I looked at him sharply. “You’re kidding, right? All I did was wrap a bandage around it, and give you an ice pack.”
“Well, then I don’t know what to say.” He shrugged again and grinned. “It’s a mystery, I guess.”
“Right,” I agreed. “Starting with how you got hurt in the first place. You never did tell me….”
“You never asked,” he retorted. Seeing the question forming on my lips, he loudly cleared his throat and went on. “Anyway…seriously, though. I just wanted to make this clear: I do appreciate what you’ve done for me. Not just the bandaging up. You’re pretty much the only friend I’ve made this semester.”
I sighed and didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Ditto.”
“Well, I feel bad because you’ve met me at a pretty grim time in my life. And yet…you just let me be. Some people, they would try to fix me, find the solution. Others would take advantage of my brokenness, even try to keep me down so I’d look to them, need them, and they could feel better about themselves. Not you. You’ve neither pushed nor pulled but just let me breathe. You have no idea how much I needed that.”
I didn’t exactly know what to say to that. It was like being thanked for having curly hair or for being good at spelling. It was just sort of the way I was, or tried to be. The weird thing was, while I was letting him just be, he was doing the same for me. I didn’t have to fake a smile or pretend to be trendy with Davin. He accepted me, too, and my geeky awkwardness. “Well,” I sighed, “I’d say it’s been pretty mutual so far.”
He looked faintly skeptical. “If you say so. All I know is, last night you gave me a chance even though I didn’t deserve it. And you just let me be, without having to think or talk too much. You’ve been doing that ever since the day we met. I just wanted you to know I appreciate that, for whatever it’s worth.”
“Hm.” I silently tucked that away, like Mary pondering things in her heart. “Okay, well, I suppose I should go get some shoes on and grab my bag.”
He grinned. “Okay. I’ll be right here.”
Davin’s roommate Kevin, it turned out, was the youngest of four kids, and apparently they’d each had a turn owning “The Beast.” It really wasn’t a bad car, aside from the small dent in the passenger side that was not very reassuring, and the piles of stuff in the backseat.
“Guess he doesn’t give too many rides in this thing,” I commented, stepping over some fast food bags as I climbed in.
“Actually, the funny thing is, he does. It’s just mostly guys and they all pile in anyway.” Davin grinned at me. The Beast, though a white ‘92 Buick Roadmaster, had recently been upgraded. It had no working air conditioning (not really an issue when it was twenty seven degrees out), but it did contain a state-of-the-art stereo system. “Kevin saved up all his summer work and graduation money to get this,” he informed me.
“Ah.” He seemed so different, so relaxed. Normal, even. “So where are we going, anyway?”
“Dahntahn, remember?”
“Yeah, but where dawntawn?” I attempted to mimic his pronunciation and failed.
His lips curved up slightly. “Close. Flatten your vowels a bit and you’ll get there.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Because I don’t have an answer to give. Do we have to have a destination in mind? Don’t you ever just like to go for a drive and see where life takes you?”
“I suppose that would have a certain spontaneous charm,” I agreed. “Very carefree, yet sort of carpe diem at the same time. But I’ve never done it, personally.” “No?”
“No.” I was going to have to tell him. I sighed. “I can’t drive.”
“What? Why not?”
“I never learned.”
He glanced over at me, incredulous. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“I could give you a lesson,” he offered.
“Maybe, sometime.”
He abruptly pulled the car into a nearly empty shopping center parking lot. “What happened to all that spontaneous, carefree, seizing-the-day stuff?”
I stared at him.
“Come on,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt.
“No,” I said, not moving.
“Come on.” He got out and opened my door.
“No,” I repeated. “I don’t have my permit.”
“You don’t need a permit to do figure eights in an empty parking lot,” he said.
“And you’re not twenty one,” I added, as though I hadn’t heard him.
He stood there, not moving. “Come on.”
“No,” I stated emphatically. “I don’t know the first thing about driving cars.”
