“Shut up!” She elbows me as we meander down the sidewalk. “Food?”
“Sure, but we better skip anything with cheese.”
It takes a second for my words to click, but as they do, Stella doubles over laughing. “Oh my God!” she wheezes.
“Are you okay?” I ask, awkwardly patting her back.
She springs up, dislodging my hand from her. “I am amazing. Especially now that I know you have a sense of humor under all that doom-and-gloom.”
“Whatever,” I mumble under my breath.
“Hey, chill.” Stella’s laughter dies off. “I meant no offense. It’s normal to be a little in your feels girl. You just moved like five states away to attend college. You’re allowed to be sad and shit. I’d probably cry forever if I moved away from my family.”
“Nah, you’d be fine.”
“What makes you say that?” Stella asks, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.
Despite the burning in my cheeks, I shrug. “I don’t know. You just seem... strong.”
“I’m glad you think so. Some days, I think—” She shakes her head, clearing away the clouds that were creeping into her pretty blue eyes. “Never mind. You wanna go to Target and get pretzels and Icees?”
Stella’s transparent in her deflection, but I’d be the pot calling the kettle black if I were to say anything, so instead, I resume walking and say, “Most definitely.”
“Do you drive?” she asks before slapping her palm to her forehead. “Blonde moment! It’s not like you teleported from Texas.”
“We all have them,” I assure her, twisting a lock of my dark brown hair that’s escaped my braid around my fingers. “Even those of us on the dark side.”
“You’re cool driving us, though?”
“Yup. I’m in the lot in front of the dorm.”
Like an unwanted companion, anxiety churns in my gut as we near the parking lot. Stella seems cool, but what if she’s the kind of girl who will think less of me because my car is out of date?
No, Emmy, stop it. Don’t self-sabotage out of fear. You’re better than that and Stella doesn’t deserve to be the victim of said fear.
“This is me.” I stop at the trunk and dig my keys from my bag.
“Nice ride,” she says, skimming her hand appreciatively over the body.
If she were anyone else, I’d assume she was being disingenuous, but Stella’s face is completely open and honest. She truly believes my little old Honda is nice.
“Thanks. Bought her myself,” I say as I duck into the driver’s seat.
“Does she have a name?” Stella asks once she’s buckled.
“No...” I hedge.
The bubbly blonde to my right gasps. “What? You have to name your car. Everyone knows that, Em.”
My heart slams against my chest in tandem with my foot slamming against the brake pedal. Stella braces herself on the dash as the momentum of my sudden stop sends her forward.
“What? What is it?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly.
Embarrassment renders me mute.
“Emmy, are you okay? You’re totally freaking me out.”
My breath stalls in my chest and my hands sweat against the leather of the steering wheel. I pinch my eyes closed and try to regulate my breathing.
Sensing something is deeply wrong, Stella softens her voice when she speaks again. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths, right?” She says each word slowly, with a deliberateness that tells me this isn’t her first rodeo with panic attacks.
“Everything is okay. You’re okay.”
I nod as I exhale.
“Do you think you can pull the car to the side of the road?”
I nod again before peeling my lids open and guiding my car to the shoulder. Thankfully there are no other vehicles in sight.
“What happened just now?”
So much for her thinking I’m normal. Now she knows I’m a freak.
“You don’t have to tell me, but I’m a great listener.”
“It...” I swallow hard. “It was the name. I, um—”
“Say no more.” Stella waves a hand in the air. “I’ll never use it again. Promise.”
Relief washes over me instantaneously. “Thank you.”
“We all have our shit, girl. No worries. Now, if you’re good to drive, I need some cinnamon-sugar goodness, stat.”
“Yeah, I am. Just tell me where to go.”
“Didn’t you luck out?” she asks as I pull back onto the road. “A bomb-ass roomie and your own personal very local tour guide.”
“Oh. My. God.” Stella pops the last of her pretzel into her mouth. “I swear, they put crack in the cinnamon. There’s no other explanation.”
“That good, huh?” I ask as I toss my trash.
“Girl. You’ll have to try one next time. You’ll never get that salty garbage again.”