𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

62. smooth as a plucked chicken.

S I X T Y - T  W O
smooth as a plucked chicken.

JJ gets to the bike first, getting on quickly. "Hurry up, Mabel!" He shouts as he throws me the bag.

"Don't shout at me!" I shout back, catching the bag and getting on the back. My arms wind around his stomach, the muscles twitch seemingly on command.

"Sorry," JJ apologises immediately, starting the bike.

Just before we begin moving, I hear a truck driving. It overtakes us, the sleek, black paintwork means it's Topper. "That's Topper, he's got the cross." I smile. This may not have followed the plan, but it's on a similar trajectory. We're headed in the right direction, and that's uncommon.

We follow behind the truck that drives recklessly. Topper very quickly acclimatised. He's acting full Pogue, just in a stupid expensive car and ugly neon shorts. Looking at the truck, the cross is unsecured, my mind can't help but think about Final Destination. It's going to slip off and decapitate JJ and me. Or just JJ, I'll narrowly escape and be chased by Death until I suffer an even worse fate. Topper takes corners fast and hard, the cross jostles and I see Cleo and Pope cringe at every rough movement. But surely, if the cross has survived this long, one trip won't be the end of it?

A siren wails behind us, keeping my grip around JJ tight, I turn to glance back. It's the sheriff's. Fuck.

This town has excellent response times; they should be proud.

For once, we had a plan, and it still went tits up. The trajectory has shifted a little; now we have the threat of getting arrested. That's always fun.

"With peace and love, go faster," I stress, I'm sure he can feel my heart beating against his back.

"I know. I know." He does what I say and speeds up, moving across the road to go beside the truck. What is this boy doing? 

We get in line with the back of the truck. Topper pokes his head out the window, shouting about what we're doing. I am wondering the same thing, well, similar things, he's probably worried about his paint job, I'm scared about full body road rash. "Top, keep going straight!" JJ shouts over the wind.

What is happening?

"Get ready to jump," JJ decides. He doesn't shout.

"What?" I laugh. In situations like these, the only response is amusement. I am not jumping off a bike that's going insanely fast onto a truck that is also going insanely fast. I don't want to die. "Have you lost your mind?" If I fall, I'm going to look like a plucked chicken.

"Probably. Get ready to jump," He tells me again.

"No!" I shake my head. I can't do that. I'm clumsy and awfully accident-prone. He knows this.

I've done so many dumb things, but this somehow feels like it takes the cake; it's so obviously reckless. Pope reaches his hands across to me. "I got you!" He shouts, looking at me seriously.

"I don't want to!" I shout.

"Mabel, it's going to be fine," JJ assures me. It's dumb and doesn't really make me feel much better. But I do what he says.

Slowly, I move away from JJ. Letting go of him whilst the bike is still in motion feels all kinds of wrong. I pull away from his warm back and get hit by the cool night air. Angling my body toward Pope, I reach for his outstretched hands, then I pull myself up to stand, my legs feel shaky, and the unsteady bike mixed with the only slightly steadier truck only makes the situation worse. This is so dumb.

"You're okay, I got you!" Pope shouts again, nodding for me to keep moving. As I get further over toward him, he grabs further up my arms, my foot swings over the side of the truck, and I pull myself into the bed. I crawl to the top of the wooden box, slipping myself into the space at the top, between Pope and Cleo.