8- Isabel

“She said she’s on the corner of Sutter and Vine.”

This day just kept getting weirder and weirder. Boston—which was how I now referred to him in my head, not Mr. Cunningham—was currently driving me to meet my mom where she had a flat tire. A week ago I would have said something like this would happen over my dead body, but based on the way my heartbeat wildly fluttered in my neck, I was very much alive. It was seeing him without a shirt yesterday. That was it. The sheer number of muscles had confused my brain into thinking Boston was some kind of available specimen for obsessing over.

“There she is!” I pointed to my beat-up blue Camry on the side of the road. Mom was currently rolling the spare tire toward the front of the car where the tire was indeed flat, making a grab for it with her splinted wrists when it looked like it would roll straight down the sloping road.

Boston made an illegal U-turn and parked behind my car with his flashers going. We both hopped out and went to rescue