head toward where Tiffanie’s waiting for him in her car. “You wanna bum a ride?”
“Thanks, but she’s on her way.”
Marcus and Bo share a look. “I’ll wait with you,” says Bo.
Marcus nods a “thanks” to Bo and leaves.
“I can wait inside,” I tell him. “Ron’ll be here for a while still.”
“It’s cool.” He digs his keys out of his pocket. “Let’s wait in my truck.” He must see the pause in my expression. “Just sittin’,” he says. “I’ll even put the armrest down.”
Once we’ve settled, Bo is indeed true to his word and lowers the armrest between us.
We sit in silence for a while, listening to the hum of the road at our backs. The scent of him hits me, all artificial cherry and aftershave. I guess I stopped noticing it over the summer, but it’s been a while now since I’ve been in his truck. I don’t quite understand how something can feel so comfortable and foreign at the same time. Like, déjà vu.
I reach forward and flip through some stations. Bo says nothing about me commandeering his radio.
“I can’t hear Dolly Parton anymore without thinking of you.”
My stomach flips as I laugh nervously. “Well, lucky for you she’s not on the radio too much anymore.” My voice comes out more abrasively than I mean for it to. But really, I love that I’ve staked my claim on his memory. Except that I can’t think of Dolly without seeing El or Lucy. And that doesn’t seem very fair.
“Why Dolly?” he asks. “I don’t really get it. She’s so . . . fake.”
“Her boobs are, yeah. Obviously.” I trace patterns on the armrest, looking for the right words. “She’s the kind of person who looks like she’s never had a bad day. I guess she’s sort of my guru. Like, her music is good, I guess. But it’s her that makes it good. With her big hair and fake boobs. I’ve never seen anyone who’s living the life they set out to live like she does.”
He studies me, but doesn’t say anything. “It’s like every day is Halloween for her.” Mitch in his costume flickers in my memory. “But for Dolly, it’s not dress up or make-believe. It’s her life. And it’s exactly how she chose for it to be.” I stop myself before I get too cheesy.
“Huh.” He crosses his arms and sinks down further into his seat. “I’ve always thought of her as some kind of cartoon character. But maybe not.”
The Harpy’s light above us cuts out and we let the radio do the talking.
“No car?” he asks after a while. “What’s the story there?”
I lean my head against the headrest. “It wouldn’t start. About two months ago maybe.” Is that all? It feels like it’s been forever since everything happened and I entered the pageant. And since I lost Ellen. “It’s been in the shop ever since. Can’t afford to get it fixed.”
“I feel ya,” he says. “Money’s supposed to make things easier, but it’s always doing the opposite. I sort of wish we worked on a barter system.”
His words grate on me. Bo’s gone to private school for the last few years, and that’s anything but free.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“No. Come on. Out with it.”
After a long moment, I say, “Well, I mean, you went to Holy Cross. I get that you’re trying to be nice, but I don’t think it’s fair to say you actually know what it feels like to be broke.”
“Wow,” he says. “That’s a pretty broad assumption.”
Headlights flood the cab of the truck from behind us. “Whatever,” I say. “You asked. Good night. Tell Bekah I said hi.”
I slide out of his truck and slam the door behind me.
He rolls down the window. “Just so you know,” he calls to me. “Not everyone who goes to private school is rich. Especially not the poor kids who can play basketball.”
The window rolls back up, dividing him from me, before I have a chance to add anything else.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. But more than anything, I’m confused. Why wouldn’t he tell me about being on scholarship?
My mom gets out of her car and runs up to Bo’s window. I watch from the other side of the truck as she uses one knuckle to knock on the glass. She talks in the high-pitched voice she only uses when communicating with “menfolk.” Bo says something and her whole face lights up. She touches his forearm and holds her other hand to her chest.