Dylan paid him and got out of the car, and Chris watched him trudge toward the student halls, his walk as apologetic as his driving. He wanted to shake him: You’re bloody lucky, you know. Young, free, privileged. Why hide behind that floppy fringe? At the same time, there was a twinge of something—protectiveness, almost. Sadness? Chris gazed at the student block tower and saw people cooking and chatting behind the bare windows, toasting Friday night with their beers. Loneliness shivered through him, like a reflex.

Shifting into the driver’s seat, he flipped down the visor against the low March sun and headed to Chantry High School. Kids of all ages were swarming out of the gates, unleashed for the weekend. Usually he was glad of his car’s logo, separating him from the parents in 4x4s yet assuring everyone he wasn’t some weirdo lurking outside a school, but today it made him feel conspicuous. He was glad when he spotted Jess’s short legs in black tights weaving toward him. She was riffling through her handbag, checking her phone, oversized sunglasses tobogganing down her nose. Eventually she looked up and scanned for his car. He waved and moved back into the passenger seat, wondering how many times a week he did this shuffle-over, this relinquishing of control.

As soon as she got in, he could tell she was upset. She took off her shades and her maroon school blazer but just sat there, staring at her lap.

“Jess? You okay?”

She nodded, still didn’t put on her belt.

“Ready to go? Shall we try a reverse-park again this lesson?”

At last she pulled her seat so far forward that her nose almost touched the wheel, snapped on her belt, and set off. Jess was usually a pretty vocal driver, shrieking, “Oooh, red light!” or “Where’s second gear gone?” at regular intervals. If he asked her to switch lanes or stop on a hill she’d act aghast: “Chris, really?” She was silent today, though, and when she attempted the reverse-park she ended up jutting out almost perpendicular to the pavement, then clipped the shiny Audi behind. That was the final straw: She threw up her hands and dissolved into tears. “I can’t do this!”

Chris glanced behind to check there was no visible damage to the other car’s bumper, praying there was no expensive bill to be covered. “Come on, it’s okay. Pull up over there and turn off the engine.”

She got herself under control and did as he said. They sat for a moment as the car exhaled around them.

“What’s wrong?” He reached toward her shoulder but thought better of making contact, veering awkwardly away. Jess pressed her fingertips against her cheekbones, leaving oval prints in her makeup. “If you’re worried about bumping that Audi, it’s a poser’s car anyway.”