The Secret Songs of D.C. Silverenn

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I rub small circles behind my neck, massaging out the knots from lying against the car seat's headrest. Every muscle in my body begs to be stretched from being cramped in the car for so long. Not to mention I'm going out of my mind with boredom. My phone is at ten percent battery, so movies are out. I already tried looking at the Silverenn scores, but felt nauseous and gave up.

Why couldn't Emi have a newer car, one with adjustable seats? At least then I could have fun changing the reclining angle.

"Emi, how much further is the town?"

My roommate's eyes don't stray from the highway. "Not far."

"What an informative answer."

Emi lets out an annoyed huff and shoves her phone toward me. The GPS estimates that we'll arrive in another twenty minutes. I sag against my seat, nestling Emi's phone back in the drink compartments.

"I can't stand these tight seats," I mumble.

"Well get used to it, cause we're stuck here for the next few days." Emi presses her foot on the accelerator, and we pass a car zooming in the other lane on the highway. The road ascends, turning into an overpass that curves to the right.

"What do you mean by 'days?'" I ask.

"In case you don't remember, we don't have a home."

The road straightens beyond the maze of over and under passes. Cars merge from the right, and our once clear lane quickly floods with other vehicles. I find myself scanning them for any sign of the mafia members we saw at the party. Unfortunately, the tinted windows obscure my view. After a few tries, I sit back in my seat, tamping down the unease roiling in my stomach.

"How about a hotel?"

Emi glances over her shoulder before changing lanes. "We don't have the treasure yet. I doubt we can afford one."

"No harm in trying." I pull out my phone, now at eight percent, and look up hotels in Cabbage Edge. Good thing I didn't drain the battery yet.

Most hotel options boast several dollar signs by their names. Finally, I find a cheaper motel buried in the middle. I think we can spring for a few nights in a real bed. We'll be leaving soon, and hopefully with more money than when we started.

I call the number and manage to book a reservation while my battery drains down to two percent. Emi gives me the side eye the entire time, and when I hang up, she pounces.

"How much are we paying?"

"Eighty-five per night."

Emi's jaw drops, head turning to me. The steering wheel veers toward a truck in the right lane.

"Emi, watch out!"

We swerve back to the middle of the lane, but I still clutch my chest from fright.

"Cerise, that's like two weeks of groceries!" Emi exclaims.

"And I'm not sleeping in a car. It'll give me a crick in my neck. Besides, if we're chased again by those criminals, we want to be well-rested."

"A car will make a quicker getaway."

"Remember what the police told us? Sleeping in a car is far more dangerous than sleeping in an actual building, like a hotel or home. Even if we manage to evade the mafia members, we'll be a bigger target for everyday criminals."

My argument wins. When we arrive in Cabbage Edge, Emi drives to the New Day Motel. We check in and walk up three flights of stairs to reach our room. It's still less than our apartment and gives me a chance to stretch my legs, so I'm not complaining.