AUGUST IS A FEVER

18

"Is it his? Like, his actual car?" You asked Clay as he examined the red pick up truck.

"Toyota, 2004. Not his his, but it's the same type." The blonde told you, you humming in reply.

"Aye, that's the year I was born!" You pointed out.

Suddenly, the sound of sneakers hitting the asphalt below you caught both of yours attention, you whipping your head to look in the direction of the sound of someone jogging towards you and Clay. George was lightly jogging over to you two when he saw you checking out the truck.

"Don't bother. I already checked, it's pretty much broken." George said, a tad out of breath. Looking at him, he looked sweaty.

The sun was out which was a bit odd for West Virginia standards, but it's whatever. However, as your gaze on George lowered from his messy hair to his hands, you could see black smears of car grease all over them. He must've been thorough with the cars he checked out if he looked that much of a mess. Or sloppy.

"Damn, you've really been getting down and dirty with them cars, huh?" You joked as you walked over and grabbed ahold of George's filthy hands in your own relatively clean ones. George huffed a breathy laugh as he looked off to the side.

"Shut up." George replied playfully. "You're making it sound like I fucked the cars."

"Shut up or what? What're you gonna do? Lift me off the ground?" You teased.

"No, that'll drive attention to us." George answered the first part seriously before diving back into his more playful tone. "But what I can do is get all this grease in your hair." As George said that, he jumped forward trying to bring his hands to the top of your head.

"No!" You yelped, the smile on your face was apparent. Luckily, with the grip you had had already on his hands you could deflect his sad attempt for an attack. "I win! I always win!" You joked, laughing maniacally in a volume that couldn't bring any attention towards you all.

"Shush." Clay cut in. As you looked to him you had a difficult time trying to read his expression but it did look a bit more sour than before. "George, do you think I can use my abilities to get it running again?" He asked, changing the subject back to the actual task at hand.

"Uh." George began looking at the car with a glance. "I mean, you could try but I doubt there's enough gas in there to go, like, anywhere."

"Hmm." Clay thought. He opened the driver's door and sat on the seat. As Clay leaned over, finding wires he could charge up, you finally looked down to your hands.

"Hey!" You said, realized that from grabbing George's hands it caused your own to stain a bit. George snickered.

"That's your own fault. Don't blame me." He replied with a smug look.

"That's your own fault." You mimicked his accent poorly. "Don't blame me." George lightly shoved you with his shoulder, the both of you laughing. He seemed to be in a better mood.

"Got it!" Clay suddenly exclaimed when the engine started to run.

"Sick!" George called.

"Uh," Clay began, leaning forward and squinting his eyes as he checked how much gas there was left. "George, y'know the 7-Eleven on Washington ain't too far from here."

"So we'll just go there and get gas from there and be on our way?" George asked. What if there's none left?"

"Then I'm sure theres some inside the store or something, I dunno." Clay answered. "I'm sure we could think of something."

"Wait, wait, wait. Where are we even headed to?" You asked, genuinely confused.

"To Nick." Clay said as if that answered a your questions.

"Yeah, I know." You sighed. "But what about after that? And what if we don't find Nick? And even if we do, what if he's messed up in the head past the point of no return? You ever think about that?" Clay went silent as did George.

"Let's focus on one thing at a time, shall we?" The blonde finally answered after a moment.

You held back a groan paired with an eye roll out of annoyance. All you wanted so desperately was some answers - a clear plan. Seems Clay doesn't know and George didn't either, his silence being apparent.

"C'mon let's just go in." George said softly, lightly ushering you towards the back seat of the truck as he headed towards the passengers seat.

Sighing, you did as told, obeying George as you opened the door, sat down, and shut it. You just wanted to have a clear plan but it seems the boys who you thought knew everything were just as clueless as you.

As you tried to push away thinking about what had just happened, you felt the truck begin to drive, jerking you forward. To prevent that from happening again, you fastened your seat belt and continued to stare out the window as you battled the conflicting and slightly troubling thoughts from reentering your mind. The more you tried not to think about all this, the more you did. The whole thing was counter-productive, really.

Something caught your eye, distracting you. You noticed that the vehicle had a built in CD player. A small smug smirk formed on your face. You grabbed your backpack and started to rummage through the bag until you found the album you were in the mood for. Taylor Swift's 1989.

Unbuckling to sit forward, you leaned your hands on the shoulders of both the driver and passenger seat. George looked up to you and saw the disc in your hand and groaned. You cackled at his annoyance, loving to see him so pissed off at the littlest things. You found it somewhat entertaining to an extent.

"What you not a big fan of the ol' Miss Swift?" You asked with a fake pout.

"Whatever. I literally don't care." George said with an eye roll. You hummed a small laugh.

"You know that's not true, George!" You called, ruffling his hair with your hand.

"Stop!" George yelped. "I'll let you play Taylor Swift as long as it isn't 'Shake It Off' - it's overplayed." He said simply.

"Hmm." You hummed with a sarcastic edge to it as if you were deep in thought. "Y'know what I'm in the mood for? 'Shake It Off'!"

"(Y/n), NO -"