When Time Ran Crooked

88 hours, 57 minutes, and 31 seconds Until

        "Okay, so are you . . . ever going to tell me your name?" Claude asked. 

        "I mean, I could . . ."

        "Is that a yes?"

        "More like a maybe."

        "Why not a yes?"

        "Because you're ugly."

        "It's rude to discriminate against people just based off of their looks," he retorted. 

        I raised my eyebrows (at the road, because obviously I was paying attention while I'm driving). "Well, it's rude of you to subjugate people to your ugliness. How about dem apples?'

        Claude groaned. "Can't you just tell me your name?"

        "Why don't you guess it?"

        "Because there's like thirty billion names out there," he reasoned. 

        I rolled my eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. There's not even that many people in the world and, assuming everyone had a different name which they don't 'cause I know like four different Sarah's, would make that impossible. Boo-yah, bitch."

        "I seriously want to kill you right now."

        "Is it because I won't share my Slice with you?"

        Claude scowled. "You don't have a slice of anything. You have like four different types of cookies, three types of Cheetos-"

        "Hey, it's important to try cheese in different formats," I reasoned. 

        "-And probably around ten candy bars, all of which I bought, so I would know if you had a slice of anything," he concluded. 

        I reached to my cup holder and brought out my plastic cup of deliciousness which was my Slice. "See here, my Slice. Part slushy, part ice cream, thus a Slice. Take that, Matrix. I got the red pill and blue pill, so sue me."

        He shook his head. "You're an idiot."

        I raised my eyebrows (again, at the road). "How about you say that to my university diploma, which I got on a scholarship for being smart."

        "Your old enough to go to college?" 

        "Um, yes."

        "You look like you're seventeen."

       "Wait, so you willingly went on a road trip with someone you thought was a minor?" I demanded. "That's creepy. And stupid. Also, you have to be at least twenty-five to rent a car from most places."

        Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his cheeks becoming redder. "I didn't really think about it.. I just wanted to get home to my family."

        I couldn't help but soften at his soft tone. I mean, sure, he was incredibly annoying and pushy and he had terrible people skills, but when you looked at him . . . really, he was just a kid. With his closely cropped sandy hair and big blue eyes and his wide sharp facial structure, he looked so young. And can we talk about his big square glasses? He looked like fucking Peter Parker. Who the fuck doesn't love Spiderman?

        "I'm Bea," I murmured. 

        "Bea?" He repeated. 

        "Oui, oui," I responded shooting him a sideways smirk. "Je m'appelle Bea. See? Even I know French."