I suck in a breath and peel my palms off the dashboard. “You are quite possibly the worst driver on the face of the planet.”
She shrugs, tossing the keys into my lap. “You aren’t wrong. You can drive back if you want.”
I toss the keys back. “I don’t have my license.”
“What? How is that even possible? Even I have my license, and you witnessed what a shitshow I am behind the wheel.”
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I slip out of the car on wobbly legs. Being in a car with Chloe behind the wheel is like riding a rollercoaster during a hurricane. I’m pretty sure my life flashed before my eyes at least three times in the ten-minute drive.
"I don’t know. I never really needed it. The bus took me to and from school, and my Momma took me anywhere else,” I explain as we head through the sliding glass doors.
“Yeah, but what about to parties and stuff? Did your friends just drive you?” she asks, grabbing a shopping cart.
I bite down on my bottom lip, unsure if I want to reveal just how pathetic I grew up to be. “I-I've never really been to a party,” I confess. Might as well get the, Roni is a socially awkward weirdo talk out of the way early.
“Like never?”
“I mean not like, never, never, but the last party I was invited to was Little Mermaid themed.”
“What?” She stops dead, nearly causing a three-cart collision in the bakery section. “Hold on, you mean to tell me you haven’t been to a party since I turned eight?”
“Yup,” I say, tugging the cart forward once more. The man behind us shoots a murderous glare at the back of Chloe’s head before he swerves dramatically down the first aisle. “What’s the first thing on the list?”
“Wait a minute. You’re not like religious, are you?” She stops again and I’m starting to get the feeling that this “quick” errand is going to be an all-day event. So much for spending the day painting.
“No, well I mean, yes…I don’t know, define religious.”
“Like one of those no drinking, no drugs, no sex before marriage types,” she explains, ticking off a finger for each example.
“Oh, no.” I shake my head, and my glasses slide down the bridge of my nose. “Not religious, just lame…I guess.”
She snorts, tapping something on her phone, and flashes me the grocery list. Finally, we’re making actual progress. “We need French bread.”
I snag one from the bread cubby and lay it in the top of the cart. “Why the snort?”
“You’re too pretty to be lame.” She checks her phone again. “Oooo, Mom put the good cheese on the list. She must be trying to impress you.”
We head towards the specialty cheese case, and Chloe plucks two different kinds up and tosses them into the cart.
Tucking my thumbs through the straps of my overalls, I say, “I don’t think pretty is the word anyone would use to describe me.”
Another loud and unattractive sound rips from her throat, and it’s my turn to stop walking. “What this time?”
“You’re hot, which is really annoying because you obviously aren’t trying to be—you just are.” She tugs at my paint-stained overalls to drive her point home. “You’ve got the whole vibe down.”
“What vibe?”
“You know the whole, I’m gonna wear men’s clothes, and let my armpit hair grow out because I don’t buy into the Instagram standard of beauty and down with the patriarchy, thing,” she says, as we head to produce.
I narrow my eyes at her. “I do shave my armpits.”
“And everything else I said?”
“Men’s clothes have better pockets, sue me.” I pout, “Also, fuck the patriarchy.”
She chuckles and tosses a few more things into the cart. “Listen, I’m here for pants with pockets that fit my phone and dismantling toxic masculinity as much as the next girl, but I’m just gonna go out on a limb and say that your lack of a social life is more about you being closed off and less about you being,” she lifts her hands in air quotes, “lame.”
“And how did you come to that conclusion?”
“Aside from the pink pouty lips, big doe eyes, and killer rack?”
I cross my arms over my chest and grit my teeth. “Aside from that?”
“We’ve only been together for an hour, and I’m getting the sense that you wish I’d go away.”
My mouth drops open, and I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. “I-I'm sorry. I don’t…I mean, I could have done without the near-death experience that was the drive over here, but it’s nice having someone my age to talk to.”
She gives me a smug look. “Does that mean you’ll let me pop your party cherry?”
“My what?” My eyes widen, and one of the grocery clerks chuckles as we pass.
“Let me take you to your first real party. A bunch of us are heading to The Grove later—”
“The park in the middle of town?” I ask.
“Yup. It should be fun, and my kinda boyfriend, Aaron will be there and his hot friend Reese. If you want, I can introduce you?”
“What’s a kinda boyfriend?”
She bites down on her lip seductively. “Sometimes we hook up at parties and stuff. We’ve rounded the bases, and tonight I’m hoping to score a homerun, if you know what I mean.”
“Totally.” My cheeks heat and suddenly the rows of dried pasta are the most interesting thing I’d ever seen. “What brand of macaroni does your Momma prefer?”
“Oh. My. God!” she shrieks. “Veronica Abernathy!”
I shoot her a drop it glare and point to the boxes. “What brand?”
“Who knows?! Who cares?” She yanks a box off the shelf and chucks it into the cart. “Please don’t tell me you’re a virgin, too?”
Although she whispers the last part, I send up a silent prayer for the Lord to remove her voice box. “So, what if I am?”
Chloe raises her hands in surrender. “Not judging, I just…you’re a virgin, who can’t drive, and who has never been to a party.”
“I told you I was lame,” I snap.
“Do you masturbate at least?”
“You’re disgusting.”
Her chest rises and falls and I can see her processing this new kernel of information. After a few thoughtful seconds, her eyes widen with understanding and she turns to me, her ponytail swinging wildly behind her. “No wonder you’re blocked.”
I lift my middle finger up. “Remember when I said it was nice having someone my age to talk to? I take it back.”
“No, you don’t. Apparently, I’m the most fun you’ve had in your whole life.” She hooks her arm through mine and we wander into the next aisle. “Okay, what else?”
“I don’t know, you’ve got the shopping list,” I deadpan.
“No, not that. I mean, what other teenage experiences are you lacking?”
I groan. “Can we do you now? You’re starting to give me a complex.”
“The complex was here before I came along. I’m more like a mirror, here to show you what you’re missing out on.”