I sighed. Yeah, I'm the crazy one. "Fine then. What do you want to ask?"
"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—" a shit-eating grin was spreading across that beautiful face of his.
"Are you trying to be funny?" I interrupted him, wheeling toward him on my feet. My face got drenched as I looked up at his expression.
His eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"
I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers so I couldn't do anything rash.
"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride. What I mean is, would you like me to drive you in my silver Volvo to Seattle?"
That was unexpected.
"What?" I wasn't sure what he was getting at.
"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"
"With who?" I asked, mystified by his strange ways.
"Myself, obviously." He enunciated every syllable, as if he were talking to someone mentally handicapped.116
I was still stunned. "What?"
"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks," he said, his tempo increasing. "And, to be honest, I'm not sure your truck can make it."
"My truck works fine, thank you very much for your concern." I patted Daisy, my truck, and started to walk again, but was too surprised to maintain the same level of anger that I had begun the conversation with.
"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" He matched my pace again.
What was this, a car show? Could my truck stand on one leg? Could my truck jump over ten other trucks? Could my truck suck its own exhaust pipe? What was it with these car owners?
"I don't see how that is any of your business."
"The wasting of finite resources is everyone-business."
116. Retarded.