"So," she said, clearly done with the quiet after forty-five seconds. "Someone else, huh?"
I kept my eyes on the road. "I don't remember saying that."
"You literally just said it. Five minutes ago."
"You might have misheard."
"I have excellent hearing. It's one of my best qualities."
"Along with your exceptional modesty."
She poked my arm. "Answer the question, scholarship boy."
"What question? I don't recall a question."
"You said you had your eye on someone. Who."
I checked my mirrors. Changed lanes. "Nobody you know."
"I know everyone," she said flatly.
"Debatable."
"Isaiah." My name came out in a warning tone that I'd learned meant she was approximately thirty seconds from throwing something.
"Cassidy," I said back, equally pleasant.
She stared at the side of my face. I could feel it. The specific quality of her attention when she was deciding whether to be aggressive or clever, usually landing on whatever option would inflict the most psychological damage.
