My Saturday had been full of nothing but my disapproving mother and research on Stephen Crane’s The Red Badge of Courage. Dad was back from Miami, but he wrote a lot on weekends, so he wasn’t available to save me from homework by inviting me to watch football with him or taking me out for ice cream. Truthfully, I was glad to have an excuse to get out of the house. “Spin it however you want,” she said, “but come pick me up.” I rolled my eyes so hard that Harper could probably hear it through the phone.
“You’re basically telling me I’m your bitch friend.” “You’re so much better at hanging tough than I am. “Why in the world would I do that when I have you?” Harper asked reasonably. Actually, she’d made me do it because she’d brought me up in a comfortable suburban environment, and periodically she decided she needed to toughen me up by throwing me to the sharks. “That’s why my mother made me do it, so I’d have that adult experience under my belt and I wouldn’t get taken to the cleaners later.” At least, that’s what she’d said. “But you should haggle for your own car,” I pointed out. “Because your mom made you haggle for your own car.” I have one picked out, and I looked up the blue book value. And I have a thousand of my own saved up, so I’m going to buy a car tonight. He gave me a thousand dollars basically to leave him alone.” I told him he couldn’t take back my birthday present. I need it more too, because I’m getting photography jobs on weekends. Now that he’s dating, he’s using his car more. “The use of his car? Well, he’s taking it back. “Remember my cheapskate granddad’s birthday present for me?” she asked.
When she remained silent, I said, “What?”
I waited for Harper to explain what the hell she was talking about. “I was wondering if you would help me buy a car.” Like she ever did.” I wished Harper hadn’t asked. “My mother is making me write it early, because she doesn’t trust me anymore.
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