A soft knock came on the window, and I glanced over.
I didn’t know why. I knew it was Kai, and I also knew I didn’t want to see him.
He was bent over, his face near the crack in my window, and he spun his hand like he wanted me to roll it down . He’d probably never used a hand-operated window in his life.
That was beside the point. I couldn’t open it even if I wanted to.
I shook my head and held up my phone. “I’m fine.”
“I can take you to your house,” he offered. “You don’t have to wait for a tow.”
I barely held back a laugh. Mom and I couldn’t afford a tow. And I’d never let Kai see the shabby apartment building Mom and I called home, with the jacked-up cars in the craggy parking lot and patchy grass covered in dog excrement. Shaking my head, I said, “I’ve got it.”
He glanced over the parking lot. “I’ll wait to make sure you get out of here safely.”
Now he was just messing with me. I glared at him, but he missed it as he went to his Tesla. It easily, and almost silently, came to life.
I hit the back of my head against the headrest. What now? It was already getting dark outside, and I was hungry.
I lifted my phone and went to the Sermo app to find a few new chats waiting for me.
Callie: Beckett says there’s a DP stunt near La La Pictures tonight!
My mouth fell open. I’d been so jealous of my friend Rory when her boyfriend took her to see one of Dulce Periculum’s stunts. The group was an urban legend around Emerson. I didn’t want to miss my chance to see them.
Jordan: Can you guys swing by the school and pick me up? Car troubles.
Callie: We just ordered. But one of us can leave and get you. Or send you an Uber?
The worst part about having rich friends was knowing that, no matter what, you’d never be able to return the favor. Feeling like a burden, I typed a quick response.
Jordan: No worries. I’ll see you there.
Of course, I had no idea how I would actually get to the diner. And Kai’s perfectly running car was just sitting there, mocking me.
A year ago, I could have texted one of my friends from Seaton High, but after I transferred, they thought of me as a traitor. Called me stuck-up. If only they knew I was going somewhere the majority of the student body would treat me like old bubblegum stuck to the sole of a perfect Prada shoe.
I let out a frustrated groan.
Now I had the choice of two evils: interrupt Mom on her job to let her know we would have yet another unplanned expense, or...
I glanced over to the shining Tesla.
Kai it was.
Ten
Kai pushed the passenger door open from inside the car with a satisfied smirk.
I got in without speaking a word.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Waldo’s,” I answered and closed the door.
He sped out of the parking lot, his car taking each bump softly, unlike my car, which practically rattled my teeth out every time I hit so much as a crack. Actually, every part of his car was better than mine, from the touchscreen on the dash between us to the flawless leather interior that smelled as if it had just been driven off the lot. Apparently, his car hadn’t been pre-owned by multiple families with messy, cracker-eating children.
The windows were tinted so dark, I felt removed from the rest of the world, except out the windshield, where I could see him easily guiding us down city roads.
“You seem uncomfortable,” he observed.
“No, I’m perfectly at ease.” I shifted, trying to relax my shoulders, to no avail.
His long fingers went to the touchscreen. “I can change the temperature.”
“It’s not that,” I said, my voice tight.
His hand fell to the center armrest, and he took me in for a moment before turning his eyes back toward the windshield. They glittered in headlights from oncoming traffic. “What is it?”
I wondered whether I should say it, really, but I couldn’t help myself. I gestured at his car. “It’s this.”
He seemed confused. “What? I think you can adjust the seat back—it’s supposed to be ergonomic.”
Exasperated, I sighed. “This car is ridiculous. I could buy a house bigger than the postage stamp my mom and I live in with the amount you paid for this car, but you drive it around like it’s nothing.”
His black eyebrows came together, but he didn’t speak, which just made me angrier.
“You and your dad live in this fancy castle, and you have your personal trainers and chefs and a butler, but you never think of what it’s like for regular people or that people out there have rent to pay. Which my mom and I could do for years with the money from a car like this.”
I glared at the dash for good measure, hating everything the car stood for. And hating myself even more for wanting it.
“I didn’t choose to have money,” he said quietly, keeping his stare ahead now.
“Just like me and ninety-nine percent of the world didn’t choose to be poor,” I returned, my voice hard. “But here we are. Just surviving, while people like you and your dad live like kings.”
His voice reflected my anger. “My dad works hard for what he has.”
“And my mom doesn’t? The people picking fruit for two dollars an hour just miles from here don’t work hard?”
That silenced him.
“It isn’t about hard work,” I said. “It’s about luck. And opportunities.” If Emerson Academy taught me anything, it was that rich people got to be that way on a combination of luck and connections. People like my mom could slave away every day of their lives and wind up with nothing but arthritis and just enough government help to get by. All while being judged by the lucky ones for taking what little leg up they could get.
“There’s nothing I can do about how much money my dad has,” he said.
I shook my head and looked out the dark window, at what muted view I had of the passing buildings.
“So, what?” he pressed. “That means I’m a terrible person?”
A harsh laugh escaped my lips. “It means we exist in different worlds.”
He pulled into the Waldo’s Diner parking lot and turned toward me. “What does that mean?”
I grabbed my backpack and opened the door. “It means you make the messes, and I’ll worry about cleaning them up.”
I slammed the door behind me and walked into the restaurant without another look back.
Eleven
My breath was still coming hard as I approached the table where my friends sat with Carson and Beckett. Their eyes were wide.
“Who drove you up in a Tesla?” Carson asked in awe.
Beckett furrowed his brows. “That looked like...”
“Kai’s car?” I blew out another angry breath and sat down in the long circular booth. “It was his car, and can we talk about something else? Please?”
Zara nodded sarcastically. “Yes, there are so many more interesting topics than you riding to the diner with a billionaire. Callie, tell us about your dog’s diabetes shot again.”
Callie straightened. “Oh, well, it’s just in his—”
“I was kidding!” Zara cried, giving Callie a good-natured smile, which she returned with a blush.