered in stains.

He stares at me with one raised eyebrow, studying me.

“What?”

“How about, ‘Thank you for saving me from freezing to death.’ Or better yet, ‘Caleb, you’re my hero.’”

I rock my jaw. “How about—”

Something touches my arm. I shriek, whipping my head around to see his younger brother, Jordan, sitting behind me. I rarely see him because he mostly keeps to himself. He’s quiet and has rarely found me to be someone worth talking to. He’s a miniature version of his brother, except his cheeks are fuller. He’s also missing his two front teeth. If I remember right, he’s about ten.

“You need to buckle. We’re running three minutes behind,” he says, showing me the time on his phone.

“Jordy, you’re still going to be the first kid there,” Caleb says.

“I’m supposed to be there at exactly 7:30.”

“Why? Why do youhaveto be that early?” Caleb asks.

“Because that’s the way I’ve always done it.”

“Doing things differently one time—”

“Don’t worry, I’m buckling,” I say, grabbing the seat belt.

As soon as it clicks, Caleb starts to move forward, and Jordy quiets down.

The problem is we are now heading straight for Lincoln St.

My heart speeds up again nearing my dreaded street. “Turn left here,” I blurt out.