the road.
My whole body shakes. I try to move the car. It lurches to the side.
Okay. Two of my tires are now in the gutter on the side of the road.
“Yoko! Do not do this to me!”
Wait. I’ve named the car. Why Yoko? I have no idea. Yoko was always there for John, unlike the way the Subaru is here for me.
“Come on, Yoko. Let’s imagine there’s no gutter. It’s easy if you try. No empty air below your tire. Above it only car.”
I put it in reverse. I put it in forward. I try to rock the stupid car back and forth. I shut off the Green Day. Maybe Yoko doesn’t like Green Day?
“I hate Maine!”
I smash my fist against the steering wheel.
The horn blares, probably scaring all the little squirrels in the woods. I don’t care. I hit it again.
“Stupid, stupid Maine,” I mutter and bang the steering wheel another, time and then another until red marks start showing up on the sides of my hands.
Things are [_so not _]good. The sun is going down. It’s freezing out. My car is all stuck and tilted like everything in the world is somehow horribly skewed and wrong, which I guess it is.
I mean, I am in Maine in a car stuck on ice.
I am beating up Yoko, which is just so wrong.
And I can’t use my cell phone.
Why? I forgot to charge it.
Could life be worse?
I try to move again. The car lurches but slides right back.
The air screams of burned-rubber smell.
How ridiculous.
“I hate ice!”
I smash my head against the steering wheel and that’s when I start to cry, bawl really. I cry and cry and cry. Because I’m stuck on the ice and my dad is dead and my mom sent me here, without her, where there are people who seem normal but are capable of suddenly believing in pixies, and I miss Charleston and warm air and flowers and roads that
have no ice on them.
I used to be the type of person who was always in motion, always doing things, writing letters, running through the streets, laughing with my friends, moving. Always forward. Moving.
Then I got stuck. My dad died and the only words I hear are [_death, deadly, stillness. _]To never move. No forward. No backward. Just stuck. Gone forever, like my dad, a blank screen on the computer, an old photograph in the hall with no spirit in it, an ice patch on a road to nowhere, nothing. Just gone.
The sun is setting and it’s only five o’clock.
How do people live here? It should be against the law to live anywhere that the sun sets so early. If I were a dictator I would totally make that law. Since I am not a dictator, I stumble into the cold with one of the flares from Betty’s emergency kit and light it. I check out under the tire. I get back in the car.
Someone knocks on Yoko’s window.
I jump in the seat and scream. I probably would have hit the ceiling but I’m wearing my seat belt. I cover my face with my hands, horrified. Someone raps on the window again. Finally, finally I get enough nerve to look.
Nick Colt stands next to my car, all casual, like standing in the ditch is part of his everyday routine. I put down the window.
Cold air rushes in. I shiver.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stunned. He saw me scream. He looks like he thinks it’s all funny, his cheek twitching like I’m some big joke.
“Is that any way to greet your rescuer?”
He smiles. His smile is perfect.
“I’m sorry. I’m just- Oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I shake my head. “I’m freaked out. I’m sorry.”
“Obviously.” His voice is steady and low.
I wipe at my face. “I’ve never driven on ice before. Back home I’m a perfectly good driver.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I am. I am a very competent person.”
“I’m sure.” He has a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles.
I force myself to look away from the cute boy, look away from the dimple. “Really. And I don’t usually scream when people knock on my window, either.”
I start to open the door but he puts out both his arms to hold it shut.
He glances at the woods up
My whole body shakes. I try to move the car. It lurches to the side.
Okay. Two of my tires are now in the gutter on the side of the road.
“Yoko! Do not do this to me!”
Wait. I’ve named the car. Why Yoko? I have no idea. Yoko was always there for John, unlike the way the Subaru is here for me.
“Come on, Yoko. Let’s imagine there’s no gutter. It’s easy if you try. No empty air below your tire. Above it only car.”
I put it in reverse. I put it in forward. I try to rock the stupid car back and forth. I shut off the Green Day. Maybe Yoko doesn’t like Green Day?
“I hate Maine!”
I smash my fist against the steering wheel.
The horn blares, probably scaring all the little squirrels in the woods. I don’t care. I hit it again.
“Stupid, stupid Maine,” I mutter and bang the steering wheel another, time and then another until red marks start showing up on the sides of my hands.
Things are [_so not _]good. The sun is going down. It’s freezing out. My car is all stuck and tilted like everything in the world is somehow horribly skewed and wrong, which I guess it is.
I mean, I am in Maine in a car stuck on ice.
I am beating up Yoko, which is just so wrong.
And I can’t use my cell phone.
Why? I forgot to charge it.
Could life be worse?
I try to move again. The car lurches but slides right back.
The air screams of burned-rubber smell.
How ridiculous.
“I hate ice!”
I smash my head against the steering wheel and that’s when I start to cry, bawl really. I cry and cry and cry. Because I’m stuck on the ice and my dad is dead and my mom sent me here, without her, where there are people who seem normal but are capable of suddenly believing in pixies, and I miss Charleston and warm air and flowers and roads that
have no ice on them.
I used to be the type of person who was always in motion, always doing things, writing letters, running through the streets, laughing with my friends, moving. Always forward. Moving.
Then I got stuck. My dad died and the only words I hear are [_death, deadly, stillness. _]To never move. No forward. No backward. Just stuck. Gone forever, like my dad, a blank screen on the computer, an old photograph in the hall with no spirit in it, an ice patch on a road to nowhere, nothing. Just gone.
The sun is setting and it’s only five o’clock.
How do people live here? It should be against the law to live anywhere that the sun sets so early. If I were a dictator I would totally make that law. Since I am not a dictator, I stumble into the cold with one of the flares from Betty’s emergency kit and light it. I check out under the tire. I get back in the car.
Someone knocks on Yoko’s window.
I jump in the seat and scream. I probably would have hit the ceiling but I’m wearing my seat belt. I cover my face with my hands, horrified. Someone raps on the window again. Finally, finally I get enough nerve to look.
Nick Colt stands next to my car, all casual, like standing in the ditch is part of his everyday routine. I put down the window.
Cold air rushes in. I shiver.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stunned. He saw me scream. He looks like he thinks it’s all funny, his cheek twitching like I’m some big joke.
“Is that any way to greet your rescuer?”
He smiles. His smile is perfect.
“I’m sorry. I’m just- Oh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I shake my head. “I’m freaked out. I’m sorry.”
“Obviously.” His voice is steady and low.
I wipe at my face. “I’ve never driven on ice before. Back home I’m a perfectly good driver.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I am. I am a very competent person.”
“I’m sure.” He has a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles.
I force myself to look away from the cute boy, look away from the dimple. “Really. And I don’t usually scream when people knock on my window, either.”
I start to open the door but he puts out both his arms to hold it shut.
He glances at the woods up
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