Read Online Notes From the Backseat by Jody Gehrman - Free Book Online Page A

second-class accommodations, I realized that the car was so immense it was like a mobile couch. All three of us could have ridden in the front, easily. She leaned against the driver’s side door and stretched her legs out on the seat. I let my head fall back and looked up at the growing assembly of stars.
    You’re totally going to force-feed me Zoloft when I tell you this, but for one dizzying second there, I considered what it would be like to kill someone—namely, the leggy bombshell beside me. I mean it’s not like I thought it was a good idea. I knew it was sick. But a truck barreled past us just then, a huge logger with a mammoth pile of lumber, and I just thought, we’re alone; I could lure her into the road somehow and act all horrified when she’s flattened.
    Do you think I should seek professional help?
    I was slightly aghast, but at the same time it made me realize something: I really, really want Coop in a way I’ve never wanted anyone in my life and whoever gets between us better watch herself.
    It was chilling, but also weirdly uplifting. In other words, I knew I was in love.
    â€œYou always this quiet?” Dannika asked.
    â€œNo.” I started wracking my brain for something else to say, but it was a total blank. Actually, it wasn’t blank so much as clouded with an impenetrable fog of resentment. I’d been right there, barely two feet from her, all day. Had she shown any interest in making conversation before now? I wasn’t going to be her backup entertainment, called onto the stage because her star had gone to get gas.
    â€œSo, how did you meet Coop?”
    â€œAt the Laundromat,” I said. “Stars Wash-n-Dry. Everything in L.A. is about stars—especially places where no celebrity would be caught dead.”
    When I didn’t offer anything else, she asked, “What was his pick-up line?”
    I chuckled. “It was really crowded and I was waiting for his washer. He left a pair of his boxers in there, so I went over and returned them. I guess I was blushing—he said I was turning pink and could he buy me a beer for my trouble.” I paused.
    She must have sensed my hesitation, because she said, “And…?”
    I shrugged. “That’s it.”
    There was no way I was going to tell her the rest—about the delicious, giddy beer buzz we nursed, even though it was only eleven in the morning on a Sunday. How we dropped his laundry off first, then mine, then ate at this random hole-in-the-wall Korean barbecue place we found in Venice. We tried going back there a few weeks ago, but we couldn’t even find it. It was like we slipped down an elusive rabbit hole that day, into a land of fleshy noodles, sweet, tender pork, duck that dissolved on the tongue. I was drunk on the afternoon, on his dimples and his cheekbones and the penetrating warmth of his muddy hazel eyes. If she thought I was going to tell her all that, she was crazy.
    â€œWe met in the ocean,” she said. “At that beach we stopped at today.” I realized with irritation that her silence wasn’t a sign that she was patiently waiting for more details. She’d been recalling her own meeting with Coop.
    Again, I wondered very briefly about the best way to get her into the road before the next semi came around the corner.
    She laughed softly at her private little memory.
    â€œWhat?” I prompted, unable to stop myself.
    â€œOh, nothing. Just—he told me I surfed like a sumo wrestler. I’d plant myself on the board and nothing could throw me off. He nicknamed me Poonha.”
    â€œPoonha?” I echoed weakly.
    â€œAfter Conrad Poonha—this three hundred-pound Hawaiian surfer guy they show for like thirty seconds in Endless Summer. ” She lifted her hair with her forearm and flopped it over the car door. “We totally hit it off. For a little while I thought we were in love.” She let out a deep, throaty laugh