I'm not going to roll the window down," I told him. "This car doesn't have automatic windows. I'd have to pull over and go around and lower it manually. Besides, it's cold outside, and unlike you, I don't have a fur coat."

He lifted his lip in a mock snarl and put his nose on the dashboard with a thump.

"You're smearing the windshield," I told him.

He looked at me and deliberately ran his nose across his side of the glass.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, that was mature. The last time I saw someone do something that grown-up was when my little sister was twelve.

Author: Patricia Briggs