"So how long do you think it will take us to cross the country?" I crane my neck to watch the city limit sign roll by.

"According to my map, about three and a half days. Maybe four with my detour. It's Friday evening. We could get to California by Wednesday at sunrise."

I whistle, wondering what detour he's talking about, but I don't press for more information. "That's a lot. I was happier before I knew that."

Dave chuckles. "Think of it this way: Once we cross, we're in California. Give or take a mountain range or two. Plus I've always enjoyed driving great distances across the USA. It's the only time I feel any kind of patriotism."

His warm maroon gaze lingers on me a fraction of second longer than necessary, and it has warm embers twirling in my stomach.

"Not running away from home, are you?" His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "If so, take my advice. Get back into your house."

"I don't remember asking for your advice." I scoff. He already agreed to take me to L.A., so he can shut up and drive.

"That's right, you didn't."

"For all my mom knows, I'm supposed to be on a grad trip. I'm good for another week, so don't give me the third degree."

"You surprise me. April Lewis, the class nerd, lying to her mom about her whereabouts? That took guts. Not sure even I'd be able to do it. Seems to be more to you than meets the eye." Dave's eyes shine with a spark of admiration.

It drives heat to my cheeks and I look away.

I giggle. "And I'm eighteen, so the cops won't say a thing. Adults do what they want."

"Well said, again. Say, you have any siblings?" Flecks of curiosity glisten in his irises.

"Nope, just my parents and I."

"Lucky you. When my mom remarried, I got a pack of three." Dave groans. "I'm more of a babysitter than a person now."

"Oh." Unsure what to say, and always being cursedly horrible at small or big talk, I don't pry any further. For a moment, I focus on the specks of dirt on the car window instead.

"Dad and Mom split." He glances at me and grimaces.

It's silly but I admire his moving lips, the jump of his Adam's apple when he swallows. It's nice to sit next to him. We're almost like friends who have known each other for a long time.

"Sorry." I fiddle with the button of my denim jacket.

"Eh, it's all good. They fought all the time anyway. It's better this way. There was a period when they got along, though. When he wasn't a drunk asshole."

"Do you miss him?"

"He was alright before he started getting plastered every night. My Mom is a psycho lunatic now, and my younger brother Keith is in prison. I mean I always knew Mom and Dad were lost causes, but I tried so hard to protect Keith. And failed."

Our eyes meet for a moment and I reach over to stroke his arm. He doesn't flinch or pull away and we connect in a smile. His teeth glisten like magic in the dim light from the dashboard.

"So yeah, I guess I do miss him." He clears his throat. "I miss a lot of people, though people come and go. But more come along, you know?"

It feels super strange being able to relate to him, but... he's so right. Especially because I have my own experience to confirm what Dave Rivera says.

"Remember that girl, Sarah, from middle school? We were inseparable," I start. "Hanging out at each other's houses, sleepovers, shopping trips, volleyball team practice... You name it. We did everything together. I thought we'd be friends forever." I pause, taking a deep breath. "Then, just like that, we drifted apart. I felt all sorts of feelings: grief, loss, betrayal... Anger. I was furious at her. I swear I thought it was the end of the world."

A small smile creeps onto David's face. "But it wasn't. You got over it. Life goes on, right?"

Life does go on. 

"My dad wrote to me that life is a revolving door. One day, it will be the last day you will ever spend with a person. You just won't know what day that is."

"He's a smart man." Dave glances at me again with a warm smile.

I smile back, for the first time being at ease in a very long time. I would like to stroke his arm again, but that's stupid. He will think I'm weird.

A silent acknowledgement of the unspoken connection forming between us.

Dad also said I should surround myself with people who add to my life and cut contact with those who subtract from it.

Maybe Dave Rivera could be someone to add to my life? I'd like him to be.

Here I am, in a car hurtling towards L.A., with a boy. A boy who was actually worried about me.

The Pontiac hits a bump, and Dave instinctively reaches out, and places his arm across my chest. A tingle runs through me. His touch is awkward but amazing at the same time.

"You good?"

I nod, lost for words. My cheeks are so hot that I must look like a strawberry.

He quirks a brow, his lips twitching. "Sorry." He lowers the offending arm.

A tiny part of me, a part long suppressed, yearns to trust him, to allow someone to care for me.

To care for me just the way I am, instead of incessantly trying to mold me into the version of myself they want me to be.

I turn around, imagining the ravenous Pontiac tyres under me swallow mile after mile, as melancholic street lights speed-wave me goodbye.

Goodbye, streetlights.

Goodbye, bedroom.

Goodbye, living room with decades old TV dutifully playing Family Ties like every evening.

What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye.

The car engine thrums outside, a soothing rhythmic pulse against the now comfortable silence within.

Unexpected, stupid tears prick at my eyes, blurring the passing scenery into a watercolor of gray trees and black, distant mountains. I blink hard, willing them back, but the lump in my throat remains.

It's not the city itself that aches. I'm leaving that behind gladly. It's the memories, the occasional whispers of past laughter and shared secrets in familiar streets. It's the childhood friends, their faces already beginning to recede into the distance, their voices a faint echo in the fading light.

But saying farewell to the old and welcome to the new is a good thing. Dad says so.

There will be a chance to build more memories. Paint new faces onto the canvas of my life, while I carry the best parts of old close to my heart.

I shake my head and lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.

Goodbye, Poughkeepsie.

Goodbye, Mom.

All of a sudden, Dave grabs my hand and squeezes, and there are no more goodbyes. Just new beginnings.