Heather didn't like being out in the rain. She was going to get even with that bastard Gene - how dare he dump her in such a manner, in the middle of nowhere. She eased the strap of her high heel shoe where it was rubbing, and turned to look back up the street. The road glistened black in the wet night, and the streetlights merged into the puddles. She began to walk, planning what she would do. For a start, she had his key, she realised suddenly with a gleeful grin. He wouldn't be able to get into his...
In her rear-view mirror, she saw Gene turn. He looked at the bush, at her, at the bush again, and then felt his pockets. Phone, wallet, ke...
He bolted for the bush. Heather slammed her hand against the ignition and turned the key. Grinding metal. The car was already on. She floored it and turned for the bush. No clear plan had formed in her mind but she could see Gene sprinting. The bush arrived and the car rose up to meet it, bouncing over the rockery and screeching up the hill. Grinding metal again. The wheels were spinning. Smoke and dirt everywhere. The bush was attained. The keys were safe, crushed beneath the undercarriage.
She leaned back and laughed. She knew she was an idiot. But the look on his face when he realized he'd lost would be worth it.
She was looking ahead, eyes parallel with the ground.
She was looking ahead, eyes perpendicular with the ground.
Parallel. Perpendicular. Parallel. Perpen... parallel.
The car came to rest. Her weight pressed her into the seatbelt. Gravity pressed her really, but she thought of her weight first. Gene had made her borderline bulimic. Speaking of: she wretched onto the ceiling of the car.
Gene's eyes, perpendicular, winced. "Lovely," he said.
Her eyes closed. "Just one last puke, to cap off a year of puke together."
"A year of memorable voms. Remember the first one?"