Reaching for the handle, I am met with warm fingers. I look up behind me to see Parker. He’s not looking at me, but looking down at the handle as he opens the door.

“Thank you,” I say, still looking at him.

Friends open doors for other friends. Right?

Getting in the car, I sink into a bucket seat. It smells of new car; nothing else. I take a deep breath, soaking in the scent before Parker gets in. I love the new car scent.

You can tell a lot about someone’s personality by their car.

I can tell by Parker’s car that he is without a doubt the type to take care of what matters to him in life. There isn’t a speck of dust or lint anywhere in sight. It’s very well-maintained. Well, or he has some major OCD.

Parker gets behind the wheel, closing the door softly as he does. When we back out of the driveway and turn onto the road, I look out Parker’s window at Jason, who is making a weird hand gesture to Parker that I don’t understand. Just as I am about to ask Parker what Jason is doing, he revs the engine, shifts gears, and squeals up the street, making me fall back into my seat. I can hear Jason’s hoots and hollers as we drive away; I roll my eyes. Men and their toys. Now I know what the hand gesture meant.

Parker downshifts as we come to a stop sign.

“I wish I could drive a manual,” I say, watching him shift. I’ve never given it much thought, but just that split second of quick shifting gave me a thrill, made me want more.

“You don’t know how?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” I laugh at the silliness of the conversation I started. It almost makes me want to add, “But, I do know how to ride a stick,” just to see what he would say.

“I’ll teach you. It’s really easy once you get the hang of it.”

Parker speeds off and I have to brace myself by placing my hands on the black dashboard. I’ve never been in a sports car before, and watching as he zips in and out of cars, shifting as he does, makes me wonder why I never have, because the thrill of speed is an addictive high.

Once we get to a comfortable speed, I ask, “What kind of car is this, anyway?”

The interior is black with small accents of red on the outer edges of the seats. The back only has enough space to fit a large child or small adult. It does not look comfortable. The only thing that would make this car better would be a moon roof. I love the feeling of the wind blowing over my body as if I’m weightless.

“Scion FR-S. They came out June of last year. I’ve wanted one since they were announced. This baby was my graduation present to myself.” Baby? Why is it men have to refer to their toys as babies? It’s something I may never understand.

“Some present.”

He grins as he changes lanes. “What do you drive?” he asks, giving me a quick glance before turning back to the road.

“I have a Jeep Wrangler. Hard top. I had to beg my parents for it. My dad wanted me to get something simple. He said my Wrangler would be too dangerous if I got into an accident.”

“But you got your way,” he says matter-of-factly. It’s not a question, so I don’t answer it.

“We went camping one summer and someone in the group had a purple one. I’d just gotten my permit, so she let me drive it. It was a manual, and I didn’t get far.” I laugh at the memory. “She eventually got tired of me riding her clutch, so she took over. When my sister took me to look at cars I found one that was an automatic and didn’t even look at anything else.”

“I like those. They’re good for off-roading.”

“Yeah, it’s been good to me.” And it has, considering it’s a 1999 and has well over one hundred thousand miles.

Parker turns on his MP3 player and rap music plays through the speakers.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” I’m not really into rap. Well, some is okay, but if I had my choice I would stick with pop music.

“I didn’t peg you as someone who would like rap,” I say over the song. It’s not very explicit, and maybe he chose this particular song for that reason.

“No? It’s my favorite. Well, I should say, old school rap. After that, it’s all pop rap.” Pop rap? Is that even a genre?

“Who is considered pop rap?”

“Pretty much anything on the radio these days. I like 2Pac, Too Short, Dr. Dre, the good stuff.”

“Dr. Dre is actually why Genna calls me Dre.” I laugh.

“Really?” He raises one eyebrow with a hint of amusement.

“Yeah. When I was a kid I wanted to be a doctor. Genna started calling me Dr. Dre like the rapper, which eventually got shortened to Dre. She’s called me it ever since. It’s rubbed off on my family and friends as well.”

“And you don’t want to be a doctor now?”

“No. Too much school.” I let out a small laugh, which causes him to grin at me.

I stopped wanting to be a doctor after my cancer came back the second time. All I ever wanted was to help people and make them feel better, but when my cancer came back, I realized that doctors can’t always make people better. I didn’t want that on my conscience.

The drive isn’t that long, considering the lack of traffic and Parker’s serious speeding problem.

We make it to the arena well before the scheduled start time. I look at all the people walking around in Wild jerseys. It’s fun to see the fans come out and show their support, even for a small thing like this.