Chapter 2: Driving

Madge shoved her last suitcase into the trunk of her car, and only had to do minor rearranging to get the door to close. She hadn't been sure what she might need during the break, and when it doubt she preferred to pack anything in the realm of possibility. If that had made the packing process take all morning and most of the afternoon, then so be it.

She slipped into the front seat and did a final check to make sure she had all the essentials: GPS, phone, iPod, purse, and Double Tall Iced Mocha Frappuccino with Chocolate Sprinkles. Greg always swore by eggs and bacon as the best hangover cure, but she hated all that grease. Give her an indulgent Starbucks concoction any day. And Greg could go to hell anyway.

Checking the clock, she saw she was only a little behind schedule. She'd be home in time for dinner, as had been decreed by her mother. Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Maysilee were coming over, too, which meant one topic and one topic only would dominate the conversation.

Fighting the dread, she turned the ignition, though instead of the familiar purr she was greeted by a seizing cough and then silence. She tried again, but got only a sick growling sound in response.

No.

No. This wasn't happening.

She tried a few more times to start the car, but the sounds coming from the engine grew progressively weaker. The bright red CHANGE OIL indicator light blared at her from the dash, the way it had for the past few weeks.

Maybe she should have gotten the oil changed when the light first went on.

She tried staring at the accusatory words to see if they'd disappear, but that didn't work. A second later, she jumped at the sound of a knock on her window.

With a groan she just barely suppressed, she registered that it was Gale. Of course. Gale Hawthorne had radar for her moments of weakness. Why hadn't he left campus already?

Madge opened her door. "My car won't start."

He gestured for her to get out of the seat. Madge fought the flash of irritation that he just assumed he knew more than she did about cars. And what could he possibly know about a brand new BMW? But she didn't have a lot of options, and admittedly pretty much any stranger on the street would probably know more than she did about cars.

"It might be out of oil," she offered as she stood up and let Gale take the driver's seat.

The CHANGE OIL light flashed on again as Gale tried the ignition.

"I meant to get it changed a while ago... But with finals, I didn't have time—"

"How long has this light been on?" he asked, frowning at it.

"Um, a few weeks?" More like over a month. But she hadn't been driving much lately so she didn't think that entire time should count.

Gale felt around the dashboard controls and under the seat. "Where's the hood release?"

Madge had no idea. She'd never touched the engine part of the car. That's what mechanics were for, not that she'd say that to Gale. "I think it's around there," she said vaguely, pointing in the same area where he'd been reaching.

He shot her an exasperated look and got out of the car to look for it. Finally he found a lever that released the hood. He propped it open, unscrewed a cap and did some other things that got his hands dirty. Madge watched his efforts, but really she was more interested in observing him. When he was concentrating on something, he didn't look as unpleasant as he usually did. The perma-frown he usually wore transformed into something more neutral. She could almost understand why Katniss was friends with him. Then she thought, not for the first time, that he had to be the worst cell phone user ever. Katniss was constantly leaving voice and text messages for him and barely ever heard back. And email was a lost cause. He may as well have been in Siberia as North Dakota.

Gale knelt on the pavement and peered under the car. After a few seconds she heard him calling.

"Hey. Look at this."

Squatting gingerly next to Gale—she wasn't about to let anything other than her shoes touch the dirty pavement—she awkwardly bent to see where he was pointing.

"Here's your oil," he said, pointing to a sheen on the pavement under the engine. "Leaked out."

Madge stared into the darkness. An oil leak? "So I need more oil? Where do I get it?"

Gale stood and started putting things back together in the car. "You need to get the leak repaired first. By a mechanic; it's involved. Especially on a car like this," he added disdainfully. "But you're probably still under warranty so you should take it to your dealer."

She had no idea what he was talking about. "Is a leak... something they can fix quickly?"

He shrugged. "Depends. If you're the only car they're working on, maybe." He glanced at her. "Since it's you, maybe they could push you to the head of the line if you get Daddy to call."

There it was, the snide tone he apparently couldn't resist when talking to her. He stood to push the hood back into place and crossed his arms, gazing at her as though he was waiting for something. Did he expect her to pay him for diagnosing her car? He'd seemed like he was offering to help for free and offering him money would probably offend him more deeply than her apparent existence did...

"You should probably see if you can get towed to a garage," he prompted.

Madge nodded as though that's what she had been intending to do, and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. Who should she call, though? She'd already left a message for her parents that she was on her way. Would her father's assistant Ruth Ann have time to pick her up before the dinner? Of course not. Three hours to campus, three hours back... Impossible. Everyone would be arriving at the house within two hours.

