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“Okay, got that part. How do we go? Push the gas?” she says excitedly, bouncing a little on my lap.
This has to stop, or we actually will die. I focus all my energy on how to keep the truck from moving, but my blood doesn’t want to redirect to my brain.
“Adam?” she asks after several beats of silence.
“You…if you could try to not move so much, I think I’ll be…better able to teach you this,” I finally say.
“You know, it’s okay for you to be into this, right?” she says, turning back to look at me. “I’m into it too.” She’s whispering now, which really isn’t helping.
“I want to respect you, always,” I say hoarsely.
“You can respect me and still want me.” A smile ghosts her lips. “We’ve officially been on a date now.” Her eyes twinkle as she says it.
It dawns on me that she might be more into this than I realized. My hands lift off the wheel, squeezing around her waist.
“I like you…so much. I haven’t told you that, have I? I want to be with you,” I confess, swallowing over the lump of more vulnerable truth stuck in my throat. I can’t overwhelm her now.
She blinks at me, licking her lips. “I like you too. I want to…keep learning how to drive and talk more about this after.” She kisses my lips quickly before turning back around. “How do we go forward?”
I heave a sigh, forcing my mind back to the driving lesson.
“So, next, we have to let go of the brakes but keep the clutch down. Since we’re already in gear, you slowly release the clutch while pressing on the gas. You want to balance them like a seesaw.”
She mimics my movements, like we’re glued together. Our bodies are formed as one, skin flushed and lightly sticking in a way that speeds my heart up.
We start to move forward, and I press down more on the gas. The engine gets louder.
“You hear that? Now, it’s time to shift into second.”
She nods, her soft ebony hair tickling my cheek.
“Press the clutch again and let go of the gas, then shift the gear to the two.” Our arms move as one, the stick shift beneath my hand and hers on top of mine. “Let go of the clutch and press the gas again,” I say into her ear, her green apple scent overcoming my already-overloaded senses.
She’s not responding, but her fingers are interlaced with mine on the steering wheel, her legs overlaid on my knees. My mouth is near her cheek, and I lean in to kiss her.
“Do you want to try it by yourself?”
She shakes her head, and I’m shamefully grateful. I need to touch more of her. She must feel the same because her back presses into me, our bodies like skin and a skeleton. I demonstrate shifting into third and back down into second as we get back to our spot.
“You hungry?” I ask once we are in silence.
She doesn’t respond at first. Her face is pressed into my neck, my body resting against the seat. I cradle her against me, my arms covering hers. She’s caressing my palm with her fingertips, and I see a tear slip down her cheek.
“I want to tell you about Seven.” Her voice is hoarse.
I don’t move, waiting for her to continue.
“I have to start before I met him for it to make sense.” She lets out a shaky breath, bringing a hand up to wipe under her eye.
Then, she begins, “I was put in foster care when I was seven. My mom was always gone, but it was worse when she was home. Finally, she left and just…didn’t come back. I ran out of food, but the apartment manager found me when they came to evict us.” She shifts her body, letting out a shaky sigh.
“Anyways, I got put in foster care. Sometimes, it wasn’t bad. At least I always had food and clean clothes. When I was nine, one family even kind of loved me, I think.” She smiles. “They had this tradition where they had family night every Friday. They made junk food, and we binged kid or superhero movies until midnight. It was awesome. That’s why I love The Princess Bride. We watched it the first Friday I lived there. They were from Texas.”
I’m holding her so tight, and I force myself to relax my muscles, so I don’t accidentally crush her.
“Then, the dad got a job here, and they couldn’t take their foster kids with them to another state. It sucked. I’d lived there almost a year. The best year of my life. I think that’s what made me apply to Ole Tex.” She grips me tighter, pausing for a few seconds.
“The next family wasn’t bad, but then the mom got pregnant. Once you hit twelve…the nice families just don’t want you. They think the older kids are going to hurt theirs or pull a knife at school. One would lock me up after I got home from school. They’d have peanut butter and crackers in my room, but I just had to sit in there alone.” She’s telling the story like it’s about someone else now, like the memories aren’t hers. It feels like she’s reading a book to me, and she’s bored with it.
