We’re canoeing along the shoreline, in water so shallow we’re likely to run ourselves ashore. I didn’t think about having to break against the river’s current on my own. Not that Olivia isn’t in the canoe, but at this point her paddle in the water would probably hurt more than help. I didn’t really think through this whole canoeing-in-the-dark business. Everything is hazy, and it’s hard to tell how far we actually are from shore, or one another. It’s a sobering reminder of what it would be like behind the wheel of my car. I’m staying close behind Ellis, tighter than I usually would, so I can let him and the light he has affixed to the bow of his boat lead us through the dark.

When we reach the river, we bank the boats on the shore and flip them over so we can carry them. Ellis parked a pickup down the dirt access road, and it’s better than canoeing all the way back upstream, but it’s also a pretty long walk to make it from the river to the little road.

“I’m glad we’re not canoeing the whole way back in the dark.” Olivia lets out a little grunt as we step over a log that lies across the path. “But this canoe is so much heavier than I expected.”

“We carry canoes all day.”

“We drag canoes.” She laughs. “And that’s ten feet.” She takes a deep breath. “This is … more.”

We’re about twenty feet from where the truck is parked along the dirt road. Ahead of us, Ellis and Troy are pushing the first canoe up onto the metal brace in the back.

I only have twenty more feet to propose the idea that has been forming in my brain all night. “I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m pretty committed to not skinny-dipping until the Fourth of July. You said it yourself.” She laughs, and she doesn’t sound nervous this time.

“You don’t have a car,” I say.

“This is true.”

“But I do.”

“Okay…” Her voice is questioning, confused.

“What if you borrowed my car for the summer?”

“That sounds … like a strange arrangement. Why would you loan me your car? What are you going to drive?”

“Well, I’d loan it to you, because I can’t drive it right now anyway. And because I was thinking you could maybe help me out by driving me places once in a while.” I hate how douchey this sounds when I say it out loud. It sounded so much better in my head.

“I sort of thought the whole bike-riding thing was just a statement.”

“Of what?” I ask.

“I don’t know … your resistance to what’s expected?”

“I like that.” I laugh, because it’s a much cooler explanation than the truth. “But I’m not that creative.”