Every Other Weekend(125)
Even If I Fall
by Abigail Johnson
Chapter 1
The car jolts back and forth, rocking Maggie and me along with it before stalling. Again. My nostrils flare and I dig my baby blue–painted nails into the steering wheel. Calm as you please, I pull the keys from the ignition, roll down the window and hurl them into the field of wild grass growing along the side of Boyer Road, less than a stone’s throw from the base of my long dirt driveway.
“Feel better?” Maggie’s mirrored sunglasses show me that the question is rhetorical. My left eye is twitching and the dimple in my chin has never been more prominent. I try to relax my jaw as I tuck the dark brown strands of my not-quite-shoulder-length hair behind my ears, but my reflection doesn’t change much. With the window open and the A/C off, there is no ignoring the sauna-like June heat rolling in as the sun reaches the height of the day. It’s the kind of hot and muggy that wrings every drop of moisture—and optimism—from my body, leaving me limp and heavy in the steamy afternoon air.
“This is an evil car and it hates me.”
“No, not Daphne.” My friend and self-appointed driving instructor gives the dash a little pat.
“Why did I give her such a cute name?” I eye Daphne, aka the navy Camaro from hell. I’ve owned my first car for three days and have barely driven her as many miles. “I should start calling her Jezebel.”
“Call her whatever you like but you still have to learn to drive stick.”
“I’m trying.” I lean forward to yell directly into the air vent. “I will be so good to you if you just stop stalling every two seconds!”
“You’re lifting your foot off the clutch too soon.”
“I know.” I collapse back against my seat.
“So stop it.”
I can hear the grin in Maggie’s voice before I turn my head to look at her. Yeah, she’s enjoying this. “You said learning to drive stick would be fun, that I’d have it down in an hour. We’ve been at this all morning and I’m pretty sure I’m getting worse.”
“You’re not going to get any better without the keys, Brooke.”
With a sigh, I push open my door and cross the single lane dirt road. The thigh-high grass skims the hem of my faded blue sundress as I search the open field. Fortunately, the keys have a ridiculously large fuzzy keychain in the shape of an ice skate on them—my new-car present from Maggie—so they aren’t hard to find.
“Who has a stupid keychain now?”
Turning back, I see she’s crawled over the console and is resting her forearms on the driver’s side open window. “I never said stupid, I said interesting.”
Maggie bursts out laughing. “You’re always so polite. Is that a West Texas thing or a Covington thing?”
“Worried it’s catching?” I ask with a faux scowl.
Maggie pulls the collar of her sleeveless watermelon-print shirt up to her chin and hunches her shoulders. “It better not be. If I start calling anybody ma’am, I’m moving back to LA.”
“It’s not my home or my family. I just don’t see the sense in being rude for no reason.” I let my gaze travel back to Daphne. “But that’s with people, not cars.” A smile alights on my face. “Hey, you think there’s something wrong with her and not me?”
Maggie raises an eyebrow—well, I think she raises an eyebrow. Her aviators cover half her rather small face, so it’s hard to tell. She plucks the keys from my hand while fully moving into the driver’s seat. A second later I’m left choking on a dust cloud as she speeds a few hundred yards down the dirt road, executes an action-movie-worthy U-turn, and drives back. She’s grinning as she slows next to me.
“Guess it’s not the car.”
“Not fair. Didn’t you tell me your dad is a professional stunt driver?”
“Professional stunt driver, professional cheater and liar.” She lifts one hand then the other as though she’s weighing the two options. “He is a man of many talents.”
“Sorry,” I say. I feel like I’ve known Maggie my whole life instead of just a couple weeks, so I keep forgetting that there’s still a lot she hasn’t shared with me.
Maggie dismisses my apology with a wave of her hand then lifts her sunglasses into her pink-tinted hair, which exactly matches the double-winged liner on her eyes. She’s definitely raising her eyebrows now. “If we’re talking about fair, ask me how I feel watching you do quintuple silk-cow jumps around me when I can barely skate backward.”
“Salchow jumps, and they were only doubles. Plus, you’re getting so much better.”
“Says the girl my mom literally offered to pay to be my friend.”
“She offered to pay me for ice-skating lessons.” While I needed the money—we live on the outskirts of town and gas to and from anywhere isn’t cheap—it turned out what I really needed was someone whose eyes wouldn’t shade with pity or scorn whenever they looked at me. “Besides, I think we can both agree you’re the one paying now.” I eye the hand rubbing her neck. I’ve been jerking us around for hours trying to tame Daphne.
Maggie tries not to smile. “You know my mom would have paid you twice what she offered. She’s convinced I’m turning into some kind of recluse who only talks to the camera when I’m filming YouTube tutorials. She only really likes the Korean beauty videos I make, but I’m half American too. Anyway, I’m just glad the first person I met turned out to be as amazing off the ice as she is on it. One less thing she can nag me about, right?”