Girl Online(33)

“Most of the world drives on the right-hand side of the road,” Noah says, putting the key in the ignition. “It’s pretty much only you Brits who drive on the left.”

“Just because most of the world does something, it doesn’t make it right,” I say, putting on my seat belt. “What about war and making kids take science at school and . . . cherry-flavored Coke? Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

“Cherry-flavored Coke?” Noah looks at me and raises his eyebrows.

“Extra-wrong!” I say, pulling a fake grimace. “It tastes like medicine.”

It’s only when Noah pulls out onto Park Avenue that it dawns on me that I’ve actually got into a car without feeling any kind of panic. It turns out that chiseled cheekbones and twinkly, dimply smiles are an even better distraction than superhero alter egos and breathing techniques. But as soon as we approach the first huge junction, I start feeling jittery. It was OK yesterday in the taxi because I was sandwiched in the back between Elliot and Mum but being in the front—in what should be the driving seat—is making me feel really vulnerable and exposed.

“So, are you in college?” I ask, gripping onto the edge of my seat.

Noah shakes his head. “Nah, I’m taking a break from studying for a while.”

“What, like a gap year?”

“Kinda. So, Miss Penny, if you were a musical instrument, what would it be?”

I’m starting to realize that Noah isn’t a fan of the standard question. “A musical instrument?”

“Uh-huh.”

A taxi goes zooming past us on the inside lane, causing my heart to skip a beat. I close my eyes and try to pretend that we aren’t in a car, on a road, potentially about to die. “A cello,” I say, simply because the cello is my favorite instrument.

“Figures,” Noah says.

I open my eyes just enough to give him a sideways glance. “Why?”

“Because cellos are beautiful and mysterious.” Then the weirdest thing happens—Noah’s face actually goes bright red. “Anyways, aren’t you gonna ask me what instrument I’d be?” he says, looking cool again. I feel all weird inside. Like something important just happened but I’m not quite sure what.

“If you were a musical instrument, what would it be?” I ask.

“Today, I reckon I’d be a trumpet.”

“Today?”

“Yes. I go through different instrument phases. Yesterday was definitely a bass-drum day but today I’m feeling way more trumpet.”

“I see,” I say, not really seeing at all. “So, why a trumpet?”

“Because trumpets always sound so happy. Listen.” He presses play on the stereo. The air is filled with the sound of a trumpet playing. Although I don’t recognize the piece of music, I’ve heard enough of my dad’s CD collection to know that it’s jazz. And Noah’s right; the trumpet does sound really cheerful, tootling away. He turns down the volume and looks at me. “We’re gonna be crossing the Brooklyn Bridge soon. Have you seen the bridge yet?”

I shake my head. “No, we only got here yesterday. I haven’t really seen anywhere yet.”

“You haven’t?” Noah looks at me. I shake my head again. “Well, it’s a good thing this is Magical Mystery Day then, isn’t it?”

I’m just about to reply when a car comes shooting around the corner straight toward me. “Oh no!” I cry, throwing my hands up in fear.

Noah laughs. “It’s OK. They’re allowed to drive on that side. We drive on the right side, remember.”

My body is frozen to my seat but my mind is spiraling back to that freezing wet night, the car spinning, Mum screaming, the whole world turning upside down. Stay calm, my inner voice urges. Don’t freak out. Think of Ocean Strong. But my calm voice is fading away and now all I can hear is the screeching of brakes and my voice yelling for Mum and Dad. I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from crying. But it’s no good; it’s like I’m haunted by the accident. I just can’t get it out of my head. A raw heat whooshes through my body like a forest fire. I can’t swallow, I can’t breathe. I need to get out of the car. I feel like I’m going to die.

“I guess it must seem kind of scary, everything being the opposite way around,” Noah continues. His voice sounds faint and muffled beneath the ringing in my ears.

I shut my eyes tight and cling onto the seat. I feel tears trickling down my burning face and I want to wail with despair. Why won’t this stop? Why does this keep happening? Why can’t I get over the accident?





Chapter Eighteen

“Hey? Are you OK?” Noah’s voice is suddenly louder.

I try to nod my head but my entire body feels paralyzed. I feel the car turning and then coming to a stop. I cautiously open my eyes. We’ve pulled into a side street, lined with towering buildings. Noah is staring at me; he looks really worried.

“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer, my teeth starting to chatter. I’ve literally gone from baking hot to freezing cold in a couple of seconds.

Noah leans into the back of the truck and fetches a tartan blanket. “Here,” he says, placing it on my lap.

I pull the blanket up to my shoulders and hug it around me tightly. “Thank you.”