I head toward the north parking lot, dragging my feet with each step. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the pavement, and I squint against the glare as I scan the rows of cars. The black Audi isn't hard to spot, sleek and expensive-looking among the dented Hondas and ancient Toyotas that populate most student parking spaces.
Megan sits behind the wheel, one hand tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel while the other scrolls through her phone. She's wearing a simple gray t-shirt, her auburn hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, looking surprisingly... normal.
I approach cautiously, half-expecting her to jump out and tackle me or something equally weird. Instead, she glances up, notices me, and offers a casual wave through the windshield.
"Hey," she says as I slide into the passenger seat, her tone neutral, almost disinterested. "Buckle up."
The interior of the car smells like vanilla and something else I can't quite place, maybe leather conditioner. It's immaculately clean, not a single wrapper or stray receipt in sight.
"Thanks for picking me up," I mutter, clicking my seatbelt into place.
"No problem." Megan shrugs, putting her phone down and starting the car. "I was in the area anyway."
She pulls out of the parking lot with casual grace, her driving smooth and confident. No sudden movements, no showing off, just competent driving. I study her from the corner of my eye, trying to reconcile this chill version of Megan with the intense anime-obsessed weirdo from our first meeting.
We drive in silence for several minutes, the only sound being the soft hum of the engine and the occasional ping of her GPS. It's not exactly uncomfortable, but there's a strange tension in the air like we're both waiting for the other to make the first move.
"So what's up?" she finally asks, breaking the silence as we stop at a red light.
"Nothing much," I reply, keeping my eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the window.
She nods thoughtfully, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. "How are classes going?"
I shrug, still not looking at her directly. "It's so early in the semester, I think they're fine for now. Still figuring out the professors and everything."
The light turns green, and she accelerates smoothly, merging into the right lane with practiced ease.
"Why did you end up choosing to commute instead of going to an out of state college?" she asks, her tone casual but with an undercurrent of genuine curiosity. "You seem smart enough to have gotten in somewhere prestigious."
"All my happiness is around here," I answer simply, the truth slipping out before I can dress it up with something more conventional.
Megan glances at me, her expression softening slightly. "That's... actually really sweet. Most people your age can't wait to get away from home."
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, immediately regretting my honesty. The last thing I need is for Megan to think we're bonding.
"It's just practical," I lie, backpedaling. "Saves money. Student loans are a nightmare."
"Mmm," she hums, not sounding convinced. "Well, I'm glad you stayed local. It gives us more time to get to know each other before the wedding."
I suppress a groan, turning to stare out the window again. The suburban landscape blurs past, cookie-cutter houses giving way to more familiar territory as we approach my neighborhood.
"Kayla mentioned you two had dinner the other night," I say, trying to sound casual. "How did that go?"
Megan's lips curve into a small smile. "Better than I expected, actually. Your sister is... intense. But I respect that about her."
"Intense is one way to put it," I mutter, a surge of affection warming my chest at the thought of Kayla's protective nature.
"She really loves you," Megan adds, her eyes flickering from the road to study my profile. "I can see that. The way she talks about you... it's like you're the center of her universe."
"We're close," I reply simply, warmth spreading through my chest at the thought of Kayla thinking of me like that.
Megan hesitates, her fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel as she navigates a turn. "Do you ever get nervous she's too protective, though? That maybe she's holding you back?"
The question hits me like a slap. I whip my head toward her, fury rising in my throat so quickly I have to swallow it back down. My expression must be murderous because Megan's eyes widen slightly before returning to the road.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I say, keeping my voice controlled despite the rage pulsing through me. "Kayla is just the right amount of protective. If anything, if she wanted to be worse, I wouldn't mind at all."
Megan raises her eyebrows, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Interesting."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand, my carefully maintained composure threatening to crack.
"Nothing bad," she assures me, her tone infuriatingly calm. "It's just... not many guys your age want more protection from their older sisters. Most would be fighting for independence."
I turn to stare out the window again, watching familiar houses pass by as we get closer to home. "I'm not most guys."
"Clearly," Megan agrees. She falls silent for a moment, then adds, "I had dinner with Kayla because I wanted to clear the air. I think I came on too strong when we first met."
"Yeah some of the shit you said was super weird."
"I know," she admits with a self-deprecating laugh. "The whole onee-chan thing was... a lot. I was nervous, and I really wanted you to like me." She pauses, glancing at me briefly. "Kayla made it very clear I need to respect certain boundaries."
"And are you going to?" I challenge, turning to face her fully.
"Yes. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up on getting to know you better. We're going to be family, Travis."
"Your dad seems nice," I offer, deciding to throw her a conversational bone. "Mom seems really happy with him."
Megan's face brightens at my comment. "Yeah, my dad's a good guy. Loves his science," she says, making a turn onto my street. "He's really making good on the Oppenheimer side of the family."
"What?" The word escapes my mouth before I can stop it, my head snapping toward her.
"Well, Dad's dad, my grandpa, was born an Oppenheimer, but he took the Chase name when he married my grandma," she explains casually as if she's not dropping a nuclear-sized revelation in the middle of our drive.
"You're telling me you're an Oppenheimer?" I stare at her, my mouth slightly open.
Megan nods, a hint of pride crossing her features. "Yeah, my great-great-grandma was Roberta Oppenheimer."
"Woah." I sink back into the leather seat, processing this information. Roberta Oppenheimer's descendant is going to be my stepsister. The family that built the atomic bomb is merging with mine.
"It's not a big deal," she shrugs. "Dad doesn't like to mention it much. Too many awkward conversations at dinner parties."
"I can imagine," I mutter, still trying to wrap my head around this revelation. "Do you ever worry about, like, inheriting the guilt of creating weapons of mass destruction?"
Megan tilts her head, a strange smile playing on her lips. "No. You know what's funny? There haven't been any more world wars since my family invented the bomb, have there?"
I think for a moment, processing her words. The casual way she claims ownership of nuclear devastation is jarring, yet there's something oddly compelling about her confidence.
"I guess that's true," I admit, shifting in my seat.
"If it wasn't my family, it would have been someone else. I'm happy my bloodline helped get there first."
I nod, unsure how else to respond to someone casually discussing their family's role in creating weapons that killed hundreds of thousands. "Yeah, that's cool."
Megan pulls into my driveway, cutting the engine. We sit in silence for a moment, the cooling metal of the car ticking softly in the afternoon heat. She turns to me, her expression suddenly vulnerable in a way I didn't expect.
"Look, I'm sorry if I'm creeping you out again," she says, her voice softer than before. "I imagine I come across as a lot sometimes. I just... I really want us to be friends, Travis."
The sincerity in her tone catches me off guard. I study her face, searching for any hint of manipulation but finding only what appears to be genuine hope.
"We can be friends," I concede, reaching for the door handle. "Just don't tick Kayla off. Seriously."
Megan laughs, the sound surprisingly warm and genuine. "Alright," she agrees, nodding. "I can work with that."