You'll Just Know

Chapter 7

            “You know, I was thinking,” Wendy said, pointing a spoon at me.

            “Uh-oh. A dangerous thing for you,” I mocked.

            We were sitting in her kitchen, finishing the last of the monster ice-cream sundaes we’d just binged on. We had the house (mansion) to ourselves. Her dad was at work and her mom had taken Josh to a dentist appointment. I was spooning the last of the chocolate syrup from the bottom of my bowl.

            “Don’t you think it’s strange,” Wendy continued, narrowing her eyes, “for a seventeen year-old boy to be riding around on his bike all the time?”

            “Is this a hypothetical question or are you talking about someone in particular?”

            “Both.”

            I shrugged. “In my old neighborhood in Hackensack, I could get just about anywhere I needed to go on a bike.”

            “What about dates? Did you show up at the girl’s house riding Flash?”

            I smiled at the thought. “No! I would borrow my parent’s car occasionally. We used to have two cars in the family until Sandra had her wreck a couple of years back.”

            “Ah... so you do know how to drive.” Wendy smiled.

            I looked at her for a moment, then put my spoon down and reached for my wallet. The move was a lot easier since my bulky plaster cast had been removed the day before and replaced with a much lighter, more flexible bandage. Wriggling my fingers dramatically, I reached into my wallet and pulled out my New Jersey Driver’s License. “This thing is a badge of honor. They don’t give a driver’s license to just anybody in New Jersey. You’ve got to earn this baby.”

            “Oh, yeah. I’ve heard such wonderful things about Jersey drivers!” she smiled, looking at the license. “What is your hair doing in this picture?” she laughed suddenly.

            I snatched the card and put it self-consciously back in my wallet. “I was having a bad hair day.” I said primly.

            “Apparently!”

            “Well, let’s see your license picture, Big Mouth.”

            She flashed a quick smile at me. “I don’t have one.”

            “Ha! I don’t believe you! Let’s see it.”

            Wendy shook her head. “I’m serious! I really don’t have one.”

            “You’re kidding?”

            “No.”

            I was still unsure whether to believe her. “Why not?”

            She shrugged noncommittally “Dad won’t let me.”

            “Ever?”

            She smiled bitterly. “Oh, sooner or later he’s going to have to, but it’s something he’s putting off for as long as he can.”

            “Sorry.” I said genuinely.

            “Don’t be.” She said. “I still have something that you don’t.”