Cross Country Hearts

by Suzanne August

Not long afterward, Melanie was shoving clothes into her bag and slamming the front door, her feet stomping on the driveway, her car’s engine igniting. I hadn’t been sober, and at the time, I laughed it off, trying to ignore the pit in my stomach. I knew that night, just like I know now, that Melanie will make me regret the words said between us last night.

  Beside me, Georgia sighs and pats my shoulder again, but this time her hand lingers comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it, June. All friends fight.” And when I don’t immediately answer, she adds, “Melanie will get over it. She always does.”

  I know she’s right, but when Melanie is angry with me, I can’t help but feel I’m failing her as a friend. And besides, I have more things to worry about this morning than hoping that Melanie will talk to me. Like that Jasper King is supposed to show up any moment, ready for our two-day road trip to Jacksonville, Florida.

  I say to Georgia, “I can’t believe I have to do this.”

  “If you think about it,” she says, “it’ll only be, like, two days, and then you and Jasper will never have to speak to each other again since he’s already graduated from our high school and everything.”

  I know she’s right but on the inside, my stomach twists. I resist pulling at the strands of my hair again.

  “Look, June,” Georgia says now. She draws her gaze away from the road and puts them on me. Her expression has softened. “Just try to ignore him, okay? You and Jasper don’t need to say anything to each other. Get on the road, play the music real loud, and keep your eyes forward. If it gets bad, you can call me every hour, and I’ll pick up and listen, okay?”

  My heart warms. Georgia is as intense and outgoing in her nature as much as she is fiercely loyal. We couldn’t look more different—brown hair to my orange and brown eyes to green, with her obnoxious clothing choices to my up-to-date fashion—but we couldn’t be closer or the more perfect friends.

  “Thanks, Georgia,” I say, and I mean it.

  She shrugs. “Of course, girl.”

  We turn our gazes back to the road, and sure enough, at almost nine o’clock on the dot, I see someone walking up the street. He’s tall, walking in a slow stroll with his hands stuffed in dark baggy jeans. The long long-sleeved, black shirt he wears contrasts against his short, bleached hair.

  Georgia starts waving.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss.

  Jasper King must see her because his head cocks to the side and looks directly in our direction. He’s close enough now that I discern his flat, unamused gaze looking at Georgia and me.

  “I can’t do this,” I say. “I can’t drive with him to Florida. I won’t survive.”

  “You’re over dramatic.”

  I glare at her.

  She raises her hands above her shoulders, palms facing outwards. “Don’t look at me! C’mon, it’s not the end of the world. And like I said, I’m here for you. Melanie’s there for you, even if she’s mad at you right now. But you’ll get through it, June. You’re that kind of person.”

  “Hey.”

  Georgia and I both jump. We turn back to face the driveway, and sure enough, there Jasper King is, standing only a few feet away from us. I can’t tell if he’s glaring at me or only has a hard glint in his dark brown eyes. There’s an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. I glance at Georgia, who returns the look.

  The time has come. Still, I’m so uneasy and unenthusiastic about this trip that I’m unsure what to say.

  “Hey, Jasper,” Georgia says. She elbows me.

  I start. “Hi, King.”

  “Jasper is fine,” he says slowly. His eyes move away and take their time sweeping over Georgia, but a moment later, they’re back on me. “Thanks for giving me a ride.”

  The words sound painful, like he has to rip them from his throat to actually say them.

  “Oh, sure,” I say, and I try not to sound sour. “Yeah, not a problem.”

  His expression remains relaxed, though his eyes are hard. They’re almost a glare, as I’m sure mine must be.

  Jasper gestures to the red Honda sitting in the driveway, and when he speaks, his voice is muffled because he’s talking around the cigarette. “So… that’s your car?”

  “It’s my mother’s car.”

  He stares at it, then takes the cigarette from his mouth and says, “Is it smart to let you drive a brand-new car?”

  Did he just insult me? It doesn’t matter that I’ve actually thought the same thing.

  “Better yet,” I say, my tone on edge, “I’ll get us to Florida in one piece.”

  “You sure?” He looks at me. “How old are you, anyway?”

  I don’t respond, but Georgia does cheerfully. “She just turned eighteen last week.”

  Jasper points to a mark on the side of the passenger door. “Did you scrape the car against something?”

  “I’ll get us to Florida just fine, King.”

  He looks at me, the tips of his mouth pointed down. “I don’t know if I’m good with this.”

  He looks so doubtful that I’m even more offended. “Watch it, King,” I bite.

  His eyes narrow. “I’m only telling you the truth.”

  “It’d be better if you’d just shut up and get in the car.”

  “I don’t think I want to risk my life in this.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “Carlisle told me about your driving. The last thing I need is for you to kill me.”

  At the mention of my sister’s fiancé, I rear back. “Excuse me?” I say. “Are you blaming me or the car for your imaginary death?”

  He stares at me. “Probably you.”

  “Okay.”

  And suddenly, Georgia is standing between us, saying, “Maybe we should start over? Introduce ourselves?”

