First try

Flic says I can’t borrow the car: she’s got her evening seminar and one more missed attendance will land her in it deep. Seriously, what are the chances? She never goes to that class. I have got to get that car. I play it light, keeping my eyes fixed on the TV: sure, driving 10 miles in the snow for a discussion on financial forecasting does sound a lot more fun than couch and a box set. The reply’s whipped back: not going to happen, if I want to go anywhere tonight I’m going to have to walk – which reminds her she’s got to prepare notes. The remote lands in my lap and she’s already off the couch and almost to the door.
“Flic, wait!”
She turns and stares at me, eyebrows arched, lips pursed.
“Please let me borrow the car, please.”
She asks me where I’m going.
My mind serves up a big far blank and I end up just staring back at her. She sighs and slumps against the doorframe, arms crossed. I know what she’s thinking, that Sam wants to hang out with his little friends and play video games until early morning and return the car late in the afternoon and smelling of drive-through burgers. And on any other occasion she’s be right too. How is she to know how important this evening is for me?


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