off at the entrance.” I glance over at him, imploring him with my eyes. “My mom can't know I got a ride. I'd be in a lot of trouble.”
Olive hits the brakes hard. Thankfully I’m latched in with the lap belt or I would have just bounced off the dashboard. My hands fly out and smack it anyway. His arm shoots out and braces me, holding me back in the seat more effectively than any shoulder belt could.
“Oh holy shit! I'm so sorry, are you okay?”
I nod, still conscious of his arm across my chest, right above my breasts.
“What was that, a deer or something?” I didn't see anything, but I was looking at him, not the road. His arm falls away slowly, and he grabs the steering wheel tight enough that I hear it creak.
“Something,” he mutters still at a dead stop.
Lifting his foot off the brake he slowly drives again. “Are you sure you're okay, nothing hurts?”
“I'm fine but you need to keep your eyes on the road.” I motion to the windshield.
“Sorry,” he mumbles again. “What kind of trouble would you be in? Like you'd get grounded or something?” He gives me the side eye, still watching the road like I asked.
“No, not grounded,” I hedge.
“Well then what?”
I sigh. “It's nothing like you're probably assuming. More like it would cause trouble rather than I'd actually get in trouble.”
Oliver looks over at me again, his eyes narrowed. I wave my hand forward. “Nothing to see here.”
“Ha,” he belts out, although it's not really a laugh but more of an exclamation.
“Why would it cause trouble?” he asks after a few seconds, shifting in his seat.
“Will you promise to drop me at the entrance?”
“Are you bargaining with me, like if I promise to drop you where you want you'll tell me?” He sounds slightly outraged. I cross my arms over my chest defiantly.
“I didn't ask you to drive me, but yes, if you promise I'll tell you all about my private life just so it will abate your curiosity.” It comes out a little snider than I'd meant it to, but I think I got my point across.
Oliver sighs and his shoulders fall. “All right, I promise.” His tone is flat. When I don't speak right away, he looks over at me.
“Right here is fine.” I gesture to the old wooden sign leading to a gravel path. His eyes squint and he tries to read in the darkness. “Turtle Resort?” he whispers. The horror I see on his face reaffirms why I don't let anyone close. No one else understands my mom. Hell, most days I don't either, but I still feel oddly defensive about my life. We're making due, doing the best we can for now.
Indignant anger spikes and I don't want to give him any explanation now. I have to though; I have a feeling if I don't keep my word, neither will he.
“My mom’s sick, okay? This car is loud and it would draw too much attention, maybe even wake her up if she's asleep. It would worry her if she found out I was riding with a stranger.” I say the last few words like an accusation. As soon as I'm done speaking, I click the seatbelt off and I'm out the door the next second.
I hear him curse once before the door slams shut. The engine revs and I assume he's taking off as I run down the gravel drive, past the front pond, and toward the back of the campground.
I'm strangely numb when I untangle my keys from the change in the bottom of my bag. I was so mortified, filled with a hot seed of anger a few moments ago, and now it feels weird being away from him.
I think I was hoping, without even realizing it, that things could be different now. That I could somehow become more of a real person instead of the shell I feel like now.
The reality is that nothing has changed. My mom may decide we need to move tomorrow, and she may spiral into an episode when I open this door. I don't think she'll ever be able to accept not all people are out to get us, that it might be okay to be known by someone.
The whole RV is dark when I get inside. My throat tightens before I even understand the implications. I've never walked into a dark house, no matter how late I've gotten in from work. Instinctually, I know something's wrong.