It’s two thirty now, so on my way back I swing by to see Matty. He’s walking. Halfway home. Just turned onto Woodland Road, Bills cap pulled low over his perfect face. I drive real slow next to him. He picks up speed, doesn’t look over. I wonder if he realizes it’s my dad’s truck. Maybe he thinks his evening will be made busy with a shotgun and a preacher. Maybe he doesn’t know whose truck it is and thinks I might be some kind of pervy serial killer. I keep his pace for all of Woodland, but when we turn onto Edgar, I get a good glimpse and he looks panicked and I feel bad. I roll down the window and yell, “Hey, butthead!”

He turns around. His face is blank and kind of white, but then he realizes who it is and smiles that big Matty smile that’s just about him and me.

“Why does you driving this big truck make me nervous?” he says, climbing in the passenger side when I slow down enough for him to get in. He kisses me on the lips, his head blocking my view. It doesn’t matter. I know these roads.

“I am an excellent driver,” I say.

“Okay, Rain Man.”

“Okay nothing. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll say.” He smacks his hand on my thigh. It stings the slightest bit. He uses the potholes as an excuse to bump his hand up higher and higher and I use them as an excuse to slide my leg toward him, so eventually, his hand is right there and he’s rubbing his finger up and down the seam of my jeans right where the legs meet and there’s that thick part, all the seams coming together, and he’s making me crazy and I want to close my eyes but I’m driving. He’s acting like he doesn’t know. Pretending like the bumps in the road just led his hand there and he has no idea what it’s doing to me. He’s humming and looking out the window, but there’s that great big smile across his face. By the time we pull into his driveway, he’s got my jeans unbuttoned.

We make out in the truck for a while even though his mom is at work, his dad is on a job out in Olean, and his little sister has Girl Scout cookies to sell or something. It’s more fun this way. His bedroom is getting old. And it’s not like anyone will see. His nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away, and there’s so many pine trees.