Slight Detours | Wattys 2015

(9) JARED

I didn’t know what wasn’t missing. Practically all the essentials were gone- the battery, spark plug, distributor, crankshaft, piston. The list goes on and on. Even the damn light fixture was gone!

Who knew people were that desperate? Oh, yeah, us.

“At least now we know what’s wrong,” I mutter, slamming down the hood. Ally simply stared, wide-mouthed, her attention shifting back and forth between me and the truck.

“I told you the cola thing wasn’t an accident,” she states, “We were duped. The convenience store was probably a decoy,” she pauses, eyes rimmed with too-late realization, “Which explains its bizarre locale.”

She frowns.

“Hey, at least you were right about something,” I admit with a complimentary eye-roll for good measure.

A sly smile finds its way to her face, “If it weren’t under these circumstances, I’d be jumping for joy. That is to say, you finally acknowledged my genius.”

“What genius?” I shot her a look of disbelief, holding back my laughter. Ally was just too fun to mess with. Not to mention, she was absolutely adorable whenever she pouted. Actually, she kind of reminded me of Lucy. They were both stubborn, head-strong, sassy, know-it-alls. I bet they’d get along just splendidly.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” I say, smirking, “I get that a lot.”

Now, for the real problem. How were we going to get out this place? The engine was evidently far beyond repair. That left only one solution- it needed new parts. Unfortunately, the only place we’d be able to get the said parts was a mechanic shop. And not that I was being pessimistic, but the only mechanic shop I knew of was roughly 200 miles away.

“Please tell me I was ignorant enough to not notice a very nearby mechanic shop,” I plead, closing my eyes while slapping myself repeatedly.

“Sorry,” Ally sighs, “You’re out of luck.”

“It seems we’ve both been lacking in that department lately.”

Dad was going to kill me. Ernesta was his baby. His thirty-four-year-old, collector’s item baby. Legend says- and by ‘legend’ I mean one of dad’s reminiscences from his youth- she was a prop in the 1978 film, Grease.

From what dad had told me, he’d stolen it from an abandoned warehouse when he was seventeen. He got away with it, as usual, and discovered its appeal later on when he mistakenly busted open the glove compartment to reveal the truck’s all-in-order authentication papers.

Hoo-fucking-ray.

Why couldn’t that have happened to me instead?

“We could ask someone for help,” she offers, looking wary. As much as Ally tried to hide it, I saw through her charade. She was worried, guarded, how someone thrust into this misadventure against their will should feel like.

I didn’t blame her. Heck, I was a mess myself.

“Right,” I start, “Because asking the people that might’ve stole our engine parts would definitely volunteer to help.”

“The key word is might,” she winks before deftly spinning around, then making a beeline towards the convenience store of ill-will.

After approximately twelve minutes of waiting for “Miss I Love New York”, I was beginning to get worried. It took three minutes, at most, to ask for directions. You didn’t have to be a ‘genius’, like Ally, to know that twelve was four times that amount.