Road-Trippers

Three: Bad Company

I just barely missed the stop sign.

Now, cruising down the highway, listening to Fleetwood Mac, we play the license plate game; a road trip classic. Because it is a straight highway, and almost no one else drives along it, my fingers don't even meet the rustic secondhand steering wheel. I nearly nodded off after coming in a two foot radius of that stop sign, so why should I waste all of this elated energy that I have left on trying to drive safely? The only good reason I can think of is to protect my sublime bus. And my friends, too, I guess.

"California!" shouts Antione as a lonely Honda speeds by. He claps cheerfully, satisfied with his find.

"Good job!" says Lucy, capping her chapstick and slipping it into her backpack pocket. Antione smiles widely and continues his hunt, eyes wide open.

I peer down at my watch. It's nearly five thirty. I decide it's a good idea to find our first rest stop. I can tell everyone's hungry from their washed out facial expressions and rumbling stomachs. After only about five minutes, I see a little dingy gas station, and my eyes light up. Alas, we have found it.

We step into the Mini-Mart, and I swear there are actual tumbleweeds rolling around in there. I spot a few older men in cowboy hats, a couple common rats skittering along the floors, and a ton of daddy long legs. Lucy grasps my hand. I look down at her and hold her hand tightly in mine. "It's okay. It's not too bad. There are other people in here."

"No, I'm just scared to see what the restroom will be like." Dang it. I hadn't even thought of that. After standing there for what felt like ages, arms linked like the characters from The Wizard of Oz, we take a collective step forward.

While all of the cowboys and elderly boy-scouts scared me at first, my fears all faded away once I saw the cash register. "Hello, I'm Daniel, welcome to Varment Market, how may I help you?"

Daniel is elegantly dressed from the neck down in a red pinstripe suit, and if it isn't hard enough to make eye contact with him when he's wearing that, his glasses are thicker than Antione's accent. Lucy smiles back at him and shivers, heating up her arms by excessively rubbing them with her sweaty palms. "Hello, Daniel. We were just looking for something for dinner. What would you recommend?"

"This ain't a five star restaurant, Barbie!" thunders a broad-shouldered, tattooed man, approaching us at the speed of light. Daniel jumps back, cowering back over to a soft-serve machine. "If you want food, then go look for it yourself!"

"I don't like-"

"Hey! Nobody talks to her like that!" shouts Levi, smacking a hand down on the grimy countertops. He'll take hits, he'll let me take hits, heck, he'll even let Emmett take hits, but he wouldn't be caught dead not defending Lucy. Lucy grasps his hand, a wave of woo clearly fluttering through her mind like a butterfly. Levi continues on his accusation with, "now, tell me: what are your dinner accommodations?"

The man takes an enormous step back, squeezing his bulging muscles so hard the portrait of his mother becomes a pig. I gulp. "Pay me or get outta my store." He stops, pointing sharply at the sliver of Emmett that's not hiding behind Levi. "And never return."

The man storms off into the back of the store, grunting on his way there. Lucy's head cranes up to look at Levi's, which is about a foot above hers. She has a smile on her face, and he does too.

"Thanks, Levi." Her tone implies that she didn't expect quite an out-roar.

"No problem." He pats her on the shoulder and walks into one of the aisles with a satisfied grin. Lucy simply spins around with a starstruck look spread across her face, a hand held to her chest. Levi blushes.

Let me tell you, this isn't the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last.

Together, our purchases totalled up to five bags of beef jerky, a pack of disposable razors, five travel toothbrushes, a box of Red Vines, and a blue raspberry Icee for Antione (he insisted once seeing Daniel with one). This came out to forty-three dollars and eighty cents. After we split the cost (by "we," I mean Levi, Lucy, and I), we each cashed in fourteen dollars and sixty cents. To add to that, the tattooed man also made me pay for us to get into the bathrooms because of my "back-talk." Stupid. The bathrooms aren't too bad, though. After around thirty minutes (hey, we didn't buy toothbrushes and razors for nothing), we go back to the bus.

"Hey guys," whispers Emmett, even though we're all already done eating and now getting comfortable in the back. "'Mama Tattoo' was really getting on my nerves, with his yelling and all, so I stole some CornNuts." We laugh, but before we know it, we're asleep.

Normally, my dreams are just plain odd, but tonight, they are actually palpable.

"Phil!" shouts my mom. She's standing at a table filled up with plates that look like they're about to topple over and break into a million pieces. "Come over here!"
My dad runs over to her wearing an "I Love Refrigerators" T-shirt. He is holding a basket full of silverware and napkins. "Yes, Alice? I was just picking up the-"

"The neighbors just called! Joe is in Arizona!"

My dad's baffled expression haunts me. He's never intimidating, except for this exact moment. "That little-" He stops and pulls a sharp article of silverware out of his basket, and it's no butterknife.

I open my eyes.
"Joey!" says Lucy, who seems to have been reading this whole time. I pull out my phone. It's only eleven 'o clock. "What's wrong?"

I look around the bus. Everyone except Lucy is asleep. She has a dim flashlight shining down on her paperback. You can see the shine of her curls in the faded glow. She dog-ears the book and presses the little button on the butt of the flashlight. I shake my head, my own chaotic hair shaking ever so slightly. "I'm fine. I just had a dream."

"About what?" says Lucy, rather eagerly. She flicks the flashlight back on, shining it right in my eyes. I blink rapidly, and she gasps, aiming it up at the roof. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay," I confirm, opening my eyes cautiously. "I'm just worried my parents will find out and I have a pretty good track record." It was true- I had only done one other bad thing in my life, and that wasn't to be spoken of ever again (no one ever told middle-school me that fireworks were illegal).

"They won't find out," dismisses Lucy, curling up into her blanket. She puts her book on the table above her head. "Anyways, why would they even think about us? They're in silverware heaven." She gives me a light pat on the arm and softly lies her head down against her silky white pillow. I curl back up into my blankets, the warm faux fur rubbing up against my leg, and the light goes out.