“We should call an Uber,” Zach says. He pats his pockets. “Shit, my phone is inside.”
I already know I don’t have mine. “Mine too.”
“I can’t call an Uber.”
“Me neither.”
“It’s cold out here,” he says.
“I know. I think I have a blanket in my Jeep.”
“Dibs!” Zach says.
“You can’t call dibs on the only blanket,” I say as I reach for the Jeep door handle. “It’s locked.”
“Unlock it.”
“My keys are inside the house.”
“Oh.”
“Next to my phone.”
We stand there for a minute, Zach hops from one foot to the other to stay warm. “I’m cold.”
“Me too,” I say.
“Well, shit. Only one thing left to do,” he says, and he picks up a rock and huffs it through the driver’s side window. The glass shatters and the car alarm goes off.
“Oh shit, we need to turn that off,” he says.
“You think? What the fuck, man. You just broke my car window!”
“I wanted the blanket,” he whines.
We look at each other for a moment. I’m not sure what to do. The alarm continues to shrill.
“Really, man, can you turn that off, it’s giving me a headache.”
“No shit! And no, I can’t turn it off, because the keys are in the house!”
It goes on for another minute, before stopping on its own. At least I think it was on its own. It may have been Willow pushing the button. Either way, it’s a relief.
I grab the blanket from the back, then brush as much glass as possible off the front seat, and climb in. Zach gets in on the passenger side and pulls the blanket toward him.
“You get half, man. That’s how blanket sharing works.”
“I barely have any, look?” He holds the blanket up.
“That’s how much I have.” I do the same.
“The only thing getting blanket is the center console,” Zach gripes.
“Let’s get in the back seat,” I say. “Then we can sit closer together and get more blanket.”
“Barely broken up with the girl and already hitting on the best friend,” Zach mumbles.
“I’m not hitting on you,” I say. “And Willow and I are not broken up. I will explain everything in the morning. And she will understand.”
“You better hope so.”
“Trust me, I do. So much.”