Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Sure." El grins back at me, her smile slowly unfolding. Her face is red from biking up the hill and her sweat-slick hair clumps on her forehead under a bulky bike helmet, but she's beautiful.

A pang of relief shoots through me at her reaction, considering the stony silence that's persisted between us through the last four weeks. And the fight we had the last time we were around each other. And all the other millions of ways she could have just told me to fuck off.

But she said yes. It's all I can do not to cheer.

Pushing my sunglasses onto my head, I pull over, turn the Hornet off, and nearly leap out as I open the door. El waits a bit farther down the road. She gives me a little wave as I walk toward the back of the car. We don't talk as we do this weird dance around and toward each other. Hands shaking with nerves, I drop my keys, and fish them out of the roadside gravel. She scuffs her shoe against a mangy dandelion that's growing along the road. I try to help her wheel her bike, but we end up making the pedals collide with the Hornet's back bumper. I fumble my keys again as I slip the right one into the trunk's lock. Both of us lift El's bike, and the front wheel smashes into the side of my head. Still not talking, we take the front wheel off and cram the bike into the Hornet's trunk, where it barely fits in, but we manage to wedge it awkwardly by taking off the front wheel.

Then, too fast almost, El is getting into my car, and settling into the seat. She pulls a water bottle from her bag and downs all of it. I slip into my seat, buckling my belt and inhaling.

I'm still not sure why I called out to her. I could've driven past, pretended I didn't see her. Revved the Hornet's engine and sped away, rather than slowing down. But as soon as I saw El, standing on her bike pedals, pushing hard to make it up the hill, little dots of sweat tracing the shape of her spine down the back of her T-shirt, a rush of feelings went through me. It was longing, loss, and excitement all at once.

But I clearly didn't really think it through because now El Blum is in my car, and I have no idea what to say to her.

She smells like Putt by the Pond and nachos and sweat and her coconut shampoo. It's all I can do not to bury my nose in the spot between her neck and her shoulder and just breathe in the scent of her.

I hold myself back, gripping the steering wheel.

"Hi," she says after what feels like a year. She buckles her seat belt and turns to me.

"Hi," I echo.

"Nice car." El pats the dashboard, nodding toward the pictures of Jamie Chadwick and Sara Christian I've wedged into a spot near the radio. She bops the little plastic cat hanging from the rearview mirror with her index finger. It swings back and forth between us, its plastic eyes goggling like it can't believe El Blum is in my car, either.

"Thanks," I say, pride in my voice. It is a nice car. My favorite car, which El knows of course.

El catches the cat mid-swing and looks over at me. "What I mean of course is, nice car and I can't believe you're driving. I got grounded until the end of summer."

"Which explains the bike," I surmise. "Instead of the Oatmobile."

"Exactly."

More silence stretches between us. I want to ask her all the questions I've been wondering about: How much trouble did she get in really beyond the grounding? Did she hear from Max at all after we left Richmond? What did her parents say? Did she miss me even a little bit? I want to fill her in on everything happening with me, but I don't know where to start. So, I just sit there, breathing in the scent of El and the grassy smell of summertime in North Carolina. A pickup truck races past us, making the Hornet shake.

I'm just about to put the keys in the ignition when El says, "Wait."

Unzipping the front pocket of her backpack, she pulls something small and dark purple out of it. It's a tiny car, dangling from a key chain.

"What's that?" I ask, though I recognize the car instantly.

El smirks at me. "I thought you'd know. It's a 1969 Dodge Charger on a key chain."

"That's Dom Toretto's car, right?" Of course it is.

"Correct."

"Why do you have Dom Toretto's car? Are you planning another heist?"

El nods, very seriously. "That's exactly it. You've figured it out. I've managed to steal a shrink ray and I need your help pulling off a heist in this teeny-tiny car."

"Where you ride, I ride, right?"

El laughs at that, and then places the tiny car on the dashboard. "I found it on Etsy pretty soon after we got back from Richmond. It's for you and I've been meaning to bring it over to the garage or your house since it arrived at my place. But …"

But.

But we weren't speaking. We weren't going out. We weren't even friends anymore.

I reach for the little car, turning it over in my hand. The details are perfect, and the wheels actually move. "Why are you giving it to me?"

El swallows hard. "Well, you see, it's not just a regular 1969 Dodge Charger on a key chain. It's an apology 1969 Dodge Charger on a key chain. I couldn't think of any other way to say I'm sorry for what happened in Richmond, and for being so awful—about Max, and your mom, and Letty Ortiz, and all of it—and I was pretty sure you'd be grounded like me or wouldn't have a car, so I saw it and it seemed like something you'd like."

I wrap my hands around the small car as El's words wash over me. "It is something I like. Thank you."

El fiddles with the Hornet's radio dials. "I mean, you don't really need it now, though, do you? Since you have this car? How do you have this car? And your license. You do have your license, right? Tell me you have that. My parents will officially ground me for the rest of my life if I'm riding in a car with someone without a license. I'll have to walk to UNC next fall."

"If you're riding with someone without a license again, right?" I can't keep a smile from kicking up one side of my mouth as the memory of us winning the race against Riley and then kissing in the housing development afterward comes to me. Not like I haven't thought about those moments a million times since El and I broke up, but it feels more real somehow. More possible now that El Blum is in my car.

"Again," El confirms, returning my smile with a look of her own that shows me how much of that race night she remembers.

I pull my wallet out of my bag and flip it open. My new driver's license picture, the one where I'm grinning like a kid who's just gotten the present they've been waiting for all year, stares back at us.

"Aww, you look nerdy, happy, and street legal," El says.

"That last one is the important part."

"I still can't believe your dad let you get your license. Did you get into any trouble at all?"