“Then that’s what I’ll show you,” he said.
“Maybe some other time,” I said. “Not today. Come on, you’re letting all the cold air in.”
“No, you’re letting all the cold air in, by not climbing out,” he retorted infuriatingly.
“I’m not doing this today, Davin, so just forget it.”
“Don’t be so stubborn. Or nervous. You’ll do fine.”
I looked at him. I was on the verge of saying I wasn’t being stubborn, but the set edge of my jaw seemed decidedly against it.
“Come on, Anna. Once around. Nice and slow. You’ll do fine.”
I still hesitated, but I felt my resolve weakening. The truth was, I had very little to lose. I was going to be taught by a guy I liked, in a car that was already dented. I drew a deep breath. “Okay,” I exhaled. I slowly unbuckled my seat belt and climbed out. Davin took my place, grinning, but not smugly. I refastened the seat belt on the driver’s side, feeling strange with a wheel in front of me. I could barely reach the pedals. “I’m too far away,” I said, so he showed me how to adjust the seat closer. “Now what?” I asked nervously.
“Put it in drive,” Davin replied. He indicated the gear shifter, sticking out of the steering column. “Grab that lever, and move it from P to D. That’s it.”
“Now what?”
“Gently press on the gas pedal—that’s the one to the far right—gently now,” he cautioned, as I stepped too hard and the car lurched forward. “The one beside it is the brake—Anna, what’s wrong?”
My hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. I had my foot firmly on the brake pedal. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this,” I said.
“Calm down,” he soothed. “You’re doing fine. Everyone is nervous at first.”
“Okay, well, I’ve had enough for one day.” My voice was rising in pitch and volume. I didn’t know why I was so afraid, although I’ve always tended to hate doing things I wasn’t good at.
“Anna.” Davin’s voice was calm and even. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you quit now. I just want you to push yourself a little farther. You have to conquer this fear or you’re never going to want to try driving again.”
So what, I thought wildly. Maybe I don’t want to drive. Maybe I don’t care about that. Maybe I’ll move to a city with good public transportation, and I’ll never have to worry about cars or driving again.
“Come on,” his gentle voice interrupted my irrational thoughts. “Try again. Just see if you can go once around. Just one loop.”
I drew another deep breath and unclenched my fists. Just one loop. “Okay, well, just don’t freak out and start yelling,” I muttered. I used my toes to press down the accelerator ever so slightly. The Beast just barely began to move.
“That’s right, now give it a little more,” he coaxed.
“I don’t want to give it anymore,” I growled. The car inched its way across the pavement.
Davin gave me a half amused, half patient smile. “You know you’ll have to go faster than this eventually.”
“That’s what you think.”
“Like on roads, you know?”
“I’m not on a road. Stop telling me what to do.” I had crawled my way to the edge of the parking lot. “Now what do I do?”
A teeny, tiny chuckle escaped from
Davin. He tried to swallow his smile as he explained the steering system to me. “Turn it to the right,” he instructed, “and we’ll start making a loop.”
I began turning the wheel.
“More, more,” he called out. “Anna, turn it more—” he reached over and pulled the steering wheel toward him sharply as we just barely missed the curb.
“Droga,” I hissed, irritated with myself. I exhaled sharply. “Sorry.” I stopped the car.
He smiled, though a little uncertainly. “That’s okay. Don’t stop now. Everyone makes mistakes when they’re learning. Keep going.”
I straightened in my seat and tried again. By the time I reached the next corner of the parking lot, I was a little more ready. I turned and turned that wheel as hard as I could.
“Take it easy,” Davin laughed. “I think there’s power steering in this thing.”
“Are—you—sure?” I grunted, just making the turn again. But I made the next one, and the one after that. I didn’t even hit the one car in the lot. I stopped the car where we had started from and exhaled. “I did it!”
“Great job,” Davin said. “You should go one more.”
“What? No, no, once was fine. You said one time, remember?”