  I turn my attention away from Jasper King, feeling a sharp pain of disappointment. Jasper King has only been here two minutes, and already we want to bite each other’s heads off. How are we meant to last two whole days? I press my lips together. The urge to say he started it is strong, but I take a deep breath and think, maybe if we don’t speak to each other, this could work.

  And then I remember what my mother always said when we were kids, her stern tone reminding April and me, if there’s nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

  I purse my lips and turn back to Jasper King, feeling braver than I am with Georgia by my side. I place my hands on my hips just to feel a bit more in control.

  I look Jasper directly in the eye and say, “Maybe we should make a truce.”

  An eyebrow raises. “A truce?”

  I nod. “If there’s nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Could that work for you, King?”

  “Jasper,” he corrects immediately. His eyes narrow, and while I wait for his response, I try not to squirm under his intense, unwavering gaze. Finally, he agrees. “Yeah, sure. That works.”

  I try not to feel offended by how he says this, by throwing the words out in a lazy air as if he truly doesn’t care either way. Maybe he thinks he’ll sit in the passenger seat and ignore me the whole two days. And to be honest, I wouldn’t mind that at all. I can take the silence so long as I don’t have to listen to his voice.

  “Okay.” I take another deep breath. “Then I guess we should get going.”

  With that announcement, Georgia throws her arms around me and holds me tight. “I’m going to miss you, girl. You better call me when you’re in my name state.”

  I hug her back. “Make sure you feed Adam, okay?”

  “Of course! I love that cat.”

  “Your cat is named Adam?” King asks.

  Something about the way he says that gets to me. I detach from Georgia and glare King down. “Problem?”

  He spreads his hands out. “If there’s nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all, right?”

  My eye twitches and I’m really not sure if I’m going to make it through the next two days with him right next to me.

  ~.*.~
>
  After saying a final few words to Georgia, I open the trunk of my mother’s car so King can throw his small bag of belongings next to my suitcase. Then we both pile into the car, with me behind the wheel and him in shotgun. I wave to Georgia as I back out of the driveway.

  For the most part, Jasper King remains silent, and like Georgia suggested, I turn the radio on and try to ignore his existence.

  It’s hard to do that when he winces and takes sharp intakes of breath every time the car comes to a hard stop, or I make a wide turn that makes it look like I’m going to hit a car in the other lane.

  Yes, I suck at breaking. Yes, sometimes I don’t slow down easily before a red light. Sue me.

  “Look,” I finally say, and I can’t help that my annoyance shows through in my tone. It hasn’t even been an hour, and we’ve barely gotten through the traffic that’s leaving the Boston area. “We’re not going to get in an accident. If my mom thought I wouldn’t be able to drive to Florida, she wouldn’t be asking me to do this.”

  Wow. All I needed was someone I intensely disliked in the passenger seat, and suddenly, my confidence in my driving skills doubled—no, tripled.

  Jasper King barely spares me a glance. “You’ve never been in an accident?”

  I’m silent.

  “Well?”

  Are my hands squeezing the steering wheel too hard?

  “Not with another person’s car,” I answer. I catch a pained look out of the corner of my eye, one that is maybe even a little fearful. I clench my teeth. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m not going to say anything.”

  But I know what he means loud and clear, and suddenly, without a doubt, I know the deal I made us swear on is going to be useless. But for April, I have to try. I need to be civil. I also need to concentrate on the road, so I turn up the music and ignore the fact that I have someone in my passenger seat.

  Yet, for the next hour, King doesn’t stop wincing. This time it isn’t because of my driving, but I’m pretty sure because of my music choice. Apparently, he doesn’t like pop. At first, I try to be a better person and change the radio channel, but if anything, his winces get more frequent.

  When a new song by a popular singer comes on, and I turn up the radio because I like it, I catch out King wincing again. And there goes my shit. I can’t take it any longer.

  “Will you stop that,” I demand.

  “What is this crap?” he immediately says.

  I glance at him. “It’s the pop radio station. It’s new music by the top artists.” When he doesn’t respond, I add, “Cardi B.”

  He looks lost.

  “Cardi B?” I try again. Still nothing. “Oh, come on, King. Even if you don’t like her songs, I find it hard to believe you’ve never heard her name.”

  He blinks. “She’s friends with Nicki Minaj.”

  “What? No.”

  “I thought she was.”

  “What are you talking—” I pause. “King, she and Nicki Minaj hate each other. Everyone knows that.”

  King looks a little irritated, most likely due to my patronizing tone. “I thought we weren’t going to talk to each other unless we had something nice to say.”

  “I wasn’t saying anything mean or insulting,” I respond. It’s really hard to keep my tone light and not strained. “I was just… saying.”

  “Well, you could work a little on your people skills then.”

  My eye twitches. “Didn’t you just say ‘if there’s nothing nice to say, then say nothing at all?’”

  “I didn’t say it exactly that way, but yes, that’s essentially what I was getting at.”

  “Now, who’s patronizing?”

  He snorts. “It doesn’t hurt to have a little bit of that in your life.”

  “Trust me, my friend does that enough,” I tell him, and it takes me a second to realize what I’ve just said.

  “Who? Melanie?”