"Oh yeah, definitely." Quickly, I fill her in about what happened after Richmond, telling her a bit about the talk with my dad, my own set of consequences, us sending my F1 Academy application in, me getting my license, Grandma Jolene getting back from Italy and gifting me the Hornet, and me generally driving very, very carefully.

"So, it all worked out for you?" El says, carefully.

"Mostly. Or it's moving in the right direction, I guess. I don't know if I'll get into the academy, but at least I have the chance to try."

"That's important."

Silence falls again, and then El says softly, "I am sorry though, JoJo. I mean, I know I gave you an apology 1969 Dodge Charger key chain, but I want to say it. I'm sorry I was such an asshole in Richmond. I'm sorry for breaking us." She lets out a long, aching sigh, and then starts to run a hand through her hair, but stops when she remembers she has a bike helmet on. Hastily, she unbuckles it, scowling as she does so.

"I'm sorry, too," I say, laughing as she flings the helmet into the back seat. "I've been meaning to text you, but I just didn't know if you wanted to talk to me again."

"I didn't," El admits. "At least not at first. I was hurting and it was awful and I felt so stupid for not seeing what was happening with Max. Or with thinking everything would be better just because I showed up on her doorstep."

"Hope isn't stupid," I say.

El nods. "No, that's not what I mean. It's just that I talked to my mom, and I realize now that I didn't really understand what was happening. Like Max isn't who I thought she was, and my parents didn't throw her out because they hate her, or because she made a few mistakes. It's a long story, but the point is that it's complicated. And I didn't have the whole picture. Maybe I never will, but the point is, it's not something I can fix or force, and I shouldn't have tried to."

"You were dealing with a lot," I say gently, as I work the Dodge Charger onto my own key chain.

"I was," El agrees. "But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"You were grieving your sister. Grief makes us do and say things we might not have done ordinarily."

El rests a hand on my shoulder softly. "But, JoJo, you were grieving your mom. Not your irresponsible sister, who is still very much alive. Your loss is so much bigger than mine."

Tears fill my eyes, and I look at the pictures of Jamie Chadwick and Sara Christian on the dashboard. El's right, of course, but it's not that simple. I know that now.

"Grief is grief, El," I say, leaning my cheek on her hand for just a moment. "It's not a competitive sport. It's not a race. You can lose someone even when they're still alive, and you can still feel close to someone, even when they're gone."

El's finger lightly touches my cheek, a gesture so tender, it nearly undoes me.

"That's true," she says. "But I was still an asshole to you. I'm sorry."

"You weren't the only one. I was an asshole, too, and I'm sorry, too."

"Well, cheers to both of us being assholes," El says with a wobbly laugh. She moves her hand off my shoulder, and swipes at her eyes. "What would you say if I asked you to go get a milkshake with me?"

"I'd say yes, of course. But only if it's a date."

"Of course it's a date. What else would it be when we go to Shake Shack?"

I can't help the bright, joyful laugh that bursts out of me at that. Putting the key in the ignition, I rev the engine once, plop on my sunglasses, and peel away like Letty Ortiz.

Shake Shack is packed and we get our fries and shakes to go. Then, we drive to a scenic overlook just outside of town. The Appalachian Mountains spread out in front of us, rolling waves of green and bluish gray. There are no other cars at the overlook, and we're sitting in the Hornet with the windows down.

"You know this is where everyone in school goes to make out?" El says, dipping a fry in her shake.

"I had no idea," I replied, but of course I knew. Grandma Jolene had told me about this spot on the day we moved in, and I'd been generally avoiding it since. But today feels different. El and I are speaking again. We're on a date of sorts. It's a perfect place to drink milkshakes.

"Yep," El says. "My parents told me Max used to come here all the time with her friends, too. Lots of shady shit happens here late at night."

"Good thing it's not late at night."

El raises her milkshake cup up in a toast and I knock mine gently against hers. We slurp our shakes, as a warm breeze floats in through the window.

El's left hand is on the gearshift, and I reach out, putting my right on top of hers. She looks at me, her eyes intense.

"So, what's next?" I ask. "What happens if I get into the F1 Academy?"

El laces her fingers through mine and traces one of my knuckles with her pointer finger. "I don't know."

"Is that okay? The not knowing?"

El scoots a little close to me. "I think so. I'm trying to stay in the present more. To be here now and not hold on too tight."

"I think that's good, but it's scary to lose control." I think of a car smashing into a wall at Daytona and flames engulfing it. I think of waking up beside El and wanting so much to linger in the soft morning light that filtered in through the curtains of the It'll Do Motel, and then our fight later that day. I think of me getting into the F1 Academy and us being an ocean apart or breaking up all over again.

"It's terrifying," El admits. "But necessary. You can't be brave if you're trying to control everything."

"You've always been brave, El Blum. Even when you couldn't see it."

"You've always been worth being brave for, JoJo Emerson-Boyd."

Her words are whispers against my lips as she leans closer. I close my eyes and bridge the final sliver of space between us, pushing my lips gently against her. She kisses me back, softly at first, and then more insistent, brave indeed in a way that sends heat through my body.

I scoot closer, only to be stopped by the gearshift jutting into my hip.

El kisses me again, her hand tangling into my hair, and I remember for one wild ridiculous moment that my parents fell in love over a gearshift, too.

Because that's what I feel all at once, an unexpected, aching, furious love for this girl who smells like sunshine and nachos and who has hurt me and healed me and who makes me laugh and kisses me like I matter.

"We can be brave together," I say, pulling away from the kiss for just a moment, so I can put my shake down and stop being impaled by the gearshift. "We'll just take it one quarter mile at a time."

I want to throw out more Fast Furious banter, but El stops my next sentence with another kiss, and all I can do is lean into it and see where this road takes us.