Chapter 88. Drive to school

Chapter 88. Drive to school
I thundered down the stairs one sock half-on, backpack flapping behind me like a broken wing. The bus would hit the corner in exactly eight minutes; I still hadn’t found my other shoe. Mom’s classical playlist drifted from the kitchen—never a good sign when I was late.
Then I heard two voices.
Mom’s soft alto was easy to place. The second voice—cooler, a little husky—knotted my stomach before my brain caught up.
I rounded the doorway and froze so hard the stair carpet might as well have turned to ice.
Irene sat on a breakfast-bar stool, shoulders tucked into that charcoal jacket I loved, steam coiling from the mug Mom had just placed in front of her. A white bakery box rested on the counter; the citrus smell of lemon scones floated above the coffee.
Mom beamed. “Look who dropped by!”
I managed a squeak: “Uh—hi?”
Irene’s eyes flicked up, equal parts hopeful and terrified. “Morning, kitten.” She flicked a glance at my half-socked feet. “Rough exit?”
My heart banged in confusing rhythms—shock, embarrassment, some shy thrill. “You… you’re here.” Brilliant observation, Turner.
“I texted you,” she said, lifting her phone. Sure enough, a message glared from my lock screen: 7:00 – Outside, pastry peace offering. Need a co-pilot? I’d been too busy ripping apart my room for a history worksheet to notice.
Mom poured herself coffee, radiating hostess energy. “Irene says she can drive you—save the mad dash. Isn’t that thoughtful?”
Thoughtful. Also ambush level 9000. “Very,” I croaked, tugging my hoodie hem to hide yesterday’s star-sticker still clinging to my pocket. Guilt and warmth tangled in my chest.
Irene slid off the stool. “I can wait in the car if you need to finish… getting symmetrical?” Her gaze flicked to my single shoe, then back to my face, all politeness.
Blood flooded my cheeks. “Uh, two seconds.” I bolted past her, found the rogue sneaker behind the coat rack, jammed it on, and tried to slow my breathing.
When I returned, Mom and Irene were mid-conversation—Mom explaining how Sergey’s embassy rotation had him in D.C. for the week; Irene nodding like meeting parents before homeroom was her usual Tuesday ritual.
Mom handed me a travel mug. “Irene brought extra scones—there’s one for Alice if you see her.” Then, to Irene: “Drive safe, sweetheart. The downtown is crawling with construction.”
“I know a back route, ma’am.” Irene flashed that respectful-but-still-her grin. “Thank you for the coffee.”
I shoved the scone box into my bag, mouthing sorry at Mom, who gave me a conspiratorial wink—as if my fluster was the cutest thing she’d seen all week. Great.
Outside, the early sun glinted off Irene’s car. She opened the passenger door and waited until I was buckled before starting the engine.
“Sorry for the jump scare,” she said, pulling away from the curb. “I woke up weirdly early and figured coffee might earn me bonus points.”
“Scared, yes. Still—bonus accepted,” I admitted, huddling around the warm mug. “Mom likes you, apparently.”
“I was terrifyingly polite.” She eased onto a side street. “Didn’t even swear once.”
Despite everything, laughter bubbled up. The tension loosened a notch. I remembered the rooftop, Lara’s patient gaze, and felt a pang of divided loyalty. Irene glanced over, catching the shadow in my expression.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just… unexpected morning.” I sipped coffee, buying time. “Thanks for coming.”
She nodded, eyes on the road. “Thought maybe showing up meant more than texting.” A breath. “I’m trying the ‘attendance’ thing we talked about.”
Attendance. The word warmed and pricked all at once. “You’re off to a good start,” I said softly.
We drove the rest of the way with gentle small talk—history quiz, bean sprouts, nothing heavy. But every now and then Irene’s hand twitched on the gearshift like it wanted to reach for mine. She didn’t, and somehow the restraint felt louder than any gesture.
When the school came into view, she finally spoke again: “Thanks for letting me rescue your timetable.”
“Thanks for… rescuing it,” I echoed, smile tilting.
She pulled into the lot, cut the engine. “Hey, Em?” I looked up. “Whatever today throws—science labs, hallway hurricanes—I’m around. Just… saying.” Her jaw worked like she had more words and couldn’t risk them tumbling out.
My pulse flicked. “Noted.”
I opened the door, slung my backpack. Before climbing out, I held up the travel mug. “Best ambush latte ever.”
She exhaled a laugh—quiet, relieved. “See you at lunch?”
“Yeah,” I said, meaning it, though butterflies tap-danced under my ribs about what lunch, Lara, and everything in between might bring.
I shut the door. The car pulled away, taillights winking. I stood in the cool morning air a second longer, shoulders buzzing with new shockwaves: Mom meeting Irene, Irene’s effort. My own secrets stitched in star-stickers inside my hoodie.
Life apparently wasn’t done tossing curveballs before first period. But at least this one smelled like lemon and immediate sincerity—something I could bite into while recalibrating the entire tangled sky of my feelings.