Between the Barn and the Stage

7

I went into his car without any protest. It was raining harder, and he seemed to have an endless supply of sharpies.

"I call shotgun." I said, and Chatham said, "Nope. I called it forever when I was six."

"I called it forever when I learned what shotgun was, which was when I was five. I outrule you."

"How old are you? I'm probably older."

"I am sixteen. Though I will be seventeen in a few weeks."

"Oh, really? Happy early birthday. I'm nineteen so take thirteen years from my age you get six. Thirteen from yours, we get three almost four. I win."

"Fine. Wait, I have to do something though." I said, climbing in the back. The second security guard came in with me and I asked him quietly, "Am I allowed to write stupid on his forehead?"

"Be my guest. And the name's Fred."

"Ah, hi." I said, doing an apology wave. Chatham sat in the front looking smug, and I asked Fred, "How long does it take until he shoves the sharpie away?"

"Nanoseconds."

"Hmm. Say someone was holding him down."

"He's the weakest thing on Earth."

"Got it." then I leaned forward and went out of a whisper. "Chatham, I have some Chinese finger traps. You wanna put them on all your fingers?"

"Why?"

"Because I would like to see if you can get out of them. I know I can."

"Fine." he said suspiciously. I dug around in my muddy shoes--yes, don't ask me why, but that is the place to hide things. Very. Useless. Things--and took out four of them. "Here you go." I said, tossing them at his face. He caught it quickly, and eyed my warily as he began to struggle to get out of them.

"You do know how they work, right?" I asked.

"Maybe."

"I'm taking that as a no. Sit still." I said, and I took out one of the sharpies I took from him and quickly began to write on his forehead. "Hey! Fred, Daniel, do something!"

"What's that? Sorry, sir, we are listening to music."

"You don't even have headphones on!" he complained, using his elbows to try and shove me away. I held him in place with my left arm as he shook his head wildly in a last attempt to prevent me from writing on his face. The driver slowly drove on, knowing if he drove fast I would be thrown across the car. The two bodyguards began loudly singing a song, off-hey and very annoying. I have a feeling they are more than just bodyguards towards Chatham.

"Quit moving or you'll look more weird that with me drawing on your face."

"I'm still not giving up shotgun." he muttered, giving up and trying to figure out how to get his fingers out of the trap. In addition to writing stupid, I also gave him glasses, a beard, mustache, and little stars beside his eyes.

"There. Pretty as a princess." I said, and then I jammed his hands together and yanked the traps from his hands. I shoved them back in my shoe and sat between Daniel and Fred, who were both still singing. Now they were on Shake It Off by Taylor Swift.

"I look retarded." he grumbled, slouching in his seat.

"Put your seatbelt on, man. Crazy people driving these days." I said, yanking my own seatbelt across my chest.

"Listen to the little lady. She knows all." Daniel, the short guy, said, ruffling my hair. I realized there was some blue dye on his fingers, and my clothes. I would have to dye my hair again. I cursed a little too loudly, and everyone looked at me in surprise. Even the driver, who quickly looked back to the road.