“But you don’t know these people.” And then I was telling him about Jimmy and Haylie. I did my best impression of Jimmy, about Haylie’s warnings against making him mad. The driver smiled, and I felt a little better. I could lighten it all up, turn the whole thing into a funny story, something I could control.
“Ha,” he said. “Tell me more. I’ve been driving for six days straight. It’s nice to hear another voice.”
I kept going. I told him how I’d forgotten my cell phone, and how my dad was going to kill me. I told him about how I was probably going to be late for physiology lab, and how much I did not want to dissect a dog shark on this particular morning anyway. He remembered dissecting a frog in junior high, he said. He felt a little bad for the frog, but he’d loved it, seeing how everything worked inside.
We were getting close to Lawrence. I could see the campus rising up on a hill in the distance, the twin flags of Fraser Hall faintly visible in the gray air. I might just make it to lab after all. We were making good time, going fast. I squinted out into the fields surrounding the highway, dead wheat stalks flattened by wind and ice.
“I can get off at the next exit,” I said.
“Tell me something else,” he said. “You’re better than the radio.”
But I couldn’t think of anything else to tell him. My fatigue was catching up with me again. My shoulder still hurt, and I was certain the seat belt had left a bruise.
“I’m sorry. I’m tired.” I rubbed my shoulder.
He glanced at me. “Did you get hurt or something?”
“Oh. I think the seat belt just bruised my shoulder.” I pulled my scarf and coat and sweater away, glancing down. When I looked back up, he was looking at me.
“Here’s my exit.” I pointed at the sign.
He didn’t slow down. I looked at him to see if he’d heard me. His blue eyes were dulled, his jaw slack.
“Here’s my exit,” I said again. The sign for the exit seemed to be approaching very quickly. I was still pointing, my arm straight out in front of me. We passed the sign. We passed the exit. I pulled my arm back to my side. Pinpricks of sweat formed under my arms. My mouth felt dry and hot.
“That was my exit,” I said.
“Oh,” he said. “That was your exit. I’m sorry. I was thinking it was later.”
I felt movement under my skin, blood warming in my hands, in my throat. “That’s fine,” I said carefully. I was looking out at the road, not at him. “There’s another Lawrence exit up ahead. You can let me off there.”
“Sure,” he said. “No problem.”
I stared out the window, listening to the growling engine, the scrape of the wipers. There was nothing wrong. Everything would be okay. He just hadn’t heard me.
He leaned forward, catching my eye. He had a deep scratch on his left cheek. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No,” I said. I caught sight of myself in the side mirror. Something in my expression made me think of my mother’s face. “There’s one more exit for Lawrence. I’ll just get off there.”
A car passed us, the tires spitting back slush. It looked small and low to the ground.
“You’re not going to talk anymore?”
I shook my head, still looking away. Tiny snowflakes were falling now. They hit the side mirror and melted, trickling down. I watched for the next exit.
He waited ten windshield beats before he spoke again.
“You probably got a boyfriend.”
This was the first time his voice sounded anything but friendly. The word “boyfriend,” especially, was not said kindly. There was a hint of accusation in it, a wary annoyance. Everything inside me, my breath, my heart, felt still.
“Oh. So now you won’t even tell me that?”
I could not have answered him if I’d wanted to. My jaw was clenched, my tongue tense against the roof of my mouth. And I didn’t want to answer. It was hard to know which answer, a yes or a no, would be unwise. I thought of Tim. He was well on his way to Chicago by now, north of the storm and unaware. I pictured his face and felt tears.
“I’m sure you do,” he said. He puffed his cheeks, breathing out a long, sad-sounding sigh. “Bet you talk to him, he asks you