She Drives Me Crazy(23)

“Thora, don’t—” I say.

Irene sets her mouth. “I would deserve it. So if that’s what you need to do, go ahead.”

She takes a step back, clearing a path toward her car, and my brain short-circuits. This is the first admission of guilt I’ve heard from her. Thora narrows her eyes even further.

“We’re running late,” I say, striding toward the passenger side. “Thora, please, we need to go.”

“Why did you bully my sister?” Thora asks.

Irene’s eyes flicker toward me. She has the grace to look ashamed. “I made a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Thora says with a hollow laugh. “Bullying isn’t a mistake. Have you apologized?”

By the way Irene exhales, I can tell how humiliating this is for her. “No, I haven’t.”

Thora doesn’t reply at first. Then she tilts her chin and says, “I’m surprised you can stand with a spine that weak.”

Irene’s cheeks color. “I’m working on it.”

There’s a prolonged silence. Thora stares directly at Irene, unabashedly assessing her. Then she turns to me. I can tell by the fold of her mouth that she’s relenting. For now.

“You call me if she fucks with you,” Thora tells me. She sends one last glare at Irene, then slides past us and makes her way into the house.

Irene gets back in the car without another word. I’m still reeling as I drop my bags in the back seat. When I take a peek around the trunk of her car, the rear bumper looks good as new.



* * *



Irene’s car is spotlessly clean and sweet scented; there’s a vanilla air freshener attached to the AC and the windshield looks like she scrubs it regularly. There’s a single elegant cheer ribbon hanging from the rearview mirror. She’s playing music, but it’s too soft for me to hear.

“Your sister looked like she was trying to burn me with her eyes,” Irene says in a clipped tone. “If you’d come outside on time, we could have avoided that whole stupid altercation.”

I snort. “You know how else we could have avoided it? If you’d never messed with me in the first place.”

“I said it was a mistake.”

“Some mistake.”

Irene pops a stick of gum in her mouth. She drums her fingers anxiously on the steering wheel. “If we’re going to be in love, can you please try to run on time?”

“Can you please try to act like the kind of girl another girl might fall in love with?”

I expect another retort, but a shadow crosses over her eyes. “I don’t need this on top of everything else today.”

I avoid looking at her. Maybe I should be reveling in her discomfort, but all I can feel is empathy. I may hate her, but I wouldn’t wish homophobia on anyone.

“It won’t be that bad.” I tap my fingers on the console like this is all very nonchalant; I don’t want her to think I care. “No one really said anything when I came out. Just try to act like it’s something people should have known all along.”

Irene doesn’t say anything. The silence between us feels heavy. She clears her throat and says, “Play a song.”

I think I’ve misheard her. “What?”

“Play a song,” she says impatiently. “You’ve got one for every damn mood, don’t you? So play something upbeat. Something that’s—I don’t know—”

I know what she’s trying to say. Something to get me through this.

I scroll through my library, hovering over a few options, until I find the perfect track. Perfect because it’s so ridiculous. I connect to her Bluetooth, press PLAY, and wait for her reaction.

BUM. BUM BUM BUM—

I can tell the exact second she recognizes it, because she gives me that look.

“Really?” she asks.

I shrug and turn the volume up. “Oh come on. ‘Eye of the Tiger’ is everyone’s favorite pump-up song. It has major don’t-fuck-with-me energy.”

“It has cheesy-sports-movie energy.”

“Yeah, and you love sports. You’re an athlete, remember?”

“Screw you,” she says, but her heart’s not in it.

“Fine,” I say, taking pity on her. “What’s your favorite song?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Favorite movie, then. We’ll do the soundtrack.”

She shakes her head. “No, this will work.” She flexes her hands on the steering wheel. I pretend not to notice that her knee is shaking. Is this really a good idea?

When we pull into the school parking lot, my hands are sweating. Irene kills the ignition. “Are you ready?” she asks. There’s a slight quake in her voice.

“We don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to.”

She turns to me with her jaw set. “I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t want to.”

We stare at each other across the console. It’s almost like a game of chicken, where one of us is hoping the other will back down first. I know it’s not too late to call this off, but I don’t want to. I think of my team. Of the haughty Candlehawk players. Of the shame I felt when everyone laughed at my car being towed away.

Most of all, I think of Tally.