Page 93 of Glitter Rose
“Perfect. Now, foot on the brake, move the gearshift to D.”
My fingers close around it, sliding it down until D lights up on the dashboard. The car hums, ready to obey my command like an obedient metal steed.
“Good.” Knox nods approvingly. “Now ease off the brake, and gently—and I mean gently—press the gas.”
I lift my foot from the brake, and the car immediately rolls forward. My heart leaps to my throat. “It’s moving!”
“That’s the idea. Now a little gas.”
I hit the pedal, and the car lurches forward like a startled animal. Knox’s hand shoots out to brace against the dashboard.
“Shit!” I slam on the brake, throwing us both forward against our seatbelts. “Sorry!”
But I’m not sorry. Not really.
I did that. ME. With just my foot, I made this massive metal thing move.
“I said gently.” He isn’t angry, just amused. “The car responds to the lightest touch. Like a nervous horse.”
“I’ve never ridden a horse either.” I blow a strand of hair from my face, frustrated.
“You’ll get it. Try again.”
I take a deep breath, my fingers flexing on the wheel. “Okay. I think we started on the wrong foot. First things first.” I pat the dashboard. “We need introductions. Hello there, I’m Paris. I’ll be your driver today, God help us both.”
He stifles a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “It’sjust…”
“What?” I stroke the steering wheel. “I’m being polite to our mechanical friend here. Someone should. Poor thing’s probably been sitting abandoned for years.”
“What’s its name?”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I tilt my head, considering the dusty but sturdy SUV we’re sitting in. “Thumper.”
“Thumper?”
“Because of how it thumps along when I drive it.”
He chuckles. “Alright, introduce me properly to Thumper, then let’s try again.”
“Knox, this is Thumper. Thumper, Knox.” I move my lips closer to the middle of the steering wheel. “He’s bossy, but he means well.”
“I’m not bossy.”
“Says the man who just gave me a fifteen-minute lecture on the proper following distance.”
He crosses his arms. “It’s important.”
“We’re the only ones on the road!” I gesture at the empty stretch of asphalt ahead, the abandoned buildings on either side a testament to the world’s emptiness.
“Other survivors drive too.” He shifts in his seat, his expression softening. “But fine. Less lecture, more practice. Ease off the brake again.”
I do, and this time, when I tap the gas, I barely touch it. The car moves forward smoothly, picking up speed gradually.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Keep it steady.”
