Free Car Pool by Karin Kallmaker

never see brand-new Volvos in Berkeley, do you?”
    “Never.”
    “Only used Volvos.”
    “Only used.”
    Shay peeked a look at Anthea as she braked for a light. Anthea was grinning. “What’s so funny?”
    “I thought I was the only one who saw it. The Volvo Conspiracy. I think it’s something in the water.”
    “Nah, it’s just that the owners don’t want to be thought snobs, but a Volvo is politically correct. So they buy a used Volvo.”
    “Maybe they buy them new and hide them in a garage for a couple of years, then dent the passenger door with a blunt instrument — No, no, you jerk!,” Anthea exclaimed.
    “I knew it,” Shay said. “Another used Volvo.” The green car made a hurried right turn in front of them, Baby on Board sign swaying, forcing Shay to slam on the brakes. The Volvo then slowed to thirty miles an hour. “I know it’s the speed limit, but it’s rush hour.” Shay moaned. “That means you’re supposed to rush!” She squeezed between a bus and a garbage truck, both of which were outstripping the Volvo by about two miles an hour. Another inch, another inch — she yanked her Horizon over in front of the Volvo and sped down University to the freeway onramp.
    The Volvo honked. Anthea applauded. With precision timing they both gave the Volvo the finger. Shay looked over at Anthea and they giggled like teenagers.
    Anthea said, “Have you ever noticed you’ll do things in your car that you won’t do anywhere else?”
    Shay gave a stifled shout of laughter as she merged into the slowly progressing traffic. “I figured that out in high school. I’ve done things in the back of a car I don’t think I’ll ever do anywhere else.” She laughed more and looked over at Anthea.
    Anthea laughed too, but Shay realized she had sounded … like she’d been … easy. She frowned at herself. What a horrible high school word, she thought. Making out with another girl in the back seat of a car had been anything but easy.
    “Me too. I have fond memories of back seats,” Anthea said unexpectedly. She turned her attention back to her book. Something by Jane Austen — Shay hadn’t been able to catch the title. For the last month it had been Proust, but before that she’d been reading a sci-fi series Shay had also enjoyed, so Anthea wasn’t completely stuffy. She liked Star Trek, for instance, which gave them something to talk about besides the weather. Anthea had her moments.
    Shay adroitly missed the two potholes lurking in the Emeryville curve. She was glad she hadn’t offended Anthea. The fog was lifting to make way for moist spring heat. It would continue to warm up into June, Anthea had said, then the fog would come in and it would be summer in San Francisco.
    Anthea murmured, “God, it’s a beautiful city. It always looks so fresh and clean in the morning.”
    “I like Berkeley, but I wish I could afford to live in the city.” She kept her eyes on the traffic, but stole glances at the tiers of hills behind and south of the skyscrapers marking the financial district. She’d
    driven around the Noe Valley and Mission neighborhoods. Some were pretty bad, some were pretty nice, but they were all part of an amalgam of people who looked different. The kind of people she never saw at the refinery. The kind of people who looked alive. She’d been in more countries and American cities than she could count. New York had been home base for much of her youth, but San Francisco had caught her fancy.
    She lost sight of the city as they merged onto 580. They chugged past an ancient VW minivan that was plastered with stickers bearing slogans like “Promote Homosexuality” and “Queer is Here.” Well, that was another reason she liked the Bay Area. Shay liked all the gay people. She saw Anthea glance at, then away from the minivan, and wondered, not for the first time, what Anthea would think if she knew Shay was a lesbian. Anthea seemed so … unreachable that Shay was sure they’d never discuss