“You,” I point at her. She dangles my keys from her thumb, fumbling with the door handle and finally racing from my car as I lunge at her. I get out of my side and race after her, catching her only a few steps away, pulling her into my arms and lifting her in front of me. She kicks her feet up into the air as I raise her, her entire body rumbling with the vibration of her laugh.

“Girl, you are going to make your parents hate me if I don’t get you home before they notice you’re gone,” I say, reaching for the keys as she pulls them into her chest.

“I know. We can go, but…” she looks at the keys in her hand then up to me. “Can I drive? I know, I know…it’s your car and she’s some Camaro or something, but…”

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling a little bit like an asshole over the fact that I don’t want her to drive my car.

“It’s…it’s okay. It was a dumb idea, never mind,” she says, handing my keys back to me. I take them and follow her back to the car, but I grab her fingertips just as we get to the front of the car, pulling her into me.

“Here,” I say, closing her hand around the keys while I kiss her one last time.

“Really?” Her voice is almost a squeal, and I can tell how excited she is. I nod yes, then move to the passenger door, climbing inside. Emma slides in excitedly next to me, pushing the key in quickly and turning the engine before we’ve even buckled up.

“Whoa,” I say, grabbing my belt and buckling fast.

“Oh, right. Sorry…” she says, biting her lip. “I was anxious, and I didn’t want you to change your mind.”

“It’s okay, just…take it easy. This car has some kick, all right?”

She nods and buckles her belt, checking all of the mirrors and turning on the lights before moving the shift into reverse. The car rumbles as she backs out slowly, her lip firmly planted in her teeth now. I don’t think she’s letting go, and her concentration is my second-favorite expression she makes. My first, the one she makes right before I kiss her. She idles her way to the exit, turning slowly onto the main roadway, and she glances at me before she looks back to the road, scooting forward in her seat, clutching the wheel, and pressing on the gas.

We travel for about a mile, going maybe thirty miles per hour, and eventually I start to laugh.

“Don’t make fun of me,” she chides, reaching at me with one hand, but only for a second, returning her grip to the wheel.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so damn cute,” I say. “You’re so nervous. It’s a car, you just drive it.”

“I drive my mom’s Honda Civic. It’s…like…way different. Trust me,” she laughs nervously. She’s constantly looking over her shoulder, then in both mirrors. We’ve made it maybe two of the ten miles we need to travel.

“I know, trust me. I drove my mom’s boyfriend’s Buick, remember?”

She glances at me and smiles, then looks back to the road, relaxing a little more into her seat, the gas flowing a little heavier as our speed finally climbs up to forty-five.

“I loved that car, too,” she says, blushing for a different reason now.

“You know I tried to be your partner for square dancing first, right?” I say, taking in her profile. I love the slope of her nose and the high roundness of her cheeks.

“You faker. I’m the one who picked you!” she huffs. It’s cute that she wants credit for such a simple thing.

“Yeah…you did,” I say, knowing the truth. I picked her the second I saw her legs stretched out in the hallway. I think maybe I chose her once in one of my dreams.

Our calm shifts into chaos in a blink.

Emma screams as she jerks the wheel to the right, sliding the car into the rough brush along the side of the road. We skid, fishtailing a few times before coming to a hard stop that sends both of us forward, our bodies held fast by the pull of our safety belts. Her forehead slams into the steering column, cutting her just above her eyebrow.

“Emma, Emma,” I say her name over and over, my veins coursing with adrenaline, my body numb with panic and fear. She looks at me, and blinks; her tears are instant.

“Oh my god, Andrew! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

She’s panting; she’s breathing so hard. She’s fighting to free herself from her seatbelt, and I’m only making it worse by getting my hands tangled with hers. I finally hold her hands still, and my other hand rushes to her face, moving her hair to the side.

“Emma, you’re bleeding,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.