Aengus congratulated her on her nice grades. Wendy didn’t go through the trouble of finding them out during the whole summer, but now she’s happy. She writes her average, 3.2, on a note and sets it in front of the speedometer. She’s never had such good grades before, she says. She’s been in trouble with grades before, she says.
“3.2!” she says.
Wendy makes a U-turn.
“I’m, like, thirsty,” she says. “I’m just going past Burger King to get some water. Like, you coming?”
And just like that we’re on our way to Burger King, the sun of the promised land shining down on the jeep Cherokee and the landscape around us. Wendy reaches behind her, picking pennies from the back seat, only occasionally looking at the road. Soon, we drive up to the Burger King drive-thru window, me saying I haven’t gone through a drive-thru before.
“You’re a drive through virgin?” Wendy says and just stares at me. “You don’t have drive-thrus in Sweden?”
I try and explain that yes, we do, they’ve started popping up here and there, but they’re not that common and people are not that used to them. Yet, I say. They’re not used to them yet. Because I like the drive-thru. We sit in Wendy’s air-conditioned Cherokee and Wendy gets her water and then we’re off again. Just like that. Just driving around in the car. It’s so easy. So much easier here.
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