  “No.” But the look Jasper King gives me tells me he knows he’s right. Irritated, I add, “That painting you did of her was horrible. You can say she’s a mean person, but that doesn’t make you any better.”

  I feel good about sticking up for her, and I remember when Jasper revealed on social media his vision of my closest friend. It was over a year ago. In the painting, Melanie is all red-skinned, with yellow, crooked teeth and long, sharp, cracked nails.

  Jasper King is an artist, or at least that’s what he likes to think. In my opinion, the paintings he makes of people, based on his own personal opinions, make him a jerk.

  Now, Jasper looks at me for a moment. I don’t know why. Then he says, “That’s what you think, but I think it’s one of the best paintings I’ve ever done.”

  I look over at him. “What is your deal? Who does that? You criticize people you don’t even know. That doesn’t make you a good person like you think it does.”

  “It’s not—” he cuts off, eyes growing wide. “Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!”

  I jerk my eyes back to the road, hands gripping the steering wheel. I’m drifting into the next lane on the highway and about to rear-end the car in front of us.

  “Shit,” I sputter. I jerk the wheel in the opposite direction. A car blares its horn at me. I almost rear-end the car in the other lane. More cars blare their horns, and I jerk the car back into the middle lane, breathing hard.

  “What the hell?” King breathes. He’s gripping the handle above the door’s window. “How did you get your license?”

  “You don’t even have one.” It’s my best defense.

  “Now I wish I did, just so I don’t have to be in this car with you.”

  “It’s not like I want you here, King.”

  He leans closer, obviously irritated. “My name is Jasper. Jasper.”

  I’m about to make a retort, but then I notice that the car isn’t moving smoothly anymore. It’s making an unhealthy sound. Actually, it’s more like there’s a lump making the car unbalanced, with a burning rubber smell. I swear again. As King glares at me, I pull onto the side of the highway and get out of the car. Not even three hours since this trip started, and already something is going wrong.

  One of the tires is flat. Just my dumb luck.

  “Good job,” King mutters, coming around to my side of the car. He’s eyeing the flat. “Great job.”

  “Shut up, King.”

  He throws his hands in the air. “It’s Jasper!”

  Three

  “My mother is going to kill me!”

  “Who doesn’t have a spare tire?”

  That’s the first question King asks me when I reveal, moments after I’ve pulled onto the side of the highway, that I don’t have a spare tire.

  Irritated, I bite out, “Lots of people don’t.”

  I don’t want to hear what he says next, so I open the car door and get back in, but before I can close the door, I hear him say, “You should, though.” That’s followed by him muttering something about my driving skills, and I don’t have to hear him to know they’re not positive comments.

  I slam my door.

  But when I put the key in the ignition and turn, the engine doesn’t start. The passenger door opens, and King pops his head in. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to drive to the nearest gas station.”

  “Are you sure that’s a smart idea with a flat on the highway?”

  Ignoring him, I try turning the key one more time, and the engine, again, fails to start. I run a hand through my hair, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. This isn’t a huge problem. It’s fixable. This car isn’t that old, so there’s no way it could die now. Right?

  “Great.” King sighs. “You couldn’t just keep your eyes on the road?”

  I open my eyes and turn to glare at him. He’s not even sitting in the passenger seat. He’s still standing, leaning over, and peering inside the car with his head turned to the side. His expression is blank, but I can still tell from his tone that he’s not pleased.

  The urge
to insult him is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down and say instead, “Do you know anything about cars?”

  “No.”

  I swear.

  “Not all guys know how to fix cars, June.”

  “Could you close the car door and stand outside?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” I pull my phone from my sweater pocket and look away from him. His blank expression has melted into an annoyed one. “I’m calling AAA, and I don’t want them to hear me swearing at you to shut the hell up.”

  I catch him rolling his eyes before he straightens and slams the car door. The red Honda moans as he leans his weight against it, hands in pockets, head bowed as he slouches over and kicks something with his feet. I sigh and dial the number.

  ~.*.~

  We stand on the side of the highway for about half an hour while we wait for AAA. At first, I stayed inside the car, happy that it kept me separated from King, but after a while, without the air conditioner on to keep the car cool, I’m forced to step out.

  King and I don’t say one word to each other while we wait. I almost feel his disapproval, and although he doesn’t say it, I know he’s passing judgment on me because I don’t have a backup plan.

  When the AAA guy finally shows up, he arches an eyebrow at the flat tire and asks how it happened.

  Jasper hooks his thumb in my direction. “She almost rear-ended another car. Must’ve jerked the steering wheel too hard.”

  “That’s not what happened,” I respond, and I hope I sound calm because I definitely don’t feel it. For some reason, I find that what really happened is embarrassing, and I don’t even want a stranger to know that it’s my fault the tire is flat. “It’s just one of those times when the tire goes flat. That’s all.”

  The AAA guy shrugs like he doesn’t care much about how it happened. “I’ll bring the car to the nearest mechanic’s. Sound good? I’ll give you a lift, too.”

  As soon as the guy is out of earshot, I shoot King a death glare. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll blind you.”

  “I only told him the truth.”