I Punched a Girl: Part II
After a car ride engulfed in awkwardness, we pulled into St. Bartholomew’s Hospital of Beaver Falls, PA.
When Shelby had asked if we could listen to some music, I’d attempted the whole cliché as-she-reaches-for-the-radio-my-hand-will-brush-hers thing. Unfortunately, when we both reached for the radio, I stopped paying attention to the road and swerved into oncoming traffic.
Blasting car horns on all sides sounded as a sky blue Mercedes barely missed us. My tires screeched as I swerved us back into the right lane. Shelby looked like a scared rabbit, wide eyes and flared nostrils. When I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror, I looked like an even more scared rabbit.
“Whoops,” I said, trying to play if off like it was nothing, but I felt like she could hear me sweating.
She shot me a terrified glance, then turned on the radio.
“Trying to be my best, when I fall, it’s a mess!” screeched through my shoddy speakers.
