We drive in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the classical music station. Usually when I have this station on it's because I'm hoping to discover a violin solo to play at a recital or competition. Which is basically what I've been doing for the last week or so. But right now the radio might as well be off completely. I'm too caught up in the fact that the hot guy from the store is sitting in the passenger seat of my car. That his hair is billowing in the wind as we drive. I can barely keep my eyes off of him. He's looking out the window, and I see a small crooked grin on his handsome face. I wonder what he's thinking, and I hope he's thinking about me. My heart is pounding as I try to keep my cool. But God, he makes me so nervous!

"So what are you going to do about your friend?" he asks, breaking the silence. I look in the rearview mirror and see Claire's head resting against the door handle. Her eyes are slightly open, but she's so clearly out of it. For a second I wonder if I should take her to the hospital. What if there's something wrong with her? Conner looks at me, and for the millionth time he says exactly what I'm thinking. "She's okay. I can tell you're worried. But I really don't think there's anything to worry about."

"How do you know?" I ask, gripping the steering wheel tightly and watching my knuckles turn white.

There's a slight pause between us. Then he says, "I've just seen a lot of shit, and I've had a hell of a lot of experiences in this department."

But I shake my head. "No that's... not what I meant." Although, to be honest, I am intrigued by his words. What kind of experiences has he had? But I brush it off for now. "I meant how do you know what I'm thinking all the time? You don't even know me."

"Don't I?" he asks, and he stares directly at me. "We did just spend hours talking at a party. I think I know you a little." I give him a you-know-what-I-mean look, and he laughs. "I don't know, Counter Girl. I guess that's my superpower. I'm just really intuitive. I always have been." I look at him skeptically. "I know it's not the greatest superpower. I mean, we can't all be life savers like you." I smirk and he smiles. "I'm just really good at guessing what people are thinking. Most people are easy to read, you know?"

"Even me?" I ask. I don't know what I want him to say to this. In a way I hope I am an open book to him. I'm not good at expressing my emotions, and I desperately want him to know he makes me feel all fluttery. But I also don't want to be obvious about it. I kind of want to be a little mysterious, too. Is that so wrong?

"You," he whispers, and his voice is deep and soft and sexy. I swallow nervously, but I don't look away from the road, even though I can feel his blue eyes watching me. "You are... easy to read about some things. I know you're worried about your friend. And I know you're kind of modest. And shy. But there are some things I don't know. Actually, there are a lot of things I don't know. Which is... frustrating. But in a really good way. Does that make sense?"

No, it doesn't. But I don't want to tell him that. I just nod my head as I turn onto one of the main roads of downtown Coeur d'Alene. Claire lives a few blocks away from here, and I think it would be easier to drop her off first. I hate leaving her alone, but I can't bring her to my house like this. I know my mom is waiting up for me, and if she sees Claire all drunk and high, then she'll tell Claire's mom. And her parents are pretty lenient, but not that lenient. If they knew about what she had been up to all night she'd be in so much trouble. No, it would be much better to just drop her off at her house. Maybe her older sister is home and will take care of her. Lord knows Claire has taken care of her enough times. Heather, Claire's older sister, spent years doing drugs and drinking hardcore before she finally straightened out and started going to college to be a counselor. I know Heather will help her, even if she disapproves of her sister's actions.

We pull into Claire's driveway, and I'm relieved to see her parents aren't even home. They're probably on some business trip. I turn my ignition off and look at Conner. "So, listen," I say, and he turns and looks at me with those sparkling blue eyes. I lose my train of thought for a second as I look into them. But I recover quickly. "I don't know if I can carry her into the house myself. Do you think you could maybe...?"

He gives me that crooked smile. "Of course," he replies. We stare at each other for a moment, and I can feel the chemistry building between us. Then he gets out of the car, and I quickly follow suit. Together, we pull her out of the car (I'm trying very hard not to get any of her bodily fluids on my clothes) and help her up the walkway to her front door. Just as I start digging around her pocket for her house keys, she starts to regain consciousness. Her eyes open a little bit more, and I hear her groan softly. Poor Claire. She's never been this drunk before. Although something tells me she's not just drunk. I remember what Conner said about her being high, and I feel a boiling hatred in my chest for Kev. Something tells me this is all his fault.

