Free Foolproof by Diane Tullson Page B

shirt.

Chapter Two
    The school cafeteria rumbles with the noon-hour rush. Tables are crammed with people and trays and disgorged lunch bags. Where I sit with Maxwell, someone has left a half-eaten carton of pineapple yogurt in the middle of the table. As I eat my sandwich, I watch a glob of yogurt slip down the side of the carton like a pale yellow sun setting into the scarred surface of the table. Across from me, Maxwell has stopped eating and is looking at me with his mouth open. Remnants of his lunch string his teeth. For a guy who spends an hour every morning on his hair, Maxwell is the world’s most gross eater.
    Finally, Maxwell finds his voice. He says, “That is crazy. I don’t even believe that story.”
    I shrug. “It’s true. She picked me up from work, and we spent the whole evening together.”
    His left eyebrow creeps upward. “Cyn Hawley.”
    “Yes, Maxwell. Cyn Hawley.”
    He cups his hands around imaginary breasts. “Cyn Hawley from Bio.”
    I sigh. “Could you act more astonished?”
    He sits back. “Crazy.”
    The blob of yogurt slumps onto the table. “Don’t overthink it, Maxwell. People win the lottery.”
    “Maybe so. But you haven’t even been in the game.”
    I can see I haven’t convinced him, but I don’t have to. Cyn appears and straddles the bench beside him. She sits down and plops an apple core into the pile of lunch debris in the middle of the table. “Hey,” she says to him, and then turns to me. “Does your mom always cook like that? Because that was the best dinner ever.”
    Maxwell’s mouth drops open again.
    Cyn says to me, “I’m cutting classes this afternoon. It’s too nice to be in school. Want to go for a drive?”
    I glance at Maxwell. He’s looking at me with both eyebrows raised. Once or twice I have faked being sick to miss school, but then I missed the whole day. I’ve never actually cut class and left school in the middle of the day.
    Cyn puts on pink lip gloss. She does that thing girls do with their lips when they put on lip gloss—like they are kissing themselves. I guess I’m staring, because she smiles at me. “So?”
    “Yes.” What classes am I missing, and who cares? “Sure. I’m in.”
    “Well.” Maxwell snickers. “Mr. Responsible cuts loose.”
    Cyn ignores him. “Let’s go.” As she gets up, the edge of her top lifts to show a sliver of smooth skin. If I take my eyes off her, I’m afraid this will all dissolve like a dream. I scramble up from the table and follow her out.
    We head toward the Meridian Park lot. She says, “Do you have your license with you? I need some gas.”
    I pat my wallet. “Yes.”
    “And I want to check out some runners.”
    “Uh, I have to work at four.”
    “No wait times at the border. Half hour down. Half hour back. I’ll drop you off at work.” She nudges me in the side. “We’ll have lots of time, Mr. Responsible.” She says it with a smile, so I smile back.
    The October sun feels warm, and we ride with the windows down. We drive past a speed trap, but Cyn doesn’t take her foot off the gas. I say, “Wow, that was close.”
    She says, “I’m not speeding. Trust me, I do not speed in this car.” She checks the rearview mirror and then grins. “Someone got caught though.”
    I look behind to see the lights flashing on the cop car.
    She says, “Plus, I figured cops would be there—I’ve seen them in that spot. People drive fast on this highway. One time a car blew past me and by the time I got to the speed trap, his car was hooked to a tow truck and on its way to impound.” She shudders. “Very bad day for that guy.”
    She plays great tunes, and we talk music, and it is so easy, like we do this all the time.
    We cross the border and pull into a Discount gas bar. She says, “I’ve got to go inside and prepay. You want something? A Pepsi?”
    “No, I’m good.” But I should probably buy her a Pepsi. I try to remember how much cash I have on my debit card—a few bucks maybe.