One Last Thing ✅

thirty-one things

Unlike Jared, Abbott actually parks in my driveway and comes up to the door. I'm just grabbing a banana when I hear the doorbell ring. Grams, who's standing in the middle of the kitchen in her bathrobe with a cup of coffee, raises her eyebrows.

"It's nice of your friend to give you a ride," she remarks. "Even nicer that I don't have to get dressed for another hour."

"Yup," I say, grabbing my jacket from the back of a chair and pulling it over my shoulders. Before I leave, I lean over and give Grams a kiss on the cheek. She looks at me with surprised eyes. It's not something I do every day. I don't know what makes me do it... just seems like the right thing in the moment. "Have a good day."

"You, too, sweetie."

Abbott is leaning against a post on the porch when I come outside. He reaches out to take my backpack from me, but I don't let him. "I'm not crippled," I say, laughing.

He looks flustered. "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to be nice."

Then I feel bad. "Well, thanks."

I follow him to the truck, expecting him to hop in the driver's seat. But, first, he stops and opens my door. I'm not going to lie. It feels kind of awkward, like we're on a date or something. I can't keep from giving him a funny look, and he just kind of shrugs and grins. Sliding inside, I put my backpack on the floor between my legs and buckle my seatbelt.

Abbott climbs in on the other side and says, "I'm picking up Jared and Riley. That okay?"

The thought of seeing Jared makes me feel a bit anxious, but it would be rude of me to say so when Abbott's been so nice to me. "No problem."

Abbott turns the key, and his stereo comes on, an acoustic jazz song. I look at him, surprised. Most people I know listen to either the local rock or pop radio stations. There's something immensely cute that Abbott drives around in a pickup truck, listening to smooth jazz. I look out the window and put my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.

It only takes us a few minutes to get to Riley's house. I can't help but notice that Abbott doesn't walk up to her door and ring the bell. She bursts out of the house, hair flying. She flings open the door, and I lean forward to let her into the backseat.

"Hey, lady," she says, pausing to ruffle my hair as she eases into the car. "You look especially tasty today."

I laugh and look down at the paisley button down blouse Grams helped me put on over my cast. "Tasty" is not exactly the word that comes to mind. "Thanks, wench," I tell her jokingly, loosening up. "Right back acha."

When we get to Jared's house, a mist of apprehension settles over me. We haven't talked, not really, since that day at the hospital, when I fell asleep beside him. I'm not sure what to say, so when he climbs in behind Abbott, I turn my face to the window, cheeks hot. And then I remember the reason that we're picking him up, because I wrecked his car, and I feel even worse. I vow to do something about it, find the money somehow to repay him, but right now all I can do is pretend that I am invisible.

Jared fails to acknowledge my nonexistence, though.

"Hey, Lil," he says easily. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," I tell the window. "Thanks for asking."

The rest of the ride to school is awkward, with Riley and Abbott filling the time by chatting about the new Violet Crumble album that just came out. Once, I peer into the backseat. Jared has followed my lead and is staring blankly out the back window.

When we get to school, I grab my bag and slide out of the car. I wait for Riley to climb out. We fall into step together, slightly ahead of Abbott and Jared.

"So how's it going?" Riley asks. "Dad said your arraignment is next week."

I study my feet. "That's what I've been told."

Mr. Mason called Grams last night to give her the update. I'm to appear at the courthouse on Monday, freshly scrubbed, wearing a conservative dress, without my eyebrow ring. He's planning on entering a not guilty plea. He used a lot of strange legal terms. I didn't understand half of what was said, and I don't think Grams did either, but it was enough to make me feel sick.

Riley walks a little closer to me and links her arm through mine. "It'll be okay, sweetie. I promise. Dad said you'll probably get off with a rap on the wrist, since you're only seventeen."

"Yeah," I say, thinking I deserve so much more than a rap on the wrist.

More like a nice, deep slice.

Riley doesn't say anything more.