Page 8 of Shut Up and Drive

“We could pry open the sunroof,” Thane suggests. “It looks like it’s vented. We’re halfway there.”

My mom knows how bad I hate the smell of rental cars and hotel rooms. At least she was considerate enough this morning to crack the sunroof. I glance at the top of the car.

“That may just work!”

Thane begins wiggling the sunroof backward and forward. “It feels like it’ll work, if I just give it a bit more force. But the angle I’m at makes that hard. I need to stand on something,” he says, looking around.

“We have a stool inside my parents’ house,” I offer weakly, “but… the front door is locked and those keys are also in my purse.”

“And you had the gall to callmeThe Master of Disaster?” Thane pokes at my pride.

“Shut up,” I clip. “What about your parents’ house? Do they have a step stool?”

“Probably. But I don’t have a key to their house.”

“What kind of son doesn’t have a key to his parents’ house?”

“The kind that doesn’t live there,” he says with a shrug.

I look around the yard for a stool, a ladder, or even a rock he could stand on, to no avail.

Why did my dad have to be so paranoid about robberies?

I sigh, remembering the time Thane boosted me up to see a bird’s nest outside the treehouse window.

“I have an idea,” I say sheepishly, kneeling down on all fours.

Thane begins to laugh. “You’regoing to givemea boost? I’m way too heavy for you. How about I give you one?”

I look up from my humiliating pose on all fours. “I’m not strong enough to pry that sunroof open. It’s this, or we waste more time and money calling a locksmith.”

Thane shakes his head and removes his shoes. “For the record, I think this is a bad idea.”

“I know. But it’s the best we’ve got.”

Thane climbs his six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound body onto my back. He places one foot over my shoulder blades, and one foot on my pelvis. Immediately my knees and hands groan under the extra weight.

“Hurry!” I grunt. “I may not last long!”

“Don’t make me laugh!” Thane protests, wiggling his weight back and forth to loosen the window.

My knees dig into the cement. My palms throb. I close my eyes tightly and do my best to keep the pain reined in. The last thing I want is for Thane to know that I’m struggling. Still, I can feel every movement he makes, and my arms are buckling.

“Is it open?” I cry from my hands and knees.

“I think I got it!” he shouts, making one last tug.

He hops down off my back, and I let out a sighof relief. I ease up slowly and brush off my sore hands and knees. Thane grabs my hands and turns them over.

“Your hands are all red!” he says with concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I insist, even though I want to whimper as I brush little tiny rocks from my skin. “Please tell me this worked.”

“Oh, it totally worked. Now we just need to get in there and get the keys.” He crouches down, clasping his hands together to give me a boost.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

“There’s no way I’ll fit through that,” he replies, tipping his head toward the half-open sunroof. “Now it’s my turn to give you a boost.”