The warmth inside the blue truck was contrasted by the mist outside that hadn't quite cleared. A haze hung over the roads like a sheer curtain, blanketing, but not quite obstructing, vision.

It's quiet in here, except for the sound of my pencil on this paper. I wish my pen hadn't run out. This gray lead looks so boring next to the vibrant blue.
Anyway, it's so nice, sitting here with him again. I don't know why. I mean, he hasn't said much— but I guess he never really did. I wonder if he remembers what happened last night.
Maybe it was all one huge nightmare. Oh, God, I hope it was. It was so horrible, I can't believe it. Maybe that's why I wish it was a dream.

I don't know.

I did miss him though. I should tell him. I mean, I would want him to tell me; besides, maybe if I'm open with him, he'll be more open with me?

Here goes nothing.

"I missed you." I declared. Honestly expecting very little, if anything, in response. I just wanted him to know I had, even if he didn't have anything to say about it.

"Well..." Dang it. I blindsided him. Why had I never learned to be subtle? "There can't have been much to miss. You strike me as the sort who would have quite a few friends in college."

...is all he said.

Yeah right. I've NEVER had a lot of friends— and he knows it. I wish I could take a picture of the evil smirk on his face right now.

Oh well. I guess that's better than no response at—

"In case you're curious, I missed you too." he added with a smile.

Nevermind. Better late than never.

Uh oh. He's making the what-IS-she-writing-in-there face again. Man, I haven't seen that one forever. I'm gonna answer him and see what he says.
Besides, I've got so many things in my head right now that they're having pedestrian showdowns and not making sense.

Ergo, I can't concentrate.

"Everything." I said. Closing my notebook and focusing on the point where the road vanished far ahead. There was a low, familiar, growl. "Was that your stomach?"

"What?" Look of complete confusion: priceless.

"You were wondering what I write in here all the time." I knocked twice on the cover of my notebook. "And then, your stomach growled."

"Yeah," Michael said after a minute. "I am kind of hungry, but we're almost there." he shrugged. "It's all right, I'll get something on the way to the mechanic's shop after I drop you off." It was quiet just long enough for me to think he was finished. "...How could you tell? About the notebook thing."

I laughed. "You make the same face every time, Michael." Wow. The truth— that felt good.

"What face?" he was incredulous. But how to describe it?

"Well... Well—I don't know! It's your face... It's sort of, just curious, I suppose, but it's not the same as normal curiousness." Hearing myself go on like an idiot made me feel all of ten years old again. I wished I could shut up, but Michael always makes me talk. "It's... I guess it is a bit different than it used to be, but I could still tell." Forget ten and go down to seven.

His laugh was worth it. And then his stomach growled again, louder.

"Oh, now you've done it, Marie Lancaster," he shook his head. "Let's go eat."

"What did I do?" my turn for incredulity.

"You reminded my stomach that it was hungry. " He stated. "It was listening, you know."

"But, don't you have to—"

"Not really."

"You told your Mom—"

"Oh, yeah, the truck. I do. But that's tomorrow."

"Michael!"

"What? I didn't say exactly when, did I?"

"You..." I shook my head, I had never seen him like this before. "You're a genius." He smiled broader than ever and turned back to the road as I straightened in my seat. "Where to, Sir?"

"Oh, I don't know..." There was the old Michael. "Wait— yes I do."