like an oaf.
âThanks,â she says with a sigh, and hangs up. âMy mother is a beast but sheâs calling Triple A for me.â
I want to tell her I know all about beasts, but Kylie leans back in the seat, crossing one dirty leg over the other, and says,âGod, I hate my car. Is this a Lexus?â
âUm, yeah. My momâs old car.â
âJesus, youâre lucky.â
âIâm not technically supposed to be driving for another week.â
âAre you a Cancer?â she says, and jumps in her seat a little.
âYes?â I say after a moment of trying to keep up with her.
âMe too! June twenty-seventh.â
âTwenty-fourth,â I say. Weâre both driving when we shouldnât be, and smile.
âArenât you going to get in trouble with Triple A for driving without a licensed driver?â I ask.
She ignores my question and continues to check out my car, flipping the visor up and down, and I keep thinking sheâll get out eventually and go back to her car, but she doesnât. Instead, she plugs her cell phone into my car charger.
âArenât you in the play or something?â she asks.
âI was. I . . .â I somehow think telling Kylie I quit anything is only going to make this more awkward.
âI used to be in theater,â she says. âWhen I was little. My mom took me to some of the plays you were in at Ocean State.â She means Ocean State Theater Company, where I first met May and Panda and was a kid actor in every free minute of my summers. I didnât meet Wes until eighth grade. âI wanted to be you,â she adds.
What? I laugh, tipping my head back. âAre you kidding?â
Iâm pretty sure everyone wants to be Kylie Castelli. Head of radio broadcasting at our school, dance committee treasurer, most likely to achieve greatness with a perfect tan.
âAnyway, I thought youâd be with your usual gaggle,â she says.
âMy gaggle? Donât you usually travel in a pack?â
She laughs. âTouché.â She leans forward and touches the Globe Theatre sticker on my dash with a fingertip. Her nails are a mess of chipped polish. âI went to the Globe in London,â she says. I must seem surprised. âWhat?â she says. âI like culture. I donât have to memorize lines like you do to love the theater. Itâs not my thing anymore, but itâs still cool.â She lifts her eyes to me with a tiny smile. âOkay, my mom made me go when we went on a trip there. But I liked it!â she says through laughter.
Kylie texts something on her phone quickly. I look to my hands because I donât have anyone to text. Iâm not sorry I quit the play. Iâm sorry that Iâve been blowing off May and Panda and Wesâs calls.
âShit, did I offend you? Words fly out of my mouth. Iâm always doing damage control,â Kylie says.
I shake my head. âNo,â I say. âItâs just . . .â
She looks over at me, waiting. Kylie isnât afraid of anything. She rolls her hand, gesturing for me to go on.
âI quit the play,â I admit.
â You? Miss I Do Monologues on Command in the Hallway?â
âYeah . . . it hasnât been my best week.â
âIs it because your mom got sent to rehab?â
I drop my head. âYep. Thatâs part of it. Guess you know from the news.â
âEveryone knows. Fuck!â Kylie cries and the sound in the car echoes, even with the rain lightening up. âI am so tired ofthis town!â She brings her feet up against the dash and slaps her hands against her wet legs. âArenât you?â
I nod. Her energy is infectious and I want to scream and curse and put my feet up on the dash, too.
âWhatever happened,â she says gently, âI am sure you had your reasons.â
Sheâs not going to push. Sheâs not hawk-eyeing me and I again nod, but