I could see my face in the surface of it. I figured he stayed up nights polishing it with his undershirts. I walked along giving it the white-glove inspection. “You can teach me to drive,” I said. “Not in this car.” “Why not?” “Because you look like the kind of girl who’ll wreck something for sure.” I turned to face him, ready to defend myself, and saw he was grinning. And there was the one-side dimple again. “For sure,” he said. “Wreck something for sure.”
