“Your car is much nicer than that old beater you used to drive,” I say, flipping the windshield shade down and fiddling with the vanity mirror for quick peep at myself. “So did I slowly become this pretty, or was it an all-at-once, magic potion sort of thing?”

Now on to my game, Riley keeps quiet and glares back. She slaps the shade back up, refocusing her attention to the road.

“Oh, I get it,” I fret, maybe even a bit wounded. “I must not be that pretty after all.” Riley hesitates a bit before landing on an explanation, “You’re gorgeous, now please stop asking so many questions!”