Room Service

Chapter Six

A second miracle in the form of a new chapter of this story. You're welcome.

-------------------------------------

            “Remind me again exactly why we’re doing this?”

            Not taking his eyes off the road ahead, Leon’s fingers continued drumming absently to the beat of the radio. I’d let him choose the station on one condition: that we’d turn it over the moment any of his songs came on. Though he’d laughed at first, making another comment about my being scared of conversion, he ended up agreeing surprisingly quickly. Then again, I guessed he was probably just as tired of hearing them as me.

            “We’re being adventurous, Coraline. Remember we talked about that before?”

            “This is hardly what I’d call adventurous,” I pointed out, thinking back to the You are now leaving Walden-on-Sea! sign we’d passed only ten minutes ago. “I doubt we’re even ten miles from home.”

            “Adventurous!” he insisted. “The sat nav’s in the glove box, and nobody uses maps anymore. So technically, we have no idea where we’re driving.”

            “Technically, yes. But this is where I’ll reinstate my earlier point: we’re not even ten miles from home. I know exactly what’s around here.”

            “Well, keep quiet about it, then. Don’t go spoiling the fun.”

            I went to mutter something under my breath, but thought better of it at the last minute. I suppose I had to abandon all preconceptions – or maybe that was something I should’ve done days ago, back when I first agreed to Leon’s ridiculous idea of giving me a crazy summer. It was hard to know what to make of it. Part of me was apprehensive; summers, after all, were set aside to help my parents pull through the busiest time of year. I certainly didn’t have the right to go waltzing off with a guy in search of some cliché summer to remember, even if he did happen to be a teen rock star.

            And despite knowing this, I found myself going along with it anyway.

            “Aren’t you worried your record label’s got some kind of tracker in your car, or something?” I asked.

            He shrugged. “If they have, they should’ve come after me by now. I think we’re probably okay.”

            “You seem suddenly very lax about getting caught,” I pointed out. “Just two weeks ago you were bursting through the door of the hotel with enough nervous energy to power London.”

            His fingers stopped drumming, the song transitioning into its final few chords, giving way to the sound of the presenter’s cheery voices. “I guess I’m getting used to it,” he said noncommittally. “I’ve basically resigned myself to the fact I’m going to get caught sooner or later. The whole point of this summer’s to enjoy myself. I can’t ruin it by worrying the whole time.”

            “I suppose that’s true.”

            “And this kickass disguise has served me pretty well so far,” he added, gesturing up to his newly brunette hair, swooped upwards into a messy quiff containing far too much product. “With a pair of big sunglasses, people don’t even look at me twice. It’s crazy. They pay so much attention to me, but when I’m right under their nose, they don’t have a clue.”

            “Well, this is Walden we’re talking about. Considering most of the people there are over sixty, and probably don’t know who the hell Leon McCarthy is, you’re pretty safe.”