Fire's Last Descendant

Chapter 18

         ••• Chapter 18 •••

       I swear, long car rides are the absolute worst ways to travel. Like, not fun. Usually, when my family decides to go on vacation or visit some relatives, we take a plane. One time we took a train, which was not as near as bad as a road trip. At least we could stand up and walk around.

       No, road trips are at least 120 minutes of sheer boredom in a cramped car unless you live in a limo with some really intresting people. Obviously, I'm not in a limo, and even if I were, I'd be with three really tired teenagers, one of whom is slumped against me.

       We'd passed the little area where Nebraska and Colorado meet. It's nine-o'clock in the morning. Normally I'm not a morning person, and my earliest would be nine, so when Sam woke me up this morning, I almost wanted to stay at Best Western. Then I remembered the jerky clerk at the front of the building.

       So we all crammed back into the car. This time, Sam drove. Callan was exhausted from driving all day yesterday and she kinda slept in later than Sam, something that Chase found surprising, and we let Sam drive.

       I push Callan's head off of my shoulder again and put it against her door with a sweatshirt under her head. I hear Sam mutter lightly, "Nintey-nine bottles of beer on the wall."

       "Sam, don't start," Chase says. I guess we all had a sort of rough night. The car ride wasn't making it better.

       "Why not? I've got to do something interesting before the boredom in my head explodes with all the rest of it," Sam protests.

       "Then sing it in your head!" He growls.

       "Guys, shuddap," Callan mutters, apparantly awake. "Trying to sleep here."

       Sam and Chase quiet down after that. I can tell that there is some sort of silent fight that they're fighting with each other, but since I'm in the back, I can't quite do anything about it. I told myself I was gonna have to sit shotgun when we got out of the car for gas.

       When we do get out of the car, it isn't for gas. It isn't for a bathroom break or a flat tire first. It's a much worse situation.

       Sam got pulled over.

          Immediatly, before the cop could even get over here, Callan climbed into the driver's seat while Sam went around and plopped down next to me. Callan fished around in a glove compartment, probably for her liscence. If she has one.

       Oh, crap… Callan please have a liscence!

       Once the cop gets over to the car window, Callan is sitting boredly in the front seat, holding out her liscence with two fingers like it's a credit card and she's filthy rich. He takes the liscence from her and frowns.

       "Miss Callan Joyce Williams, do you realize that you have a fake liscence in your possession?"

       I do not see Callan's face flush with embarrassment if she forged it. I don't see fear in her eyes if she was being falsely accused of crime. Instead, I see drama, and a constipated expression masks her face. "Oh, Officer Kennedy, you don't understand! We were on our way to the airport, when my brother right here forgot his asthma inhaler! So we drove home as fast as the speed limit would allow, got the inhaler, and my cousin recieved a message from my mother that the flight left in about thirty minutes, so we had to hurry! I'm sure you would have done the same if you were in my situation."

       Wow. I did not know she was that good a liar. Sadly, not good enough. Officer Kennedy didn't buy it one bit. "Ma'am, passengers, I'm afraid we'll have to take you downtown."