“I wasn’t avoiding painting.”
I glance over at her. There’s a bit of soil under her fingernails, but she’s otherwise clean as a whistle. “Bullshit.”
“How do you figure?” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. The motion catches my attention, and I can’t help but track the movement. Absently, I wonder what she looks like naked. I blink the image out of my head. All this talk about our kiss is fucking with me.
Clearing my throat, I respond. “No paint stains.” She blinks at me in confusion, so I clarify. “Since I’ve known you, you’ve always been covered in paint, but lately, no paint stains.”
“You don’t know everything about me.” She narrows her eyes playfully. “It’s been eight years, maybe I’ve changed.”
“Okay,” I say, pulling up to a stop sign. “Try me.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Trick question, but nice try. You don’t have a favorite color because you don’t want the other colors to feel left out, but gun to head, if you had to choose one, it’d be green, but not just any shade of green because that would be too normal. No, your favorite shade of green is the exact shade of green as the oak tree in your grandma’s yard…” I pause for dramatic effect, “in springtime.”
Her mouth pops open, then she closes it. “Okay, well that was an easy one.”
“Easy my ass. Most girls say purple.” I wince because Truly’s favorite color is purple, and the point of this is to forget about her.
“Well, if you haven’t realized by now, I’m a lot stranger than most girls.”
“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”
She tags me in the arm and it stings like a bitch. “Ouch! It was a compliment.”
“Okay, smartass, what’s my favorite food?”
I take a second to think about this one before I decide on an answer. “All-time favorite, death row, last meal, Gran’s pot roast, but only when she makes it in the crockpot with potatoes and corn.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Okay, that’s also right, but it isn’t because you know me. It’s because my tastes haven’t changed since I was ten, which says more about me than it does about you knowing me.”
“And what does it say about you?” I ask, curiously.
“That I’m painfully dull, and I’ll never make it as an artist, and I should just save everyone’s time and money and go to a regular four-year college and major in accounting or something.”
“And here I thought I was the broody one.” I drop my hand on her knee and give her a reassuring squeeze, “Also, you aren’t good enough at math to be an accountant.”
“Hey, I use to have to help you with your math homework.”
“Yeah, and we both nearly failed.”
That earns me another hit, and I raise a hand in surrender, turning into our final destination.
“You’re a douchebag.” She grunts before her eyes go wide. “A cemetery?”
“Yup.” I nod, pulling the car off to the side of the road.
It’s quiet, the late morning sun peeks out from behind the clouds, and a sense of peace washes over me, knowing he’s so close.
“Why are we at a cemetery?”
“Because everyone here is dead.” She blinks at me as I kill the engine and pluck the keys from the ignition before tossing them to her. “So you can’t kill anyone.”
She fingers the car key, her eyes alight with understanding.
“You’re going to teach me how to drive?”
I lift a shoulder. “Gotta start somewhere, right?”
“But why?” Her eyes are shining with an adoration I don’t deserve, but I drink it in anyway.
“You’re my best friend and I want to help,” I say simply, honestly.
She nods and returns her attention to the keys. “Right, okay. I can do this.”
“Yes, you can,” I tell her, opening the driver side door and slipping out. I round the old SUV and pull her door open. She’s still staring at the keys in her hand. “Roni,” I say.
“Hmm?”
“To do this, you actually have to…you know, do it.”
She scowls at me before she steps out of the car and makes her way to the driver’s side. “Okay, so scale of one to ten, how much experience do you have?”
“One being none and ten being a lot?”
I nod.
“I have more experience kissing boys than I do driving cars.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Nothing? Not even driver's ed?”
“Nope. My momma tried to teach me once when I first got my permit, but my first and last driving lesson started with a screaming match before I even turned the car on.”
“Okay, well, lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher. Step one, slip the key into the ignition and turn it all the way.” She does as she’s told then turns to me for more guidance. “Step two, put your foot on the break.”
“Which one is that?”
I arch a brow but hold my comment. “The wider one, on the left.” I watch as she presses it down. “Okay, now you're ready to take it out of park and into drive. Always keep your foot on the break when you are shifting.”
She nods and pushes the car into drive. “Now, when you’re ready, let go of the break. The car will start to roll on its own, then once you have a feel for how to steer it, you can slowly add some gas.”
She follows my directions and the car starts to roll. After a few seconds of us rolling at a snail’s pace, I prompt, “Good, now you can add some gas.”
She looks at me with worried eyes. “I think this is fast enough.”
I chuckle. “Just hit the gas, Roni.”
She nods but still doesn’t accelerate.
“We’re in a cemetery, remember?”
“But what if I run over a tombstone or something?”
“If you keep the car on or near the road, you won’t have that problem.”
“Right.” She presses down on the gas. The car jerks quickly and she lifts her foot off the gas and raises her hands in the air.
“Grab the fucking wheel!” I shout.
She does, thankfully before the car goes off the road. “You don’t have to yell at me.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry, just, if you get scared, or need to take a minute, press down on the break and put the car into park first.”
“Right, that’s smart.” She nods, pushing on the break and parking the car.
“What are you doing?”
“You just said if I need a minute I can put the car in park.”
“Now?” I ask incredulously. “You need a minute right now?”
“I just almost killed us.”
I look at her and back to where we were initially parked, which is only three feet behind us. “We were going one mile an hour.”
“We were dead, and I don’t need that on my conscience.”
“Okay,” I hold my hands up in surrender. “You can take a break.”
“Oh thank God.” She slumps into the seat.
I laugh at her absurdity, then hop out of the car, and go around to the driver’s side and pull her door open. “Come on, since we’re here, I want to show you something.”