She was driving back from her dad’s, stopped at the lights, when she saw it happen. Two white youths, hair cropped short, loitering on a garden wall. A young black guy crossed their paths and she could tell from the way their faces contorted and the way his shoulders hunched, as if hit by a biting wind, that what had been said had not been friendly. The light stuck stubbornly to red as a beer can sailed out of one of their hands, narrowly missing his head. Georgia fumed silently. What she wouldn’t give to whip out her wand right now… Or for one of those burst of accidental magic that had been so useful as a child when dealing with bullies.
Amber. She revved as the boys slid off the wall, following.
Green. She jumped away from the lights fast, slowing as she neared the group and winding down her passenger window.
“Want a lift?” she called out.
The guy looked at her, a little startled, clearly weighing up the choice. People didn’t just pull over their cars and ask you to get in. She figured she must seem a little crazy. However, a sharp shout from close behind seemed to push him into deciding that crazy lady was the lesser of two evils. Yanking open the passenger side door, he dived in, and they sped away, a second can hitting her car as they drove.
A couple of moments silence passed.
“Thanks,” he said, eventually. The word seemed kind of small and not really fitting. He also still seemed half afraid of her.
“Yeah, well I know how that feels. Racist idiots,” she said, her mind still too fired up and half her concentration on the road to really concentrate on what she was saying until it was out of her mouth. Crap. That was going to lead to some difficult questions.