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obviously, I knew the gas was on the right side in our car, but when you were driving an unfamiliar vehicle you could never be too careful about these things.
    “Go left at the next stop sign,” Patrick instructed. “You’re doing great.”
    I wasn’t, actually. I’d already nearly given us both whiplash when I’d slammed on the brakes halfway down our street. I’d been testing to make sure they worked well on the icy road conditions (they did), but in retrospect I probably should have warned Patrick first.
    “So,” I started, hoping some small talk would calm me down. I was gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles were white—first because I was driving, but also because I was still in shock that pen-buying, tooth-checking, Dina’s-crush guy was my new driving instructor and neighbor. So much for my plan to avoid him. “How long have you and your grandparents been living on Gamble Avenue?”
    “It’s just me and my grandpa now,” Patrick answered. “He’s been there forever. My great-grandparents were the original owners of the house. It’s one of the oldest in the area. They built it themselves in 1910, way before all the prefab houses started popping up around it, or any shopping malls were nearby. My great-grandpa even built the house you and your mom just bought.” My ears perked up. So that explained why our new house looked so much like Mr. Connor’s—and why they were the only two older homes on a block full of cookie-cutter houses with two-car garages. “Then my grandparents eventually divided up the land and sold it. But I’m telling you a million things you probably don’t care about,” he apologized. “Sometimes I talk too much. Sorry.” I didn’t actually mind, especially since the more he talked, the less I had to participate in the conversation—which was a good thing, since I was concentrating pretty hard on not getting us killed. “You wanted to know when I moved here,” he went on. “My grandma died in November from a stroke. I just moved down from Toronto to help my grandpa out around the house. I’m finishing high school here.”
    “Really? You left all your friends behind and everything? That’s nice of you.”
    He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Not really. I mean, I only have a semester of high school left. I figured everyone would be going their separate ways soon, anyway. I keep in touch with a bunch of friends back home. Plus, I’d do anything for my grandpa. I like helping him out and keeping him company. But I have selfish motives, too.” He took his gloves off and rubbed his hands together to warm them. Even though it felt like we’d been driving forever, the heater hadn’t quite kicked in yet. “He gets all the good cable channels. And instead of complaining that I play my music too loud, he just shuts off his hearing aid. He never gets upset about anything.” Patrick started fiddling with the heating vent flap things, turning them all to blow in my direction. “Stop!” he said, looking up all of a sudden. My heart leaped up and I slammed on the brakes, throwing us both forward against our seat belts.
    “Oof.” He rubbed at his chest.
    “Sorry!” I squeaked, making a pained face. First I’d accused him of stalking me in a parking lot, and now I’d nearly given him whiplash for the second time in half an hour. I was clearly off to a wicked awesome start getting to know my new neighbor.
    “No. My fault,” he apologized. “I got so busy talking, I forgot you’re nervous on the roads. I should have used a calmer voice. I just meant, ‘You can stop now. We’re here.’”
    “We’re where?”
    “Here. The place where we’re going.”
    I looked around, my heart continuing to beat loudly against my ribs. We were in old Middleford, on Carlton, six blocks from where my mom and I used to live. It was a street full of big, old trees and expensive, historic, three-story houses.
    “See that car?” Patrick asked. It was a red convertible parked