Page 4 of The Do-Over

“That’s you?” His eyes roamed over my face like he wasn’t sure if he believed me or not.

“Yes, that’s me!” I was losing my cool because I had very big plans for the day, and this surly boy was holding me up from making my perfect Valentine’s Day happen.

And also not remembering me, which… what the hell?

He said, “You have insurance, right?”

“This is unbelievable,” I muttered, looking at his old red truck that didn’t appear to look any worse in the back than it did all over. “It doesn’t look like there’s any damage. From this end, at least.”

“Insurance information, please.” He held out his palm and waited. I kind of wanted to push him for his attitude of driverly superiority, but he was a lot taller than me and had broad shoulders that didn’t look like they’d budge easily.

So instead, I leaned into the van and snatched my backpack from the seat before opening the glove box and pulling out the small binder I put together the day I got the van. I flipped to the yellow divider—the “In Case of Accident” section—and slid the insurance card out of its protective sleeve.

He took it and his eyes narrowed. “You keep it in a notebook?”

“It’s not a notebook, it’s an emergency binder.”

“And the difference is…?”

“It’s just a way to keep everything protected and organized.”

“Everything?” He looked at the binder and said, “What else is in there?”

“A list of mechanics, tow truck companies, first aid instructions…” I rolled my eyes and said, “Do you really want me to continue?”

Nick stared at me for a solid five seconds before muttering what sounded likeHell noas he pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the insurance card. After that, he insisted on calling the police when my van started smoking. I tried to insist that it was drivable—I needed to get to school and hear my poem, dammit—until the engine went up in flames and the firemen had to put it out.

Ugh, my dad was going to kill me.

And then my mom was going to pick apart my corpse until there was nothing left.

And I wasn’t going to have time for Josh’s poem until after first block.

“Here.” Nick came over from his truck and held out a coat. “I know it doesn’t match your outfit, but it’s warm.”

I wanted to say no because I blamed him for this disaster, but Iwaschilled. My classic pink Ralph Lauren oxford dress had been too cute to cover with a coat, but that’d been before I was standing out in the cold, watching my vehicle become a bonfire.

“Thanks,” I said as I slid into the army-green jacket that nearly went down to my knees.

Nick crossed his arms and surveyed the scene of emergency responders cleaning up the wreckage. “At least you already had a clunker.”

“I think you mean ‘classic,’?” I said, even though I hated my creeper van. There was just something about Nick’s attitude—and the fact that he didn’t recognize me—that made me want to argue with him.

He crossed his arms and said, “You doing okay here?”

I fake-smiled and bit out, “Wonderful.”

I glanced down at my phone. No notifications. Neither of my parents answered when I tried calling them, which wasn’t surprising. I desperately wanted to text Josh, but the last thing I needed to do was remind Nick that I might’ve been distracted when I hit him.

The police officer got there quickly after the firemen and was relatively nice as he wrote me the citation that was sure to get me grounded.

Ugh.

Nick looked at me as the tow truck disappeared with my van. “You want a ride? I mean, we’re going to the same place and you’re dressed likethat.”

I looked down at my bare legs and brown leather booties, clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering. “Like what?”

“Ridiculously.”

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