Free Going Nowhere Faster by Sean Beaudoin

about to answer when Olivia ran up, holding some dandelions that had mostly fallen apart. “Ellen?” she said, all easy and straightforward and normal. “I like you.”
    I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that. So simple. Just say it. See what happens.
    “Thanks, Big O.”
    Ellen picked Olivia up and put her on her lap. They goofed around for a while. Chopper looked at me, annoyed, wondering why I didn’t pick him up and do the same.
    “Take one guess,” I told him. He licked a snaggletooth and resumed sniffing my leg. I wanted to be with Ellen alone. More. I decided we could drop Olivia off and then go somewhere. Anywhere.
    “Okay, ready?” I said, looking at my watch, which I wasn’t wearing, so really, I was just sitting there looking at my wrist. “Time for your nap, Olivia.”
    I was expecting her to protest, some feet kicking, maybe some crying. Instead, Olivia said, “Okay, Stanny” and, when Ellen turned, gave me a wink. It was too much. It made me want to put her in my back pocket and run away to Burma so we could live on the beach (with Ellen, too) just being smart and funny and understanding each other all the time.
    But then, of course, the other shoe fell.
    The yang to my yin.
    The cross to my skull.
    The chute to my ladder.
    Because when we got to the parking lot, parked right in the center, was the Fry Mobile.
    “Oh, no.”
    “What?” Ellen asked.
    “Grrr . . . ,” Chopper said.
    “Mom!” Olivia cried, and ran and hugged my mother’s leg as she stepped out the driver’s side door. She was wearing tie-dyed overalls and her hair was up in some enormous work scarf. She wore big mud-spattered boots and knee pads and looked like some crazed escapee from a lumberjack camp. Of course, she immediately began inspecting the mustard stain on Olivia’s dress. “You didn’t have a
hot dog
hot dog, did you?”
    “Let me handle this,” I whispered.
    Ellen nodded, unconvinced. I didn’t blame her. My mother was a monument of organic righteousness. She was a pillar of vegan zeal. Also, as we got closer, the Fry Mobile hefted and wheezed and made all the odd inscrutable gurgles it always made. Chopper immediately began licking the bumper. There was no way I was going to let Ellen get in that car.
    “Hi, Mrs. Smith,” Ellen said brightly.
    “What are you
doing
here, Mom?” I asked.
    My mother gave Ellen a big smile. “Your mom called, hon. She was worried you’d forgotten your insulin.”
    Ellen blushed.
    “Insulin?” Olivia said. “What’s that?
    “Shhh,” I said, picking her up and snapping her into the car seat.
    “Ellen’s a diabetic,” my mother confirmed, to no one in particular. I looked at her with genuine awe. Not even five minutes and she’d already broken the sound barrier for obliviousness. I had the urge to give her a leather jacket and a medal and sign her up as a spokesman for Quaker State.
    “It’s okay,” Ellen said, “but I didn’t forget.” She pulled from her little purse an even littler purse that held the medicine.
    “Oh, good,” my mother said, although there was clearly nothing good about it, or just about anything else on the face of the planet.
    “I don’t care if you’re diabetic,” I whispered, trying to make it better.
    Ellen gave me an odd look. “Why
would
you?”
    Oh, crap.
    “I didn’t mean —”
    “Well, since I’m here
anyway,
” my mother interrupted, “why don’t I give you two a ride home?”
    “NO!” I said, biting the tip of my tongue, which hurt. “We’ll walk.”
    “Nonsense.” My mother laughed, playing with her hoop earring, which was the size of a manhole cover. It was impossible to take a hint if you had no idea it was there.
    “No, really,” Ellen said. “I’m fine.”
    “Okay, who’s first?” my mother said, clapping farm-calloused hands together.
    “Mom . . . ,” I began.
    ”C’mon! Up and in!” She giggled, waving us toward the door.
    I swallowed hard. Her arms were long and striated and tan