The teal uniform polo makes me look like a human-sized tube of toothpaste. I tug at the collar, already feeling the polyester blend sticking to my skin in the late afternoon heat as I head for the front door. Quick Mart may be a dead-end job, but at least it's mine. I usually work graveyard shifts, but I traded with someone else today.
I'm halfway down the hall when Holly's bedroom door swings open. She emerges with her backpack slung over one shoulder, her brown hair pulled back in that perpetually neat ponytail. Our eyes meet, and for a split second, I consider ducking back into Emily's room to avoid whatever fresh awkwardness awaits.
Too late.
"Oh, hey," Holly says, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses. Her tone is surprisingly neutral, lacking the usual edge I've come to expect during our uncomfortable encounters.
"Hey," I respond, the word coming out stiff and awkward.
She glances at my uniform, her eyes lingering on the garish Quick Mart logo embroidered above my heart. "Heading to work?"
"Yeah." I shift my weight.
Holly studies me with that analytical gaze that always makes me feel like I'm being dissected. "You work at Quick Mart?"
"Yeah."
Her eyes widen slightly behind her glasses. "Oh shit, that's right next to my campus." The realization seems to genuinely surprise her, as if she's just connected dots she hadn't noticed before. "I walk past it every day on my way to the economics building."
My stomach sinks. Great. Now I'll be constantly wondering if she's going to pop in during my shifts, watching me restock energy drinks and sell lottery tickets to retirees. Another layer of awkwardness to navigate in this already complicated living situation.
"Small world," I mutter, checking my watch. If I leave now, I'll still make it with ten minutes to spare.
Holly's expression softens unexpectedly, and a small smile plays across her lips. "You know what? I can drive you. I'm heading to campus anyway."
The offer catches me completely off guard. "Oh, no, that's alright. I can walk."
"Come on," she insists, jingling her car keys. "I'm sure my mom would prefer I drive you instead of making you walk in this heat. Wouldn't want her boyfriend showing up to work all sweaty."
There's something in her tone I can't quite place, not quite mockery, but not entirely sincere either. I hesitate, weighing my options. The walk to Quick Mart takes nearly thirty minutes.
I sigh, surrendering to practicality. "Alright. Thanks."
Holly's car is cleaner than I expected, no fast food wrappers or coffee cups littering the floor, just a stack of economics textbooks in the back seat and a small air freshener shaped like a pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror. As we pull away from the curb, I catch a glimpse of her face. She's smiling, wide and almost predatory, like a cat who's cornered a particularly interesting mouse.
"So," she says, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel as we merge into traffic, "my mom went out looking pretty hot today, didn't she?"
My throat tightens. "Yeah."
"Kind of a bummer it's not for you, though." Her eyes stay fixed on the road, but her smile widens. "All that effort for someone else."
I exhale slowly, counting to three in my head. "Holly, has anyone ever told you you're insufferable?"
She blinks, genuine surprise flashing across her face before dissolving into unexpected laughter. "Daniel Anderson," she says, shaking her head, "you've got far more spine than I thought."
"I just want us to be cool, Holly." The words come out more sincere than I intended. "This situation is weird enough without... whatever this is."
Holly glances at me, her expression suddenly softening. For a brief moment, her carefully maintained facade slips away, revealing something that looks almost like genuine concern.
"You've had a tough life, haven't you?" she asks quietly.
The question catches me off guard. I stare out the windshield, watching the suburban landscape roll by before answering.
"I'm just thankful for each day," I say finally.
The car slows as we approach a red light. Holly's hand unexpectedly slides from the gearshift to my thigh, her touch warm through the cheap polyester of my uniform pants.
"How about this," she says, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "We can have a quickie? Get back at my mom for cheating on you with her clients."
My brain short-circuits for a second before I gently but firmly remove her hand from my thigh.
"Holly, stop trying to fuck me because you hate your mother," I say, keeping my voice level despite the awkwardness radiating through the car.
"No, no, it's not that at all," she protests, turning to face me fully. "I want to sleep with you because I'm in love with you."
