“Look, you messed up,” I say. “Bad. I’m not going to pretend like you didn’t. But you’ve served your time, and you’re stuck living here until your parole is up. You’re trying to do the right thing.” I rub my hand against the sleeve of his jacket. “Illegitimi non carborundum.”

That got his attention. He opens his eyes and looks at me. Ah, there was the why are you suddenly a lizard-person look again.

“What. The. Fuck?”

I can’t help it. I throw my head back and laugh. One day, one single day of having his help has made the weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders feel about fifty pounds lighter. “Illegitimi non carborundum,” I say, and shimmy out of my hoodie, which is not an easy trick when you’re sitting in the driver’s seat of a car. The steering wheel is kind of unforgiving, but finally I manage to get it off. I stretch out my right arm and twist it so that the back of my lower arm, and the dark script that runs down the bone there, is directly in front of him. “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

With a tentative hand, Ash reaches out to touch, but then his fingers stop a hairbreadth away from my skin. “Can I?” he asks, and I nod.

“Of course.”

His touch is soft, and it’s only there for a second. But he swipes down the words, and I have to stifle a shiver that threatens to run down my spine. “You’re a weird girl,” he tells me as I pull my arm back, and I smile.

“I’m very aware of that,” I tell him. “Now get out of the fucking car. I want a burger.”

This time, instead of waiting for him to argue, I tug on my hoodie and hop out of the car.

And mercifully, he follows.

***

To be honest, dinner could have gone better—we both could have done without the wide-eyed stares from the other patrons—but it definitely could have gone worse. At least Lacey and the waitress that kept giving me dirty looks weren’t there. Instead we had a young guy with skinny hips and what looked like purposefully-styled bedhead as our waiter, and though his eyes widened a little when he saw us slide into a booth, he didn’t say anything.

I made a point to glance at his name tag when he actually managed to be polite, as opposed to Lacey and that that blonde mean-looking waitress. According to the little plastic tag pinned to his shirt, his name was York, and from the looks of it, it was only him and a heavily-pregnant girl with thick-framed black glasses working that day. And York was doing most of the running around since the girl seemed to be staying put behind the cash counter as much as possible. I didn’t blame her. Especially when I saw just how much effort it took for her to pull herself up off the stool back there. But even when some of the other customers were rude to her, calling out for her to hurry it up with their drinks, she didn’t utter a single complaint the entire time we were there.

Tough cookie.

We got a few strange side-eyed looks from the other patrons, but unlike the one from the other morning, they stayed silent. Ash looked like he was about to bolt out the front door when we initially sat down, but as time passed, his shoulders slowly began to unhunch themselves and he started to relax.

And by the time our food came, he was leaning back in his seat and actually smiling.

Like I said, it was a good look on him.

Ash

“Well . . . ” I trail off as Star pulls the car to a stop in the driveway. I don’t know what to say. Thanks for dinner? Thanks for the job? Thanks for putting up with all the fucking gawkers at the diner? Thanks for not letting me be a complete asshole to you? I’ve got nothing.

I used to be smoother than this. I fucking know I was. But all the words are caught in my throat. Jesus. What is wrong with me? The silence between us gets longer and longer to the point where it’s so awkward I’m shifting in my seat like a five year old. I want to just mutter thanks and then make a break for it, but somehow I don’t think that’s going to leave the impression I want.

Star glances over at me, and she must see how uncomfortable I am, because she just shakes her head and laughs. “It’s okay, Ash,” she says, and pulls the keys from the ignition, turning in the driver’s seat to face me. “How about this?” She reaches out and offers me her hand to shake. “Thanks for your hard work. I hope you enjoyed your dinner. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I kind of stare at her outstretched hand for a minute before I manage to shake myself out of my haze. I reach out and clasp her small hand in mine, pumping it up and down twice before dropping it like it’s on fire.

Seriously. I really used to be smoother than this.

“Thanks,” I say. “Ugh, you, too.” And then I’m up and out of the car, booking it down the driveway before I can fuck this up any further. I’m pretty sure I can hear Star chuckling to herself as I slide into my car, but I hope it’s just her crap car sputtering back to life. I sit in my car and wait as she turns the station wagon back on and pulls back down the driveway. I wait for her to drive down the street, headlights disappearing at the turn, before I let out the breath I’ve been holding for what feels like forever. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, and let my head drop forward against the steering wheel. Why haven’t I thought this far ahead? I can’t keep this hidden for much longer. She is bound to figure it out eventually.

I have nowhere to go.

I’ve been driving my car around Avenue for days, trying to find the perfect spot to spend the night, but in a town as small as this one, it isn’t like there are a shit-ton of options. People are going to start noticing. Star is going to notice. And how long am I going to be able to keep the job, as crappy as it is, if she finds out that I am such a fuck-up that I don’t have anywhere to live?

At this point, I’m just lucky I don’t stink.

With a groan and a muttered “fuck,” I stick the keys into the ignition and start up the car. I’m half tempted to just park it in the driveway and sleep there, but Star’s mom’s house is in a nice neighborhood. My car would stick out like a sore thumb, no matter how much junk we dragged to the curb. With my luck, I would end up getting towed while I was still asleep in the back.

For the millionth time since the crash, I wish I’d somehow managed to grow up to be less of a fuck-up. I wish I’d actually listened to the people who’d told me to smarten up. Maybe then things would have gone differently.

Maybe then I wouldn’t be such a fucking loser. I’ve sunk so low that half the friends I’d had won’t even let me couch-surf—and I’d very nearly gotten down on my knees and begged—and the other half I haven’t bothered with because if my parole officer found out I’d been talking to them, well…it wouldn’t be good. But then it wouldn’t be good if he found out I was living out of my car, either. Fuck, I really need this job.

I drive until I come to the old thrift store just on the edge of town. It’s too out in the open, and I know I should keep looking for a better spot, but I’m completely exhausted and I just can’t make myself look any longer. I pull into the parking lot, and drive around until I find a spot mostly in the shadows, and park the car. With a sigh, I shut off the engine and wait until everything has gone silent before I turn to look over my shoulder at the backseat.

It’s a good thing that Star didn’t get a close look at my car, I realize. Because I still have my blanket and pillow back there—snagged from my room when Mom finally relented enough to let me inside to get the last of my stuff—and it’s pretty clear what I’ve been using it for.