Read Driving With the Top Down for Free Online

then mimicked her, drawing the smoke in, holding out, and exhaling ungracefully, uttering, “Fuck, man…”
    She stared at the TV surrounded by different game consoles and controllers. The number of nights she had spent down here in this ugly, wood-paneled, mildewed basement and watched as Vince and his friends played Call of Duty was too high to count. She and the other girlfriends would sit there and watch, like groupies. Every once in a while, the boys invited them to play a round, which was always embarrassing and presented like some novelty trick. Like, Hey, look, the dog is in a hat! Like a person! But instead it was, Hey, look, a girl is holding an Xbox controller! She has no idea what she’s doing! The game wasn’t really even any fun anyway, so why bother to figure it out?
    Tamara usually declined at this point. Who cared anymore? Who was she trying to impress? She was just sick of all of it, and she got the sense that everyone else talked about her behind her back like she was just no fun. The pissy girlfriend who couldn’t even play a fucking round and would rather sit there with her eyebrows up, flipping through her phone.
    “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone for two weeks,” said Vince, draping a limp arm around her shoulders. They were alone for once, something she always longed for yet always disappointed her when it happened.
    “I know.” She was dreading it. All that time on the road with the bitch who’d spied on her Instagram and basically ruined her ninth-grade year. It was like punishment.
    “It’s gonna suck, dude.” Vince yawned. “I guess I’ll have to start looking at porn again and everything.”
    Ew, she thought. Guys have needs, whatever.… No need to share with the rest of us. She’d seen Don Jon . She knew what guys were obsessed with and why.
    She resisted the shiver of revulsion his words sent through her spine, for fear that he’d somehow be flattered by her reaction.
    “Guess so…,” she said, still staring at the TV. She didn’t even know what this show was. Some cartoon that was trying to be crass like Family Guy but wasn’t funny at all.
    “Babe.” He burped loud. “Will you do me a favor?”
    “Prolly not.”
    He laughed, mistaking her rudeness for a joke, as always. “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much. And—” He raced an extended palm up her crossed leg. “I don’t want to have to think about anyone but you.”
    She resisted a sneer as well, and finally looked at him. He had a nice nose, good eyes, and sharp cheekbones. He was kind of hot. Almost hot. She still vaguely remembered when his slightly narrow frame had reminded her more of ’80s rock gods and less of her Betty Spaghetty toy from childhood. His eyes had once seemed like chestnut brown, but now struck her distinctly as poop brown. She started to laugh without meaning to.
    Guess the weed was kicking in. It rarely made her giggly anymore—but then, not much did.
    “So I was thinking,” Vince went on as if Tamara hadn’t lost track of what he was saying, “that maybe I could … you know, maybe I could film you.”
    An unexpected image flew to mind. Her, in a Hawaiian dress, the skirt a blue and white map of the islands. It had been a gift from grandparents who were long dead since, and she’d waved at the camera for her mom, who was recording a video to e-mail to them as a thank-you.
    Her mom was long dead now too. Or long enough to no longer be anything like the smiling pretty blond Barbie who’d always smelled like baby powder when Tamara was young. That was the mom she liked to remember. Not the desperate, shaking, bloated, and bitter alcoholic she’d become before she died. That was someone else. Someone unrecognizable.
    Someone now dead.
    Tamara played with that word, “dead,” like it didn’t hurt. Like it wasn’t the most harsh word ever. She used it like an experiment to see if it still made her wince inwardly. It always did. But she couldn’t stop doing it to