When she saw Jonas coming toward her car, the girl rolled down her passenger-side window.
“Um, hi,” Jonas said, rather lamely in his opinion. He leaned one hand against her car, holding himself up, running the other shakily through his hair before gesturing toward the back of her car. “Look, I’m really—I’m really sorry,” he choked out, fixing a half smile on his face like a piece of armor and hoping he didn’t look as unhinged as he had in the mirror that morning. “I just … I looked down for a second and then I looked up, and the light was red—” Half truth. He had been looking at the semitruck. Don’t think about it, he mentally ordered himself, trying to ignore the way his heart sped up at the memory.
“Oh,” stammered the girl. “It’s fine. You know, accidents happen. I just need your insurance information I think? And your name, probably.”
It struck Jonas that she wanted to be anywhere but here, talking to him. She looked like, if she could, she would have just driven off. She was staring forward as if it might kill her if her gaze deviated from the windshield. When she did look at him, it was at a point slightly to the right of his head, off in the distance.
“Of course,” said Jonas, keeping his lips fixed in the contrived smile, although he was now sure that his eyes weren’t cooperating with his mouth. He wondered how he wasn’t better at fake smiling by now. Rhys always said he frowned too much, even before The Accident. Afterward, Jonas wasn’t sure when the last time he’d really smiled had been. He glanced at the traffic that seemed to be backing up as more and more people slowed down to see what was going on or to let the cars stuck behind the accident into the open lane.
Jonas shifted his weight on the hand propped against the car—the metal was hot under the sun. Uncomfortable. He turned back to the girl in the car. She was still refusing to look directly at him. “I think that both vehicles look moveable,” he said calmly, hiding his discomfort behind a veneer of pretend confidence. “I think if we pull into the parking lot over there”—he gestured to the mostly empty parking lot of a nearby Walgreens—“we should be able to inspect the damage a bit better, and I’ll give you my information. This really is my fault, and I apologize.”
The girl had been staring at Jonas until he made eye contact to apologize, at which point she blushed even redder and looked away once more. “You’re not supposed to admit fault in an accident,” she mumbled under her breath, almost so Jonas couldn’t hear her. “I think it can be used against you or something.” Her voice trailed off.
Jonas frowned. “What?” he asked. What was wrong with this girl? Logic would say she’d be glad to have him admit to being at fault.
“Nothing,” she mumbled even more quietly.
“All right,” he said. “You go ahead, and I’ll follow you.”
She nodded, then turned her hazards off and shut her window.
Jonas turned away, allowing his shoulders to slump and the fake smile to disappear. The few steps back to the Bus seemed like a mile. All he wanted to do was sit down and remove the stupid prosthetic leg. The remaining part of his leg was clearly not used to having to bear weight, and every step was painful. He was also regretting not taking the extra time to find the newer liner, as the inside of the ill-suctioned plastic socket was starting to slicken with sweat. Jonas took a deep breath and a quick step forward, just enough to get his hands back against the Bus, back against support. He made it back to the still-open passenger-side door and slid across to the driver’s side.
He broke things into steps:
Start the car.
Keep his left foot as far from the brake pedal as possible.
Put the car in drive.
Go into the parking lot.
He turned in and stopped behind the girl—perpendicular to her so he could see the back of her car. She had gotten out of her vehicle and was inspecting the damage.
It didn’t actually look that bad, Jonas realized with relief. Maybe the cost to his parents wouldn’t be too much. He was still on their insurance. He’d have to pay them back of course—but how would he earn the money? Jonas tried not to think about how the monthly insurance bill would increase after an accident. He shook his head. I’ll worry about that later, he thought.
He got out of the Bus once more, relieved not to have to slide over to the passenger side again. He leaned his back against the side of the van, alternating between putting his hands in his pockets and crossing his arms. He settled on hands by his sides and tried to stand as straight as possible while still leaning against the side of the vehicle.
The girl came around her own car to meet him. Now that she was out of the car, he had a better look at her. She was the type of girl who most people wouldn’t really remember if they passed her on the street. Quiet and unassuming. Not trying to stand out. Not that that was a bad thing. She had brown hair, the majority of which was tied up into a haphazard knot on top of her head, except little pieces that frizzed around her ears and forehead in little wavy tendrils. And glasses—round glasses that seemed a bit too big on her round face. They made her eyes look bigger, like she was afraid or nervous. An animal in the headlights, Jonas thought. She was dressed in a slightly-too-big-for-her blue collared shirt and black pants; tennis shoes completed the outfit. Jonas’s eyes went to the badge pinned to her shirt. Brennan. He resisted the urge to tell Brennan that there was a hole in her left sneaker, right where the side of her little toe would be. It might be weird for her; it was weird, right? The way he subconsciously noticed people’s left legs now?
“I’m making you late for work, aren’t I?” he said instead, somewhat worriedly. It was bad enough that he’d crashed into her, now he was making her late. Inconvenience. This leg is always an inconvenience.
“It’s fine,” Brennan said, blushing again. She always seemed to be blushing. Her glasses were fogging up around her nose too. It was humid outside. She took them off, awkwardly rubbing them clear on the corner of her uniform shirt. Kroger. She worked at the grocery store. Jonas’s mom did all their weekly grocery shopping there. “I called my boss, anyway,” she said.
“Okay,” Jonas said. He didn’t know what else to say.
He wanted to walk around to the front of the Bus and see what damage had been done to his own car. He wanted to, but his leg didn’t want to, so he stayed where he was. Whatever it was couldn’t be worse than any of the Bus’s other attributes. Whatever it was would probably fit right in.
Jonas noticed Brennan looking at him strangely and redoubled his efforts not to slouch against the Bus, ignoring the painful rubbing of the sweaty liner against his residual limb as he straightened his left leg. Blisters, he imagined, already dreading the thought. He didn’t need blisters on top of everything else. Where in the world did I put the new liner?
Jonas bit back a frustrated curse and inspected the back of Brennan’s car more closely. There were some scratches in the paint, but it wasn’t noticeable with the light blue-gray color of her car. The most concerning thing was the dent in the back of the vehicle.
Brennan was standing next to him now, having come forward quietly. The heat was starting to get a little oppressive in the Wash U sweatshirt, and Jonas held his breath, hoping he didn’t smell like sweat. He tried to remember when he’d last showered. A day ago? Two? He couldn’t remember. The last two days had been gray days, as his mom called them. Bird’s having a gray day, he’d heard his mom tell his dad yesterday. Gray days meant that Jonas locked himself in his room and alternated between playing video games and staring at the wall or the ceiling.