‘It’s fine, really,’ I say, sitting up a bit and trying very hard to keep my face neutral, no annoyance, no pain. Let nothing show.

‘Don’t be silly, let Jesse drive you,’ Harper says, looking at me with concern. I open my mouth to reply, but then think of the no drama house rule.

‘Fine,’ I say to Harper. ‘I appreciate your help,’ I say to Jesse, hoping he picks up the dark undertones in my words.

He smiles. ‘Happy to give it,’ he says. ‘Not a big deal.’

It might be the pain I’m in, but his face, I realise at this moment, has a very slappable quality.

I walk slowly out to the car behind him.

‘Have you taken some painkillers, or an anti-inflammatory?’ he asks.

I want to scream, ‘Stop helping me! Stop pretending you care!’ I don’t say this, obviously, but the urge to be mean, to test his niceness—to prove how flimsy it is, that he’ll turn it off at the slightest obstacle, that he’ll abandon me—is overwhelming.

‘Yes,’ I say, trying to sound pleasant and also walk normally, even though I really need to press into the painful area with my fingertips to take the edge off the pain.

‘I wasn’t doing anything tonight anyway,’ he says, getting in the car. ‘It’s not a big deal. Driving you.’

‘When you keep saying something isn’t a big deal, it makes it sound like it is a big deal,’ I say, opening the car door.

‘Well, when you keep resisting help and telling people you’re fine, it makes it sound like you’re not,’ he says, starting the car.

I show him how to get to the restaurant, and then look out the window and ignore him until my guilt kicks in. I huff out a sigh.

‘Thank you for driving me, and helping me earlier, and checking my pulse and all of that,’ I say in a rush, because I don’t want to seem ungrateful, and I also don’t want him to have any possible reason to think he’s a better person than me.

‘You’re welcome,’ he replies.