The lie is so transparent it's almost painful. She doesn't even try to make it sound convincing, just stares at me with those calculating blue eyes, so much like Emily's but lacking the warmth.
I sigh deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Holly, are you on the spectrum?"
Her mouth drops open, eyes widening with indignation. "Wait, what? No!"
"I have this cousin…" I begin.
"No, that's not…" she tries to interject, but I continue.
"My cousin is like you," I press on. "He has no idea how to read social situations."
Holly looks absolutely livid now, her knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as the light changes to green. The car lurches forward with more force than necessary.
"There's nothing wrong with having autism, Holly," I add, trying to soften the blow. "Most people on the spectrum live completely normal lives."
Her cheeks flush crimson as she accelerates through the intersection. "I am not autistic," she hisses through clenched teeth. "I'm perfectly capable of reading social situations."
"Actually, that reminds me," I say, leaning back in the passenger seat. "Remember Travis Montoya from AP Calc?"
Holly's eyes widen behind her glasses, momentarily distracted from her anger. "Travis? What about him?"
"I saw you once, right in the middle of class. You turned around and told him to stop chewing so loudly. I was half-asleep in the back row, but that woke me up."
Her mouth opens slightly, then closes. "Oh my god, yes. That asshole was eating Tostitos! In class!"
I can't help but laugh at the memory. "Wait, Tostitos? I could have sworn it was just gum."
"No! It was those lime-flavored tortilla chips," Holly says, her voice rising with indignation. "He was crunching them during a fucking test. Who does that?"
"I had no idea," I admit, shaking my head. "I was basically unconscious through most of that class. At least until I dropped out."
Holly groans, slumping back in her seat as we stop at another red light. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel in a nervous rhythm.
"I'm really not autistic, Dan," she says after a moment, her voice softer now. "I just... I want you to cheat on my mom to hurt her. That's all this is."
The blunt admission hangs in the air between us. I stare at her profile, trying to process the casual cruelty of her words.
"That just feels a bit creepy," I say finally. "Using me as a weapon against your own mother."
Holly sighs, a long, drawn-out sound that seems to deflate her entire body. "Don't you feel angry? My mom's probably getting her twat pounded right now by some stranger who's paying her. Doesn't that bother you at all?"
A complicated mixture of jealousy and arousal twists in my stomach at her crude description. The image flashes unbidden in my mind, Emily with another man, doing the things she does with me.
"Do you talk a lot about your mom's twat?" I ask, trying to deflect with humor. "Because that seems like something you might want to discuss with a therapist."
Holly shoots me a withering look as the light changes. "You didn't answer my question."
"It bothers me a lot less than it seems to bother you," I say with a shrug, watching her face carefully. "Which is weird, since she's your mom, not your girlfriend."
Holly's grip tightens on the steering wheel. "That makes you a cuck, you know that, right?"
I lean back against the headrest. "I guess it does." The word doesn't sting like she wants it to.
Her eyebrows knit together as she takes a right turn. We drive in silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle hum of the air conditioning.
"This sucks," Holly finally says, her voice softer than I've ever heard it. "Making fun of you just feels... bad. Like kicking a puppy or something."
I can't help but laugh at that. "Are we good?" I ask, meeting her eyes briefly. "You done lashing out at me for a while?"
Holly doesn't answer right away. The Quick Mart comes into view, its garish teal and blue sign glowing in the afternoon sun. She pulls into the parking lot, rolling to a stop near the entrance.
"I'm never going to call you Dad, Dan," she says suddenly, staring straight ahead through the windshield.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and reach for the door handle. "That's too bad," I joke back. "Because I already see myself as something of a father figure for you."
Holly stares at me for a beat, then bursts into laughter. It's a nice, genuine sound. "God, this dynamic sucks," she says, shaking her head.
I step out of the car, the heat of the afternoon immediately enveloping me. "Thanks for the ride," I say, leaning down to look at her through the open door.
"Yeah, anytime," she replies, and there's something almost kind in her tone.
I close the door, and she drives off, leaving me standing in the Quick Mart parking lot with the strange feeling that Holly is always going to be this high-maintenance.