Page 19 of The Do-Over

“Hey—you okay?” Nick looked down at me, but instead of being a jerk, he looked concerned. “You hit pretty hard.”

“I think so.” I nodded and he stepped back so I could get out of the car. I could smell his soap or shampoo as I stood and closed the door. “Oh no—it’s smoking.”

He and I both looked at my smashed hood as smoke started billowing out. Nick said, “We should probably get out of the road.”

His voice sounded sleep-gravelly as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and walked toward the side of the road. I followed, a little shaken up by the violence of the crash and also by the undeniable fact that I’d been unable to avoid the Nick collision.

I thought my plan had been foolproof, but the universe apparently had something else in mind.

Nick spoke to 911, and then he must’ve been on hold because he looked at me and whispered, “Aren’t you cold in that?”

And he said “that” while looking down at my legs in the same way he would’ve eyeballed me if I’d been dressed like a Teletubby.

And honestly, Iwasfreezing. It felt like the air was ice, stabbingme through my tights and on my cheeks, but I said, “Nah—I’m good.”

While simultaneously fantasizing about the jacket that I knew was in his back seat.

But I just couldn’t let him win.

He gave me a smirk that called me a liar before he went back to talking into his phone. I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering and wondered—again—how he looked like such an adult. I mean, he was my age, but there was something so…over twenty-oneabout the guy.

“They’re on their way,” he said, shoving his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

“Thanks.” I had to force myself to look not frozen when I said, “I’m Emilie Hornby, by the way. We sit at the same table in Mr. Bong’s class.”

His eyebrows crinkled together. “We do?”

Yeah—it was just as irritating on repeat. “Yes, we do. Since the beginning of the year.”

“Hmm.” He looked at me. “You sure?”

“Yes,” I said through a groan, rolling my eyes.

“Um…,” he started, watching me like I was a lunatic. “Are you doing okay here?”

“I. Am. Wonderful.” The sirens showed up at that point, and everything was on repeat. Car caught fire, I got ticketed, Nick brought me his jacket, which I begrudgingly accepted, and gave me a ride to school.

I realized as I buckled my seat belt that I needed to be moreadaptive during this day of fixing things. Because I didn’t have the exact recipe for what exactly needed to be fixed. I might not have been able to avoid the wreck, but perhaps I was supposed to fix our interaction instead.

I didn’t know the exactitudes, so I needed to try to fix every little thing.

“Thank you so much for the ride,” I said politely, turning my lips up into what I hoped was a pleasant smile. “It’s very nice of you.”

“It’s not really nice,” he said, putting the car into first and letting out the emergency brake, “so much as it is practical. If I let you walk to school and you freeze to death, surely that would put a crimp in my karma. But by giving you a ride somewhere that I’m already going—no sacrifice on my part at all—I’m actuallyearninggood karma.”

I sighed. “Lovely.”

He smirked but didn’t look at me. “Itislovely.”

I looked out the window and tried again. “I love this song, by the way. Metallica’s awesome.” That made him give me the side-eye.

“Youlike Metallica.”

I nodded and pursed my lips. “Sure.”

His eyes narrowed. “Name three songs.”

I crossed my arms and squinted back at him as he looked at me like I was a liar. Why was he insisting on sabotaging me? “I don’t have to name three songs to prove I like them.”

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