Finally, Forever(10)

“No, please, I really want to know what you’re thinking,” I say, fascinated.

Dylan sighs. “She just isn’t interesting. At all. I’m sorry, I know it’s a terrible thing to say. But it’s the truth.”

I pinch the inside of my cheeks between my teeth to hide my smile. Dylan looks genuinely upset and there is something extremely satisfying about her expression.

“You’ve known her for an entire hour.”

“You can tell within five minutes if a person is interesting,” Dylan argues. “Actually, I’ve mastered figuring it out in one minute by examining shoes, hands, fingers, eyes and chosen mode of transportation.”

“What are you, a forensics investigator?” I ask and she ignores my comment.

“She’s not interesting. Like I said, it just isn’t someone I pictured you with.”

I stare out at the restaurant for a few seconds, filing away our conversation. I can’t believe Dylan assumed Rachel was my girlfriend. She’s my coach’s daughter, which makes her entirely off limits, and she’s still in high school—another major disqualifier. She’s also not remotely my type. And Dylan’s right, I would never be interested in a girl with a license plate that says HORSES. She’s just asking for someone to key her car.

Do I tell Dylan the truth? My better half says yes, Gray, be honest, but my lousier half (more like three-fourths), says go with it. Embrace the bullshit. I picture Nick with a stethoscope around his head, reviving a dog and Dylan watching at his side.

Telling the truth would be the adult thing to do. But, I’m still a young adult. I’m allowed to play a few more immaturity cards.

I realize Dylan did me a huge favor by mistaking Rachel for my girlfriend. She built a wall between us, a huge medieval stone fortress ten stories high. I take a breath of relief and know I can make it through the next few days. Besides, I never technically lied about Rachel. Dylan planted the lie for me.

I push the stick shift into reverse, but out of the corner of my eye I see Dylan beginning to do the unthinkable. I grab her hand before it touches my stereo.

“Whoa. What do you think you’re doing?”

Our eyes lock. Her hand is warm. Her fingertips are hot. It’s like hooked bait catching me, latching on to something inside of me. I drop her fingers and her hand lingers in the air between us.

“I’m turning on the radio.”

“I don’t listen to radio stations. I enjoy good music.”

“Gray, you need to listen to local radio stations on a road trip,” she presses me. “It’s part of the cultural experience when you’re traveling.”

She starts playing with the tuner until she finds a classic rock station we both agree on.

I pull out of the parking lot and Dylan is already making herself at home, digging through some maps in the side pocket of my car. She pulls out a US atlas my dad must have given me back in high school. She opens it on her lap.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll be the road trip itinerary director,” she announces.

“Sounds like a perfect career title for you,” I say.

“It overlaps well with photography,” she agrees. “Hey, do you think we could check out a rodeo? I’ve never seen one and I think it would be a perfect entertainment addition to our itinerary.”

“This isn’t a road trip, Dylan. That term suggests the idea of fun and mutual enjoyment. I would call this,” I say and point to the area between us, “an extremely unfortunate predicament.”

Dylan bites her lips together and stares up at the ceiling of my car. “Gray, do you want me to catch a bus?” she asks. I stop the car at a red light and consider her offer.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m still trying to accept the fact that you’re sitting here right now. I’m not exactly thrilled about it. We have a tiny bit of history together.”

“Look, I know this is weird,” she agrees.

“Weird,” I repeat. I shift gears and sail up the ramp to the highway, knowing the faster I drive, the sooner this trip will be over. The accelerator is suddenly my best friend.

“I want to try and make it fun. But if you really hate me that much, then we don’t have to do this. Okay?”

I frown at her mature attitude towards my immature reaction.

“I don’t hate you,” I tell her and swallow. I wish that were my problem. I wish it were that easy. I look out at the endless highway spilling into the horizon. “Fine,” I say, not sure what I just agreed to.

“Good,” Dylan says. “So, for our first stop tonight, we can aim for—”

I raise my hand to cut her off. “Let’s pull an all-nighter,” I offer.