"Laur... Lauren?" she croaks, and her voice is strange and gravelly. Not at all like the voice I'm used to hearing come out of her mouth. "Lauren, I love you. I'm sorry, Lauren. So sorry."

I shake my head. "It's fine," I mumble, but it is not fine at all. Nothing about this scenario is fine. I pull her keys out of her pocket, find the one for her house, and push it into the keyhole just as she vomits at my feet.

"Whoa," Conner says, and he tries to push me out of the way before her puke touches my feet. But too late. I can feel it on my toes. Can smell the sour contents of her stomach. Oh my God. This is my nightmare. I bite my lip, trying to keep my own stomach from turning over. Meanwhile, Claire is still throwing up, and Conner is standing behind her holding her sticky mess of blonde hair. I don't waste any more time. I push the door open just as Claire stops. She falls to her knees and starts gasping for breath.

We give her a minute to collect herself, and then we help her over the threshold into her house. I can still feel the vomit on my toes, but I'm trying not to focus on that. We carry her up the stairs together, and it seems to take us an eternity to make it to her bedroom. Just as I push open her door, I hear another open behind me. It's Heather. She's dressed in a black lace nightgown that shows all but the important parts, and her blonde hair is done up in a long braid. She gives me a curious look, and then seems to realize what's going on. She helps us get Claire to her bed, and then relieves us of our duties by promising she'll take care of things from here.

Conner and I leave the house, and the second I get into the car I take an old water bottle that I have hidden under my seat and dump the entire remaining contents of it onto my foot. Claire's puke slides off of my foot in watery clumps, and I give Conner a disgusted look. He's got a strange expression on his face, and it takes me a few moments to realize he's trying hard not to laugh. I glare at him playfully and he bursts into laughter. "You're weird, you know that? Most people would be disgusted seeing a complete stranger throw up like that. Hell, she's not even a stranger to me and I was grossed out. Aren't you bothered at all?"

He shakes his head. "Not even a little bit." I give him a look of amazement, and he grins. "Well, I mean... everyone's kind of grossed out by it, right? I'm not Superman or anything. I've just been puked on a lot, and after a while it stops being so gross."

"You mean you're not a superhero after all?" I ask, looking at him suspiciously.

He chuckles. "I didn't say that. I just said I'm not Superman. Can't reveal my secret identity to you yet, Counter Girl."

We laugh together and then get back into the car. I still feel bad about leaving Claire, but I feel better knowing someone is taking care of her. I pull out of the driveway, trying to push my worries out my mind, and ask him, "So where am I taking you?"

"Oh, you know River City Motel?" I nod my head, and I can picture the motel in my mind. "I'm staying there. Room 213."

"You're staying at a motel?" I ask, a little surprised. He nods. "Wow. You don't have, like... an apartment or a house or anything?"

"Hmm... nope," he replies, tapping his long fingers against the doorframe. "No apartment. Definitely no house. I travel too much for all of that."

My brow furrows. "Yeah, you mentioned that earlier. Where all have you been, anyway?"

He looks at me. "The better question is where haven't I been?" I look at him quickly, and he knows this isn't the answer I wanted. "I've been to 45 states, including Idaho." My jaw drops. "I haven't been to Hawaii, Alaska, California, Washington, or Oregon. But I intend on seeing them within the year."

"Right," I whisper, still not sure if I believe him or not. "And how old did you say you were again?"

I can see his tiny grin out of the corner of my eye. "I'm nineteen. At least until August 13th." There's no hint of excitement in his voice when he talks about his birthday. Hmm... I wonder what that's about. "I told you earlier, when I turned eighteen, I got this huge inheritance from my grandpa. And I decided to spend it seeing the country. I have the whole rest of my life to make money, but you can only spend it like this when you're young."

