LATE JUNE
“Cally, you can do this.” Blake’s leaning against the driver’s side of the Jeep, his hand on the open door. I’m five feet away, eyeing the seat like it’s the electric chair. “Come on, take another step.”
Driver’s training starts in a couple weeks and despite threats from Mike—who got her license last month—to stop bringing me places, I’ve yet to actually sit behind the wheel. At this point I won’t get my license until long after my birthday, which is next week, but I’m okay with that. Blake’s upholding his promise to get me over my fear, but it’s not going as easily as he expected. Even his unceasing charm is no match for my irrational phobia.
Speaking of charming, after Calliope’s opening in March—which was a huge hit, to the point that Dad had to hire extra staff after the first two weeks—Dad and I started looking at houses. The McMansion in Harmony Hills was nice, but it never felt like home. Dad didn’t seem freaked out that it was taking forever to find something I consider normal, but we finally did. It’s not purple, but it oozes character and it’s in a neighborhood filled with normal families who grill out and drop by with lettuce from their gardens.
I touch a folded piece of paper in my pocket and take a breath. I’ve been carrying my fourth essay since Ms. Simpson returned it with a giant A scrawled across the top and a note that I should use it as a reminder of what I can overcome. Instead of focusing on the details of Mom’s accident, I wrote about how it’s affected me and my family, even after all these years. In a moment of impulsiveness, I shared my fear of being on the left side of a car and she’s since become my personal cheerleader, insisting I talk to Dad about it, which I did. The thing is, I already knew my fear was irrational, but my brain and my body won’t listen to logic.
Which brings us here, in the empty school parking lot. Just me, Blake, and his kick-ass Jeep which my brain seems to think is out to get me.
“Maybe if you get in first.” He moves around to the passenger side and I shake my head. “No, the driver’s side.”
He stops, hands on the hood. “You’ve seen me drive a million times.”
“Just get in.”
He obliges, and I take a step closer to the Jeep. As if understanding what I’m thinking, he drops a leg out the door to make room for me. I grab the door and rest the other hand on the roof. Deep breath.
He runs a hand along my side and I shiver. Even after all this time, he still makes me googley whenever he’s around. “You got this, Cally.”
I lift my leg and rest my foot on the running board, and he kisses my cheek. I graze my hand over the steering wheel but quickly jerk it back like I’ve been scalded. This shouldn’t be this hard. Just climb in. This time I avoid the steering wheel and use my legs to push up and into the seat. Blake’s arms wrap around me, holding me close against his chest.
My breathing is ragged. I squish my eyes closed and focus on his arms. If it weren’t for the steering wheel pressing into my legs I could pretend we’re on the couch watching a movie.
“Okay so far?”
I nod, smacking the back of my head into his chin. “Sorry!” I twist around as best I can in the tight space and touch his face. My gaze drops from his eyes to his lips and his breath hitches. I press my lips to his, pushing away thoughts of cars and driving and irrational fears, and he pulls me closer.
My leg starts to cramp from the awkward position. I break the kiss, but don’t pull away. “Can’t I just have a chauffeur for the rest of my life? This whole driving thing is overrated.”
He laughs against my cheek. “Yeah, driving, independence... totally overrated.”
“I mean, I get the allure, but people pay big money to not have to drive. I’m not being completely irrational.”
“Not completely.”
“But you’re gonna make me do this.”
He pushes my shoulders back so he can look me in the eye. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. But I know you can do this. I mean, have you seen the crazy stunts you do on skis? This should be easy.”
I drop my gaze. “Should be.”
He lifts my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles. “Turn around.”
I do, and ignore my heart as it tries to claw its way out of my chest.
He slips his hands beneath mine so my palms are on the back of his hands, then places his hands on the steering wheel. We sit like that for several minutes and even though I know what’s coming next, I feel like I’m watching a horror movie, waiting for the bad guy to spring out of the closet with a chainsaw.
But Blake’s movements are slow, patient. He removes one hand from beneath mine, finger by finger, so now I’ve got one hand on the wheel and the other still on his.
I take another breath, then he does the same thing with the other hand. He keeps his fingers pressed lightly against my wrists—not holding me there, but reassuring me that I’m not in this alone. I lean my head against his shoulder, close my eyes, and wrap my fingers around the wheel. The grooves on the backside cradle my fingers the same way ski poles do. My eyes flutter open and I look more closely at the wheel. “I never noticed that before.”
“What?”
“How the steering wheel is molded to fit your hand.” I run my fingers over the bumps that cover the wheel.
“If you think that’s cool, you’re in for quite a treat.” He reaches around me and before I can stop him, turns the key. The engine rumbles to life, a sound I’ve heard a bazillion times but this time is different. Terrifying. And a little thrilling. This time I’m in charge—literally in the driver’s seat—and this beast will do whatever I tell it.
He turns the key again and the engine quiets. “Baby steps.”
I drop my hand to rest on his thigh. “Thank you.”
He squeezes his arms around me, then smacks my leg. “That’s it for day one.”
I hop out of the car and roll my shoulders, staring at the dashboard. Maybe I can do this.
“Let’s go. We’re gonna be late for practice.”
Remember the Eldora Dash? Yeah, we both won our divisions. Blake didn’t think he could be on the team and have a job, but his dad was so excited that he not only won, but made the team, that he let him cut back his hours. Evan was able to earn a spot at spring tryouts—yeah, stupid me never thought about the fact that there would still be tryouts for the team at the end of the season—and I’ve slowly cobbled together a new group of friends. Evan and Mike are still going strong, the Snow Bitches have melted into oblivion—well, not completely, but I ignore them so to me they’ve ceased to exist—and best of all, Sophia is coming to visit for my birthday.
I climb into the passenger seat, smile at Blake, and remember the most important Slope Rule: None of this means anything if you’re not having fun.