Noted

Chapter 17

By the end of the following day, we were nearing the state of California, and it was time to stop for "supplies". A few miles after leaving the main highway, off an obscure exit ramp, we sat parked in front of an off-road country convenience store.

I stopped Troy before he could get out of the truck and asked, "Do you still have your fake ID?"

"Yeah, why?"

"We need to get you drunk." I said with a big smile on my face.

"Drunk driving isn't a good idea, Moore," he replied, with one foot out of the truck, and his radiant smile almost distracting me from his tired eyes.

"Not to drink while in the car," I replied, tugging him back into the truck. "We need to find some place to go and just have some fun; while we can." I threw my scarf around my neck and prepared to get out of the truck. "It doesn't have to be right now; just pick something up for us...for later...when we're closer to San Diego."

"Okay," he said, surrendering to what he thought might not be a good idea, and as we exited the truck, he asked, "But, why do you want to do this...exactly?"

"Because I want you to at least have some of the teenage experiences you've missed out on." I told him as we approached the front door of the store.

We entered the store, and nonchalantly walked through the aisles like two normal teens that nobody would ever suspect as unintentional murderers would do.

"And you want me to experience those with you?" Troy asked as he grabbed a couple of items off of various shelves along each aisle while I followed him closely behind.

"Why not?" I asked. "I know an awful lot about being a rebellious teenager; thanks to Rebecca. Remember her?"

"Of course..." he said with a chuckle, recalling the insane rich girl that invited us to the dingy club. "That's a teenage experience I can check off my list." He added sarcastically as he handed me a box of cheap black hair dye.

"You wanna dye your hair?" I asked, uncertain at why he'd dye his already back hair....black.

"Not my hair," he replied. "Yours."

"My hair?" I replied, I was angry. If I dye my hair I'd ruin my healthy, well treated and virgin locks with peroxide and ammonias. No way.

"Do you want to be caught or not?" he whispered so no one could hear; even if we were the only ones in the store besides the man at the cash register drinking on the job.

"Of course I don't..." I conceded. "I just hate what that stuff does to the hair. It's so damaging, split ends...ugh.

"Your hair falling out should be the least of your problems." he said, he was right.

"What are you gonna do to change your appearance?" I asked.

"I'm going to change my hat," he replied.

"Are you kidding me? I have to change my hair and you get to put on a new hat?"

"And I'll grow a beard...if I can." he said, placing his cap into a nearby garbage can. "Rest in peace, old friend," he said to the hat.

"You just threw away your favourite Yankees cap?" I asked, stunned. "As if it were nothing..."

"Don't worry," he assured calmly as he began walking towards the cash counter. "It wasn't the real one. I left the real one at home; for my brothers to have."

I stopped and pulled him back towards the alcohol-filled refrigerators. "We have to get some of these," I said, pointing to the bottles of all kinds of liquor.