We seem to make a better pair than I thought. Firstly, we both despise classes, but are too scared and insignificant to do anything about it. We are both the only child in our family and barely see our parents because they work a lot. Neither of us have many people that we would really consider friends, there are people that we know, but neither of us are especially close with anyone. He also hates school, and I couldn't help but agree. We've both made the excuse that the only reason we are still in school is so we can get it over and done with. Which seems simple enough, since we are both in our last year, despite that I'm a year and a bit older than him. 

That was a surprise to me, Oliver seems a lot more mature than his age suggests. I didn't expect him to be seventeen. But I guess a lot of my class is seventeen since most people turn eighteen in Grade 12. Whereas I'm nineteen because I was just sent to school a year later. My mother wanted me to have an extra year of tutoring before I went to school. It wasn't worth anything. 

The more I talk to him, the more I'm reminded how easy it is to get along with him. I find myself caring less and less about how I hold myself or what I say and notice him doing the same. 

When I'm with my friends, I withdraw myself. I care way too much about what they say, even if they are just a bunch of fake jerks. But I can't say much, because I'm just as fake to them as they are to me. I've made myself into what they want to see, and that's who I am at school. But here with Oliver? I'm so much more relaxed. I'm real, I'm me. And I hope I'm not too much for his laid-back personality. 

After a while, Oliver has to go so he can catch the train back to his zone. 

"I can drive you?" I ask. 

He thinks it over. I understand his hesitation. There's a higher chance of someone interfering if I drive him up to the gate. 

"What car do you have?" He questions me. 

"A Mercedes-AMG CLA." His jaw drops and I can't help but laugh. 

"Jesus... Imagine what the drug addicts at my gate will think when I get out of an Upper-class' car? A Mercedes-AMG CLA," he exclaims and throws his arms in the air, "They'd report us both!" 

We both laughed then. It's cute how excited he is over the car, but how much self-control he still has. It's obvious he wants to say yes, but his greater judgement is telling him it's not the best idea. He can at least see it. Maybe then he will change his mind. 

"Would you like to see it?" I ask, careful not to sound snobby. 

"Would I like to- Did you literally just have to ask me if I would like to see it? Of course I would!" 

We both get up and walk outside, well, Oliver more skips and hops in excitement and I walk. I point him in the direction that I parked, and he walks over to inspect it. He gawks over my car for a good ten minutes. Asking several questions about the price, performance, whether I show it off to everyone and how fast it goes. 

"How did you afford this?" He says as he runs a hand along the side of the bonnet. 

I tell him the truth without boasting. "My family bought it for me for my eighteenth. It's their idea of a 'collaborative birthday present'. I thought it was overkill but I'm not complaining. I think they just wanted me to stop stealing their cars," I say as I watch him trace the shapes of my car. 

He leans against it and thinks for a second, now a lot calmer than he was before. He somehow fits the scene so well. His red crew neck sweater, messy hair and worn jeans next to my crisp white Mercedes with the darkening sky and city lights in the background, softly lit by an overhead streetlight and the light from the library. He could honestly be a model if he wanted. 

"I get a $50 Amazon gift card from the corner store and you get a Mercedes that costs more than the rent my family pays in, what, 7 years? Seems a little unfair," he jokes. I choose to leave that joke alone, because he's not wrong. 

"You did reject a ride to the gate in it... but can I at least take you to the station now that we've wasted a bit of time?" 

His head whips around, "You're not joking, are you?" 

I shake my head. 

He points to the car, "You want to drive me? Like in this car?" 

I laugh at him and walk around to the driver's side, "Just get in the car Oliver." 

He jogs around to the passenger door, opens it and slowly slips into the seat, beaming from ear to ear. I start the car and pull out of the parking lot. 

I drive a little too fast when I can, just to show Oliver what the car can do, even if it makes the little time that I have left with him shorter. Every red light turned green is an opportunity to floor it, letting the engine growl and rev. I must look like a dick, but I don't care right now. 

The entire time I'm driving, I watch him through the corner of my eye (while still paying attention to the road) and examine his pure euphoria as he watches the world fly by. His happiness almost feels like electricity. It's dangerous and contagious, flowing all around us. Everything feels so different when I'm with him, almost like a dream. And this is definitely a dream I don't want to wake up from. 

It's only when the train station becomes visible that reality sinks in. The reality that it is over, that I have to wake up now. I pull into a waiting bay and look over to Oliver, who is smiling at me from the passenger seat. I smile back. 

"That... was amazing!" He says, running a hand through his soft, light-brown curls. 

I turned to him, "I guess this is your stop, huh?" 

I' m pretty sure we both wish it wasn't. 

"I had fun today." he says in a tone that's almost sad, as he climbs out of the vehicle. I wind down the driver's window and turn off the ignition. He comes over. 

"Me too." I say, matching his tone. 

Should I ask him to meet again? Would he want to? Words run wild through my head as we stare at each other through the car window. I don't know whether I should say something, but then Oliver breaks the silence. 

"Did you want to meet up again sometime? I'm free pretty much all the time considering there's not much to do in Lower-class." 

Now I'm the one beaming, "I'm free tomorrow after school," I answered way too quickly, "that's only if you're free... no rush." 

He giggles at my poor attempt at recovery. "Tomorrow then," he says as he backs away from my car. "Goodbye Calvin Wood," he bows childishly. 

I laugh and start the engine again, "Goodbye Oliver Night."