For a second, I consider requesting some of my favorite 80s rock songs from “Emi and Carina’s Ultra Cool and Fun Playlist” but then decide against it in favor of seeing what kind of music he’s into. “Whatever you want is good with me.”
“Awesome,” he says, picking a rap playlist and pulling out of the parking lot. It’s a little too loud to talk, so I just watch the trees go by and enjoy the air from the open windows as we drive.
After two songs I don’t know, my phone vibrates, and Jay’s name pops up on the screen.
Is your possum hairy?
I stifle a giggle since he remembers the code for a terrible date.
It’s not a date that’s sweeping me off my feet, but it’s not terrible.
Surprisingly, no.
I wait for him to reply the entire drive to laser tag, and even when we’re paying and getting our gear on, but he never does.
—
Laser tag was fun. We played three rounds of a free-for-all against strangers, and I won two of them. In both rounds I won, Wyatt and Emmett acted like they were trying to win, but I knew they let me shoot them to get them out. Each time they did it just made me more and more annoyed. Did they think I couldn’t get them out on my own? Did they think I wouldn’t have been able to win if they didn’t let me laser them? It took the fun out of the win and felt patronizing—Jay would never do that. Jay would probably try to get me out first just to piss me off and fire me up for the next round. I would’ve enjoyed wiping the floor with him and knowing I earned it, not being patronized and allowed to win. Not earning the win only made the queasiness in my stomach feel worse.
Kalani has been weird all night, and I can’t decide if it’s because the date is going well and she doesn’t like that or if it’s because I got her out in laser tag all three times. Either way, it upsets my stomach even more. She’s my best friend; I shouldn’t feel like throwing up around her.
By 11:00 p.m., we’re all saying goodbye and calling it a night. It’s early for a Friday night, but after dinner and laser tag, I’m excited to go lie in bed with Kevin and a sketchbook.
“Hey, Wyatt,” Emi says as we’re walking through the parking lot, “Emmett was supposed to drive Carina home, but he’s got to make a few stops first. Do you mind doing it?”
“I do?” Emmett asks, but when Emi shoots him a glare, his eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “I mean, I do. Sorry, Carina.”
I clench my jaw to stop myself from calling them out. If this is how they want to “help,” then fine, I’ll let it happen. As long as I’m in bed by 11:30 so this sick feeling can pass.
“Yeah, no problem,” Wyatt says, and I send him a small smile in thanks. As I wave goodbye to everyone, Kalani doesn’t catch my eye or say it back, and my throat tightens.
Like last time, Wyatt opens the car door for me and gently closes it. As he walks around the car, he wipes a smudge on the hood away with his sleeve, and suddenly I wonder if he opens my car door to be chivalrous or because he doesn’t want me to touch his car.
The possibility makes me giggle, and Wyatt sends me a look as he gets in the driver’s seat. “What’s so funny?”
“Just thinking about how easy it was to get you out today,” I recover, hoping for some fun back and forth for the ride home.
“Oh, yeah. You’re so good at laser tag,” he says, sending me a smile, and I resist the urge to groan.
Yes, he’s nice, and yes, he smiles a lot, but he’s just . . .boring. Emi and Daphne are convinced Wyatt is just like Emmett, but has Emmett always been this boring and I’ve never been able to see it?
“Seat belt?” he asks, and I’m hit with déjà vu of every car ride I’ve ever taken with Emmett.
Holy crap. Wyatt reallyislike Emmett. Which means maybe Emmettisboring. Why have I never seen it before? Have I been ignoring it just because I was so blinded by my unwavering crush, or have I grown as a person?
A pang runs through my stomach, and I wrap my arms around myself. All night, I’ve been worried about Kalani and Emmett and Wyatt, but I’ve never had my feelings manifest into this many stomachaches before. I’ve been trying to ignore them all night, but now that I’m alone in the car with Wyatt on the way home, my stomach pain is hard to ignore. Even my breathing is more labored. I just need to keep cool until I get home, then I can lay in the fetal position in bed and feel better.
Wyatt pulls onto the highway, but even though it’s 11:10 and there’s not much traffic, he’s not driving as fast as I’d like. I want to be homenow, and at this rate it won’t be for another ten or fifteen minutes. Maybe some air will help me feel less sick.
I push the button, but the window won’t budge. “Hey, Wyatt, mind if you open my window?”
“Oh yeah, sorry. Forgot it was locked,” he says and presses something, and my window unfurls an inch from the top.
I clutch the side of the door so I don’t yell at him. Through clenched teeth, I ask, “Can you open it all the way?”
“Oh, okay,” he says, and the window rolls all the way down, wind whipping into the car and giving me some much-needed air.
He must sense that I want to get home ASAP, because he pulls into the left lane of the highway—the fast lane. Cars whiz past me, and air flows into the window, but it’s only doing so much for my nausea. I gulp down as much air as I can.