Letting her hand with the phone drop to her side, Madge eyed Gale. He'd driven here to pick up Katniss—apparently he was on his way back to Twelve Springs and had space for a passenger. Madge's house was on the way... There was the small problem of him hating her and her having been fairly rude to him a few hours ago. Would he say no if she asked? Was a yes worse if it meant three hours in a car with him and his bad attitude?

She sucked in a breath. "I'm totally late for something at home. Would you be able to give me a ride?" She spat the words out before she had a chance to reconsider. Practicality was what this situation called for.

Predictably, a smug smile flickered over his face before he bit it back. He eyed her, taking his time as though this were a freaking life or death decision and he needed to pass judgment on her and her entire life before deciding. She forced herself to smile politely instead of saying any of that, though. Be a gentleman for once, she mentally urged him, hoping he'd reach that conclusion on his own.

"We can split gas costs," he finally said. Thankfully he didn't gloat. Madge felt her shoulders relax incrementally that he'd chosen the gentlemanly route at least for now.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "Why don't I pay for all the gas since I'm inconveniencing you—"

"We'll split," he said tersely as he moved to release the trunk. "Come on, let's get your stuff."

Madge bit her lips at her error. Katniss was the same way and Madge had learned over the years to be very careful never to act as though money weren't an issue for her.

Gale grabbed a box from the trunk and nodded across the parking lot with his head. "I'm parked just over there." It was obvious which vehicle was his: the older model truck bathed in dirt and grime. At some point in history the truck was probably red, though now it looked like a rusty brown.

"Great," Madge said tightly, pasting her fake smile on in case he was watching her reaction. Luckily he was walking ahead of her. Her mother would be offended at this truck parked anywhere near their house; how would she react to see Madge riding in it? Would it be possible for Gale to drop her off a few blocks from home? No, not with all her stuff. And he'd never go for that in a million years. If she suggested it he'd probably kick her out in the mountains thirty miles from the nearest gas station.

Between the two of them, they transferred Madge's luggage to the truck fairly quickly, and Gale did seem to know what he was doing to secure her suitcases in the flatbed. She noticed that he didn't have much—just a couple of beat-up duffel bags and a box of tools. After he secured the last bungee cord, he stood and flipped the truck's back gate up. "Done."

They climbed into the cab, and Madge felt a wave of relief wash over her at the prospect of letting him turn on some of his angry boy music so they wouldn't have to talk. He'd never let her pick the music, but that was fine. Small price to pay.

Madge was pleased to discover that the interior of the truck was cleaner than the exterior. And he didn't have old fast food wrappers rotting on the floor the way some guys did. She'd always wanted to hold her nose when she got into Greg's car.

What Gale did have laying around was surprising: a bouquet of at least a dozen roses, shoved under the seat. Were they for Katniss? Is that why he'd been so upset at not finding her? Madge bit her lip, glad for the first time that Katniss hadn't been there. Gale was 99% jerk, but the 1% of him that could be nice—like by giving her this ride home—seemed sensitive and it sounded like he'd already had a tough time in the oil fields. He didn't need to start off his trip home for the holidays with a rejection. At least, Madge assumed it would have been a rejection.

She quickly averted her eyes from the flowers, though, and made a show of buckling her seat belt. She had no desire to talk about Katniss's love life with Gale Hawthorne.

"I'll get the music set up," she offered. "Where's your iPod adaptor?" She knew older vehicles didn't always have the right kind of stereo system so you had to get an adapter.

"Stereo's broken," he said.

Madge stared at him in wide-eyed shock. Were they going to actually have to converse for three hours?

"So's the heat," he added with a note of pride.

How he'd driven all the way from North Dakota with no music and no heat in December mystified her. He just seemed to consider it extra evidence of his tough-guy status, and Madge could tell it wasn't in her best interest to do anything to undermine whatever image he wanted to project at the moment. Fine, he could be Mr. Tough Guy Oil Field Worker chauffeuring prissy Madge Undersee home if that's what he wanted. As long as she got home in time to avoid pissing off her mother.

"So," she said as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the freeway. "Why were you still on campus?"

"Just looking around," Gale said, eyes glued to the rear view mirror. He changed lanes.

She waited for him to elaborate. He'd spent several hours doing something on campus, but no classes were in session and most students had departed already. "Did you check out the track?" she probed.

That earned her a glare. Interesting.

"You just deferred for a year, right?" she asked. That's what Katniss had told her, explaining why he hadn't enrolled with them in the fall. He'd lost his scholarship after his knee injury and then he hadn't gotten a good enough financial aid package so he said he needed to make some money before enrolling.

