My heart gave a small skip. “Is that Bridget’s car? The cops have been looking all over for it.” The car door creaked as she opened it and slid into the driver’s seat. My door made the same sound. I moved a pile of sneakers and books, and got in. “It was our car,” Jocelyn corrected me. “We shared it. But when I went to college in Athens my Dad made me leave it behind for Miss Perfect. When I came home we agreed to take turns using it. I picked it up Friday morning.” “Damn,” I said, looking around. The car was an archaeological dig of contemporary teenage culture. It smelled a lot like french fries, a smell I normally enjoy. There were empty fast-food wrappers, wads of dirty clothes, a box of cassette tapes, two more pairs of shoes, a Judith Krantz paperback novel, a hairbrush, and a pair of neon purple-and-green in-line skates. “What?” she said. “So it’s messy. Big deal.” “That’s not it,” I said, poking at the glove box until it opened. There was an empty box of Tampax, half a package of moldy-looking cheese crackers, and a rolled-up pair of pantyhose.
What do You think about To Live And Die In Dixie (2008)?