“I said once, but what the hell? You’ve already proven to yourself that you could make it around—why not give it another shot just to show that it wasn’t just beginners luck?”
So I went around once more. And then once more. And then he somehow talked me into doing a couple figure eights. When I stopped again, he gave me an enormous smile. “How do you feel now?”
I took a breath. “Pretty good,” I admitted, which was an understatement of sorts.
“Good enough to drive back to campus?”
“Ha! Not that good.” I laughed as I unbuckled my seat belt. The car jolted when I took my foot off the brake, so I stomped down on it again in alarm.
“It’s all right,” Davin said. “Keep your foot on the brake.” He reached over to the gear shift. “You just always have to put it in park when you’re done.” He moved it back to P.
“You didn’t tell me that,” I grumbled as we passed in front of the car.
He laughed again. “I know. It was my first lesson, too.” He had us back on to the highway in no time. “You were pretty snippy back there,” he said, grinning.
“I was?”
“Yeah. You were mouthy.”
I bit my lip sheepishly. “Sorry.”
He shook his head. “I think it’s funny. Especially since you don’t remember.” He turned the music back on. “By the way, what was it you said back there?”
“What? When?”
“When you were making the first turn. It sounded kind of like dragon, or something.”
“Ohhh.” I grinned in recognition. “You mean droga.”
“Yeah, that’s it. What does it mean?” Glancing at the self-conscious smirk on my face, he raised his eyebrows. “What, is it like a Brazilian curse word or something?”
I laughed. “No. Not really. It’s just something my brother and I used to say instead of cursing. Droga actually just means drug in Portuguese. It’s not a bad word; we just weren’t really allowed to swear, so that’s what we would say when we were angry or frustrated about something. When Andy was a kid, he thought it was a swear word because adults would whisper it to each other or spell it when they didn’t want him to know what they were talking about. So it was his own private curse word, and he kept using it even after he realized it wasn’t actually a bad word. I sort of picked it up from him.”
He nodded, grinning himself. “Interesting. I like that. I might pick it up, too. Droga. Did I say it right?”
“Roll your ‘r’ a bit more,” I told him.“Drrroga,” he said, and I laughed out loud at his exaggeration. He laughed too, and our crinkled eyes met briefly before he looked back at the road.
“You’re laughing,” I pointed out.
He nodded. “I know. Is it freaking you out?”
“No,” I replied, laughing myself. “It’s kind of nice. You should try it more often.”
“Well,” he glanced at me mischievously, “Maybe I will. If you keep cussing me out in Portuguese.”
“It’s not cussing!” I protested.
“I know.” He grinned, stretched in his seat and sighed. “Wow. I don’t know why, but I feel so good today. Too good to mope. And certainly too good to hang out on campus. I’m glad we did this. Are you hungry?”
I leaned back into my seat. “Yeah.”
“Where do you want to eat?”
“Um, wherever. I mean, are things even open?”
“There’s always something open, even on Christmas.” He thought for a moment. “Continuing our theme of seizing the day, how about we just drive down, take in some sights, and see what we find? If nothing else, there’s bound to be some fast food places open. Or an Eat ‘N Park.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
We drove down Route Eight and chatted easily on the way, waxing philosophical about everything from our history class to the songs on the radio. We crossed a river on a big steel bridge, and as we headed further in under concrete ramps, Davin pointed out the stadiums that housed Pittsburgh’s beloved sports teams.
“I cannot get over how many people here get into American football,” I said. “Even the women!” Teeny bopper girly girls; mature, respectable professors; and stern administrative staff alike had dressed in black and gold whenever their beloved team was playing.
“Yeah, well, we love our Steelers,” Davin shrugged. “Always have, always will. Why, you don’t?”
“I like real football.”
He frowned at me. “And what is this real football you speak of? You’re not talking about soccer, are you?”
“I most certainly am. To the rest of the world, that is called futbol.”
