Kids These Days

Chapter 47: Becca

I need a car.

Unfortunately, I'm about as close to owning a car as I am to hopping in a rocket and flying to the moon. Julia called and offered to pick me up, but judging by the urgency in her voice, this isn't a situation where I want to wait for her to drive three hours from Arizona.

According to her, our family members have put aside their differences long enough to pay a visit to my grandmother, who's not doing well. The doctors say she may have days, or she may have months; as if she's the one stealing time, and not the other way around. The kicker is that I might be the only person in the world who can help her (that is, if healing Ronan's bullet wound wasn't a fluke) and I'm stranded in the middle of nowhere California. Without a car. Because my life can never be simple.

It takes a conscious effort to unclench my fist and release the syrupy diner napkin I've kept in my pocket for over a week. Time is not on my side right now, and neither is luck. The only two people in this house I'd ask to give me a lift are gone -- Ronan packed his bags and left hours ago, and Finn isn't on the couch where I last saw him.

I guess I could steal Floyd's car keys, but I doubt my grandmother would approve.

Desperate times...

Muttering a rude word that my grandmother would definitely not approve of, I swallow my pride and dial the number scrawled on the crumpled diner napkin.

Kiran picks up promptly on the second ring, which is slightly concerning, given that it's almost one in the morning. (Someone needs to find this boy a hobby that doesn't involve cartography.) "Hey. What's up?"

Desperate measures.

"How do you feel about road trips?" I ask him.

***

We drive through the night, the headlights of passing long-haul trucks our only companions. The roar of the wind is a good excuse not to participate in small talk, so for the first two hours of the trip, we don't say a word to each other. We sit in silence, not even listening to the radio.

In a remarkable show of self-restraint, Kiran saves his questions until after we cross the state line. Then his Corvette swerves briefly over the solid white line as he asks me, "So, why the sudden, burning desire to go to Arizona?"

It's a reasonable question, so I give him a reasonable answer. "Family reunion."

"At three in the morning?" He snorts. "And you said my family was dysfunctional."

"I just need to get there as soon as possible," I say, which is as much of the truth as I'm willing to give away.

Kiran gives me a concerned look. The Corvette drifts sympathetically in the left lane. (We're lucky that Route 10 is mostly a straight line, or we would've driven into a ditch miles ago.) "Is this just an elaborate ploy to see the Grand Canyon? You can be honest with me."

"I've already seen the Grand Canyon."

"Is this a quarter-life crisis, then? Are you on the run from the cops? I've wanted to be a getaway driver ever since I saw The Blues Brothers."

"You're the worst driver I've ever met," I say, "and I've been in a car with your sister."

"Hey, at least I passed my driver's test."

"Talia didn't -- never mind, I don't want to know. Anyway, I'm not interested in seeing the Grand Canyon. All I want to do is spend some time with my family, then leave. Preferably sooner rather than later."

"What's the rush? Do you have another reunion to attend in the middle of the night?"

"You'll understand when you meet my parents."