Chapter 325
**Sara**
"Nice try, but we're talking about your love life here," Charles said, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. "The offer stands—find someone in a year, get a new car."
"First of all, I'm not some charity case who needs her big brother to buy her things. I can get my own car when I want one."
"Right, because your bank account is just overflowing with car money."
"Better than spending it all on Betty's medical bills," I smirked. "How much was that transmission repair last month?"
"Don't change the subject," Charles said, his ears turning red. "You've got one year. Take it or leave it."
"Oh, I'll take it." I sat back, crossing my arms. "And when I win, I expect something better than whatever discount dealership special you're planning."
"So confident for someone who's been flying solo since-"
"Choose your next words carefully, brother dear." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Because I have dirt on you that would make Melissa's head spin."
"What are you going to do?" Charles challenged, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Find Prince Charming hiding under a rock?"
"Maybe she'll find someone within the year," Melissa said, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Or maybe..." She turned to face me with a knowing smile. "Maybe she already has someone?"
Charles burst into laughter so hard he nearly missed a stop sign. "Sara? Having a secret boyfriend? Please. Who would even want to date her?"
"Excuse me?" I kicked the back of his seat.
"Come on, sis. You're impossible to love. You're stubborn and sarcastic, and you turn everything into a joke. This is why you're single."
I crossed my arms, my voice turning ice-cold. "End of discussion. I'll introduce my boyfriend within a year. And when I do, I expect that car to be something worthy of a Parker, not some bargain bin reject like Betty."
"Betty is a treasure!" Charles patted the dashboard defensively.
"Betty belongs in a museum. Or better yet, a junkyard."
"You're deflecting," Charles sang. "Because you know I'm right about-"
"One year," I cut him off. "Mark your calendar, set your alarms, write it in your diary - whatever you need to do. Just remember this moment when you're handing over those car keys."
"Deal." Charles's grin widened. "But when you fail - and you will fail - you're buying me a new car. And you get to keep Betty."
I barked out a laugh. "Keep Betty? I wouldn't take that heap of metal if you paid me. But sure, I'll buy you a new car when I lose - which I won't - and I'll get myself something nice too. Maybe a Mercedes. Or a BMW."
"On your salary?" Charles snorted.
"Unlike some people, I know how to save money instead of dumping it into endless car repairs."
"Betty's repairs aren't-"
"Guys!" Melissa's voice cut through our bickering. "Charles, eyes on the road before we end up wrapped around a telephone pole. Then we can forget about all these deadlines because we'll be dead."
"Relax, baby." Charles reached over to pat her knee. "I'm an excellent driver."
The car swerved slightly as he took his eyes off the road.
"Oh yeah, stellar driving skills." I gripped the door handle. "I can really see why they gave you a license. Did you bribe the instructor or just cry until they passed you?"
"At least I can drive," Charles shot back. "When was the last time you were behind the wheel?"
"It's been a few months, okay?" I rolled my eyes. "And I can drive just fine. Not everyone needs to be Mario Andretti."
"A few months?" Charles let out a dramatic gasp. "What happened to 'driving is an essential life skill' Miss Know-It-All?"
"I've been busy." I waved my hand dismissively. "Besides, I'll learn properly soon enough. For now, can you please focus on not killing us? That red light back there was more of a suggestion in your mind, wasn't it?"
"I knew it was turning yellow!"
"Yellow means slow down, not speed up like you're in Fast and Furious."
Melissa reached for the radio, probably hoping to drown out our bickering.
The opening notes of "All About That Bass" filled the car.
"No." Charles's hand shot out to change the station.
"Yes!" I lunged forward, batting his hand away. "Driver doesn't get radio rights when he's trying to kill us all."
"It's my car!"
"And those are my eardrums you're assaulting with your driving." I started singing along, deliberately off-key. "Because you know I'm all about that bass, 'bout that bass-"
"Melissa, help me!" Charles pleaded.
She just laughed, joining in with equally terrible vocals. "No treble!"
"I'm being attacked in my own vehicle," Charles grumbled, but his fingers tapped against the steering wheel in rhythm.
"Every boy they chase chase, all the right junk in all the right places!" I belted out, doing a little shoulder dance that made the seat belt lock up.
"I hate both of you," Charles declared, taking a turn sharper than necessary.
"Careful with Betty's arthritis," I teased. "Her joints aren't what they used to be."
The car made an ominous clicking sound as if agreeing with me.
"See? Even Betty knows she's ready for retirement." I patted the leather seat. "It's okay, old girl. We'll find you a nice junkyard to rest in."
"Betty is fine!" Charles protested as we hit a pothole that made the entire car shudder. "She's just expressing herself."
"Is that what we're calling those death rattles now?" I leaned forward again. "Melissa, blink twice if you need me to call roadside assistance."
"Don't encourage her," Charles warned as Melissa giggled.
"I'm just saying, maybe pack some walking shoes next time you take Betty out for a spin. You know, just in case."
"At least I have a car!"
"At least I have standards!" I shot back. "Unlike someone who named their car after a Golden Girls character."
"Betty White was a national treasure!"
"And this Betty is a national hazard." I gestured at the dashboard where half the warning lights were permanently illuminated. "What does that one mean? Check engine or last rites?"
Charles reached over and cranked up the radio volume, drowning out my commentary with some pop song about summer love and beach parties.
I settled back, watching the city roll past my window. The familiar streets looked different from Betty's backseat perspective - probably because we were moving at the speed of a determined snail.
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