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Defeated, Ben rested his face against the steering wheel.
I would've laughed at his amusing position if the situation wasn't so serious. We were caught helplessly in an intensifying snowstorm without a phone signal or operational car battery. If I hadn't had qualms about hypothermia, I might've enjoyed our additional time together. But I also would've preferred it to be on our own terms, rather than the weather's.
"I can't believe this," sighed Ben. "Why does everything happen to me?"
I rolled my eyes and subtly shook my head. This was nothing compared to my past experiences in Boston. Before I moved, my life was evidently less awkward, almost normal (at least, compared to its current state).
"Are you positive the signals are dead?" I asked with a weary sigh.
Ben lifted his head, his exhausted blue eyes staring groggily into my lighter one.
"Yes," he said, his voice matching his expression. "They have been since the last dozen times you asked."
Maybe his brusqueness hadn't obliterated after all.
However, I dismissed it, knowing he was reacting under pressure. I tried exerting compassion, having been involved in similar situations (which were more daunting than this). But, though not perfected, my experiences had modified my ability to conceal my emotions—at least that's what I thought. I was practically a professional on series of unfortunate events.
If Tommy Bracco's and Ben Cook's roles had been reversed, then we'd have an entirely different dilemma—and not a preferable one. I was almost growing accustomed to awkward adventures with Ben.
That should be a book, I thought, my mind temporarily escaping the perilous cold creeping its frosty fingers on the windshield. I could barely see them now, the sky now engulfed in utter darkness. Only the lambent moonlight highlighted the glistening rime.
I began to feel the arctic air infiltrate the Sudan, sending a shiver rippling the skin on my neck and forearms. It wouldn't be long until the entire time resemble the actual arctic. Then we'd only need Benedict Cumberbatch and some of his "penwings".
"I don't suppose you have any other ideas?" he asked, tired irises still fixed on me.
I paused to contemplate his inquiry. Did I have any brilliant schemes? My brain was usually fairly sharp when it came to evading (awkward) incidents, though not nearly as skilled or convincing as Ginger's. Hopefully this wasn't one of her grand machinations to pair me and Ben together.
I'd never forgive her if it was.
But, as gifted as she was, controlling the weather and perfectly rewiring automobile batteries didn't seem like achievable talents, especially for Ginger. Besides, it wasn't her style. She was more subtle, making you doubt whether it was coincidence or her astute mentality.