"Well, what about your parents?" I ask, and I'm truly curious. My parents would be telling me to save that money for something important. They would never let me do what he's doing. "Don't they want you to use it on college or something?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe. I don't know. I haven't spoken to them since I was seventeen." WHAT? My eyes widen. I couldn't imagine not talking to my parents for that long. "Yeah, that seems to be the reaction I get most of the time when they're brought up. But... my relationship with them is complicated. They had a lot going on when I was younger, so they didn't parent me too much. So, I don't know... I just don't think they can have much of a say now I'm an adult, right?"

I purse my lips. "Yeah. I guess. But don't you miss them?"

He laughs, but it's not like he did before. This laugh is a little colder. It makes me sad. "You can't really miss what you never had, right?" I bite my lower lip, pondering over his words. He looks at me, and I can see him frowning. "Listen, it's okay. Seriously. I'm here, and I think I'm doing pretty well for myself. People think they need parents, and I guess most people do. I'm just... I don't. They've got too much going on to be concerned about me, anyway. And that's fine. I'm not angry with them." I have absolutely no idea why he's telling me this, and I don't think he knows, either. Regardless, I'm not sure I believe him. He sounds pretty angry. "I'm just living my life, you know? Having some fun."

"I don't know," I whisper softly. "Kind of sounds to me like you're running from something." His breath hitches beside me, and I feel like someone just punched me in the gut. Did I really just say that? After everything he's done for me tonight, did I really just accuse him of being cowardly? Wow, I may be the worst person in the world. I'm trying to think of a way to recover. And I have to say something fast, because we're approaching his final destination. I rack my brains, but I'm coming up empty. Think, Lauren, think!

I dare to look at him, and I see a strange mixture of sadness, anger, and shock in his eyes. "I never really thought about it like that before," he responds, and there's a hint of a defense in his voice. "But... maybe you're right." I ruined it. I ruined it all. I want to cry. We pull into the parking lot of the motel, and I wonder if he can see my fingers shaking. He looks at his fingers for a few seconds after we've parked, then he unbuckles his seatbelt and goes to open the door. "Anyway... thanks for the ride."

It's awkward again. No! Why did I have to say something so stupid? "Any time," I reply stupidly, and I wonder if there's going to be another time, or if I totally blew it. Something tells me the latter is the truth. He gets out of the car and closes the door. I watch him take a few steps, pause, and then turn around and come back. Oh my God. He's probably going to start screaming at me. Not that I don't deserve it. I mean, he probably thinks I'm the biggest bitch on the whole planet. And I really feel like I am right now.

He comes up to my passenger side window, leans inside, and says, "You never answered my question from earlier." I just stare at him. What question is he talking about? He smiles. "I asked you what your favorite food was?"

"Oh," I say, and now I remember. Yes, he did ask me that. When we were eating our hot dogs. "Umm...."

He laughs, and my stomach unclenches. Maybe I'm not completely screwed after all. "Okay, Miss Foodie, why don't I make it easier for you. What's your favorite thing to eat when no one is cooking for you? Like, when you're out and about, where do you like to go to get food?"

"Hmm," I say, and now I'm really thinking hard. But only one thing pops into my head. "Meatball sandwiches." His eyes widen in surprise. "Yeah, I'd say meatball sandwiches. From Santorelli's in Coeur d'Alene. I get them all the time, and they never get old. So yeah, I guess that's my favorite food. Sort of."

He slaps the doorframe, not hard, but enough to make me jump. "Meatball sandwiches from Santorelli's! Got it!" Then he takes a casual step back, waves his hand, and says, "See you later, Counter Girl." He turns around and runs, not up to his room, which is where I expect him to go, but to the main office. He's in there for about five minutes, and then I watch him walk out of the office and up the stairs to room number 213. I watch him the whole way, and I don't pull out of the parking lot until he's in his room. He's such an enigma to me. A mystery. A puzzle I so desperately want to solve. I just hope he gives me the chance. I sigh miserably, realizing he didn't give me his phone number (or his last name). Yeah, he probably doesn't want to ever see me again. Tears burn the corners of my eyes as I pull out of the parking lot and make my way home, hoping my mother isn't still waiting up for me.