“Foootball?” he echoed snarkily, mimicking my pronunciation. “Hm. Fooootball. I wonder why here in America, they call it soccer, then.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Because you wasted the rightful name up on some game where the players carry it around a lot more than they kick it.”
He cleared his throat. “Touché.” Davin sighed. “Well, fine, so you’re not a Steelers fan—yet—but I guess I can overlook that for the moment.”
“How gracious of you.” I felt my stomach rumble a little. “So have you seen any open restaurants yet?”
He nodded. “A couple, but no place particularly good. I was thinking of seeing if the Spaghetti Warehouse was open, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” I said honestly. “As long as it won’t be too much longer.”
“We’re actually almost there,” Davin told me. “We’re heading into the Strip district right now.”
“The what district?”
He laughed. “Strip district. Has nothing to do with whatever it is you look so worried about. They just call it that.”
“If you say so,” I replied doubtfully. As it turned out, however, I didn’t see any instances of people taking off their clothes on the street we were on. We had to park and walk a little way to get to the restaurant, but I didn’t mind too much.
Lunch was nice, and we had more interesting conversations over our pasta.
“So…I understand that your brother got you into comics,” he said, chewing on a breadstick, “but it seems like you might have grown out of it by now.”
“Why?” I said, trying not to get defensive. “I think superheroes are fascinating.”
“In a scientific, laboratory observer kind of way?”
“No,” I frowned, “in a personal, universal way. I think we see ourselves in heroes. How we wish we could be. Whatever their wacky origins and powers are, there’s still something very human and relatable about characters like Spider-Man, who deal with all this crap but still keep fighting the good fight.”
“Another Web-Slinger reference.” The Probing Look was back. “You really do like him, don’t you?”
&nb
sp; I smiled bashfully. “I think I’ve been in love with him since I was in junior high.” To divert attention away from my comic book crush, I kept talking. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a Lois Lane or a Mary Jane,” I continued. “I’m fascinated by superheroes who have this secret identity and seem ordinary in one place and then go around saving people in another. I mean, they have this girl, and they act one way around her when they’re the masked hero—bold, flirtatious, even—but then when they are themselves they seem to lose their nerve or pretend they’re not interested. Yet they always seem to want the girl to like them for the everyday them, not just the superhero them.”
Davin seemed unusually bored by this train of thought. He looked away from me the whole time, out a window beside him. I stopped, remembering belatedly that he was not a rabid fan of comics the way I was. He glanced back at me, almost cautiously. “But you don’t really believe in superheroes, do you?”
“Well…” I nodded surreptitiously to a nearby table where a gentleman sat alone, reading a newspaper. On the cover was a picture of a dark, blurred figure. DARK LIGHTNING STRIKES AGAIN, the caption read. “Clever,” I muttered. “Except they make him sound like something bad.”
“Well, with a name like that, can you blame them?” I snapped my head toward him. “What do you mean?” “‘Dark Lightning?’ That doesn’t sound a little sinister to you? Dark usually means bad.”
I frowned, and replied without thinking, “But, that’s not what I meant at all!” He cocked his head, puzzled. “What?”
“Um….” I suddenly realized Davin did not know I’d accidently named the hero, and I’d just practically admitted it. I tried to stall. “Huh?”
He looked at me—very keenly, of course. “I said, ‘dark means bad,’ and you said, ‘that’s not what I meant.’” He chose his words carefully and slowly. “But I don’t understand what you’re saying. What didn’t you mean?”
“Um…” I repeated. I figured if I told him the truth, Davin would forever after think of me only as the chick who was weirdly obsessed with Dark Lightning. But how could I expect him to ever open up with me, if I always lied or concealed the truth when it was convenient? I sighed and spread my hands out on the table and looked at Davin. “It’s kind of a funny story,” I said. “The thing is, I actually…sort of…accidentally…named him.”
Tall, Dark Streak of Lightning (The Dark Lightning Trilogy) Page 8