This Girl: A Novel

respond, a car pulls up beside her and a woman leans over the seat and speaks to Layken through the window. This has got to be her mother; they’re practically identical. Same accent and everything.
    I continue to lean through the window, using her distraction as an opportunity to study her. Her hair is a deep brown, but not as dark as her mother’s. Her nail polish is chipped. It looks like she picks at it, which somehow makes me like her even more. Vaughn never left the house unless her hair and nails were perfect.
    Kel jumps out of the other car and invites Caulder, who is now standing next to me, over. Caulder asks if he can go, so I grab the handle of Layken’s car door without worrying about possible consequences. The hell with it.
    “Sure,” I reply to him. “I’ll be back in a little while, Caulder. I’m riding with Layken to the store.” I open her door and climb inside without second-guessing my actions. She shoots me a look, but it seems more like an amused one than an irritated one. I take this as another good sign. “I don’t give very good verbal directions. Mind if I go with you?”
    She laughs and puts the car into gear, glancing at the seat belt I’ve already fastened. “I guess not.”
    The closest grocery store is only two blocks away. That’s not nearly enough time with her, so I decide to take her the long way. It’ll give me more of a chance to get to know her.
    “So, Caulder is your little brother’s name?” she asks as she turns off our street. I like how she says Caulder’s name, drawing out the Caul a little bit more than necessary.
    “One and only. My parents tried to have another baby for years. They eventually had Caulder, when names like Will weren’t that cool anymore.”
    “I like your name,” she says. She smiles at me and her cheeks redden, then she quickly darts her eyes back to the road.
    Her embarrassment makes me laugh. Was that a compliment? Did she just flirt with me? God, I hope so.
    I instruct her to turn left. She flips the blinker on, then brings her hand up to her hair, running her fingers through it all the way down to the ends; an action that causes me to gulp. When both of her hands are on the steering wheel again, I reach over and brush her hair behind her shoulders, then pull back the collar of her shirt.
    I look at her bandage, wanting her to believe this is the reason I’m touching her, when really I just needed to feel her hair. When my fingers graze her skin, she flinches. It seems like I make her nervous. I’m hoping it’s in a good way. “You’re going to need a new bandage soon,” I say. I pull her shirt back up and pat it.
    “Remind me to grab some at the store,” she says. She grips the steering wheel tightly and keeps her eyes focused on the road. She’s probably not used to driving in the snow. I should have offered to drive.
    The next few moments are quiet. I catch myself staring at her, deep in thought. I wonder how old she is. She doesn’t look older than me, but it would suck if she is. Sometimes girls don’t date guys that are younger than them. I should really find out more about her.
    “So, Layken,” I say casually. I place my hand on her headrest and glance behind me at all the boxes still in the back of the Jeep. “Tell me about yourself.”
    She cocks an eyebrow at me, then turns her attention back to the road. “Um, no. That’s so cliché.”
    Her unexpected response makes me laugh under my breath. She’s feisty. I like that, but it still doesn’t answer any of my questions. I glance to her CD player and lean forward. “Fine. I’ll figure you out myself,” I say as I hit eject. “You know, you can tell a lot about a person by their taste in music.” I pull the CD out of the player and hold my breath as I prepare to read it. Please don’t let her be into Nickelback. I would have to jump out of the car. When I read the handwritten label, I laugh. “Layken’s shit? Is shit descriptive here, or possessive?”
    She snatches the CD out of my hands and inserts it back into the player. “I don’t like Kel touching my shit, okay?”
    And that’s when it happens . . . the most beautiful sound in the world. Sure, the song is beautiful. All Avett Brothers songs are beautiful. But the sound I’m hearing is the sound of commonality. The sound of similarity. The sound of my favorite band that I’ve been listening to nonstop for two years . . . coming from her speakers.
    What are the chances?
    She immediately