He grunted in response. She had no idea what his grunt meant.

"So," she tried again, "how is North Dakota?" Maybe he liked it so much he never wanted to come back. She could hope...

He glanced at her suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. After a long pause he finally said, "Cold." When he saw that Madge was waiting expectantly for more explanation, he added sourly, "Flat."

Okay, maybe he wouldn't be staying in North Dakota.

"You'll be here next fall, right?" she asked. "Or, next semester?" The idea filled her with dread. She did not need Gale Hawthorne showing up at her dorm room at all hours of the day, looking for Katniss.

"What is this, an interrogation?" he snapped.

"I was just trying to have a normal conversation," Madge shot back. She shouldn't have bothered. He was impossible. "Normal people talk on car drives."

He snorted. "You're the expert on normal? Your family has the Secret Service guarding your house."

"They're not Secret Service, they're state troopers," she corrected, before realizing she wasn't exactly helping prove her point. What did Gale Hawthorne care about the distinction that the Secret Service protected the President while her father was just the Lieutenant Governor of the state, and a fairly unimportant state at that? Nobody in her family other than her father even had a security detail, and the house came with the job so it came with guards...

"Oh, just state troopers," Gale said. "Right. Totally normal. You know who guards my house? Our dog."

"Fine," Madge said angrily. Why did Gale have such a talent for knowing her weakest points and knowing exactly how to get to her? "We don't need to talk. Sorry for making the effort. So horrible of me, won't happen again."

Gale glowered at the freeway onramp, accelerating angrily. For such an old truck, Madge had to admit it had some power. Not that she'd say anything remotely complimentary to Gale, especially since talking was apparently forbidden.

"So, basically," Gale picked up again, breaking his own no-talking rule, which Madge didn't think was a promising sign. "My tax dollars pay for your security guards, so your daddy can buy you a car worth more than a year's tuition — that you can't even keep in basic working condition."

Madge felt tears pricking her eyes. She wasn't looking forward to having to tell her father about the car, breaking it and abandoning it. "Right. Exactly," she said tightly, hoping Gale would pick up on her sarcasm and realize that he was going too far.

"Must be nice," he continued.

Madge looked out the window at the trees whizzing past. If she didn't respond, would he shut up?

Gale seemed to just be warming up. "Your old man's set-up. Sell the mine the whole town depends on for jobs, get rich enough to run for office, get the taxpayers to pay for all sorts of perks. Pretty sweet deal."

"He sold a minority share of the mine," Madge corrected, whipping her head back to look at Gale. If he was going to vilify her family, he should at least get his facts straight.

"A minority share's still worth a hell of a lot more than my old man got. You know how many years he worked in that mine? More than you've even been alive."

Madge took a breath, aware of the need to tread carefully. She knew Gale's father had been a miner and had passed away recently.

"My father made a business decision," she said carefully. "When I was a little kid," she couldn't help adding. It was ridiculous that Gale was giving her a hard time about her father selling the mine so many years ago. Then in a more neutral tone she said, "The main seam was depleted. You know that." Everyone in the town of Twelve Springs did, though it didn't make them happy about it. What else was there to do but close the mine?

"I know what happened to the miners when the new owners took over," Gale plowed ahead. "There are ways to handle a tapped out seam and ways not to. You can transfer people to other locations, train them for other jobs—"

"I agree," Madge interrupted. "And I'm sure my father does too. What good does it do? He didn't have a say anymore."

"He could do something about it now," Gale said, apparently unwilling to drop the topic.

"Could he?" Madge asked wearily. Why couldn't she go just one day without being treated like an extension of her father?

"Oh yeah he could," Gale said. "He's what, the vice president of the state?"

"Lieutenant Governor," Madge corrected.

Gale waved his hand. "So, second most important guy in the state? I'd say he could do a lot—"

Madge could hear him getting ready to launch into a longer rant and cut him off.

"Then tell him yourself." The last thing she needed was Gale Hawthorne's laundry list of things her father should do to make life better for the world. "I can get you an appointment. I'm sure he'd love to hear the opinions of the concerned citizen who gave his irresponsible daughter a ride home from college because she didn't take the completely obvious step of getting the oil checked in her new car." She could hear her voice getting higher and slumped back into her seat, willing herself not to lose it in front of Gale. It was bad enough that she had to leave the refuge of school for the next few weeks; now Gale was ruining her last few hours of freedom, too.

Gale must have picked up on the frustration in her voice because he didn't push it. She could see him glance at her out of the corner of his eye, so she shifted in her seat to turn away from him and look out the side window. She scowled at the trees. Two hours and fifty-five minutes to go.