The Wilde Expedition

12. crescent city

Copyright © 2015. All Rights Reserved.

〮CHAPTER TWELVE 〮

The thing about riding around in a stranger's car was that A) I didn't know what his music taste was and B) he evidently had boundaries, and I only knew the ones that were in the car. For the first ten minutes of the drive, we were both utterly silent, and the radio wasn't even on, and I could tell that if he didn't have his hands on the steering wheel, he'd be twiddling his thumbs.

The only conversation started we could think of was how I'd ended up in the back of that semi.

Eventually he shifted in his seat and ran a hand down the side of his face as he cleared his throat. I turned to him as he said, "So... no police?"

"No," I answered bluntly, returning my eyes to the road, only to be distracted by the 70's shag carpeting framing the door. Sweet.

"And, uh... I mean, do you need to call anyone? Like... you can use my phone if you want to call, ya know, whoever," he said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck while giving me a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye. I looked at him briefly before shaking my head, dropping my eyes down to my lap as I twisted the wallet I'd found around in my hands.

"Maybe later. I just need to think for a second," I admitted. Calling anyone was a bad idea at the moment. I didn't want to get all emotional in front of a stranger, for one thing.

After another long pause, I decided to talk. Maybe talking about him might ease the tension in the car. "So... Gavin Wilde, huh? Where're you from?"

"Wisconsin, actually," he admitted, and I gave an appreciate hum in response. "My family lives in Stoughton—and about two months ago my pop and I finished fixin' up my baby here. I hit the road and haven't been back since."

"Really? That sounds cool. Why'd you leave?" I inquired, but thought better of it as soon as I did. Thankfully, it didn't seem like he had much to hide about his home life.

"I dunno. I've always traveled around, but I wanted to really experience it, ya know? My plan is to circumnavigate the United States via Volkswagen, though I admit, I ended up in Canada once already, that was about two weeks ago. I got stuck there for a day because you can't come back without a passport," he told me, and I snorted when I tried to hold back my laughter.

"Oh no! That's awful!"

"What? No, it was great! Canada's beautiful. I wouldn't mind getting stuck there again. Maybe I'll hike up the coast of British Columbia some day," he declared, seeming to be pleased with himself when he thought of the plan. I smiled—not some fake smile of a person trying not to get kidnapped again, but a real smile. Like when I'd joke around with Charlie or Alister back at home.

Just thinking about them wiped my smile right off, so I decided to keep up the conversation to avoid perpetual sorrow. I ran my hand across the dash and commented, "I can't believe it runs so smoothly. I didn't think you could road trip in Volkswagens."

"Yeah, they're kinda old fashioned, but the engine runs fine—I've only had to tamper with it once since leaving Wisconsin," he told me. The steering wheel was massive in comparison to the regular wheel, and it seemed almost to dwarf him in comparison. I wasn't saying Gavin Wilde was small, but he just wasn't all that big, especially when sized up against my folks back at home. He had a big voice, one that expanded when he laughed, and was soft around the edges when he talked to me. He was lean and, judging from how baggy his t-shirt fit him, I was guessing he was skinny. His big oldies glasses made him look like a younger version of a grandpa.

He was, without a doubt, adorable.

Which was why it surprised me when I'd seen him with his taser, which, as soon as we'd first entered the vehicle, he zipped up into a package and stuffed into the glove compartment. Since he told me not to look in the glove compartment as one of his many rules, I'd turned my eyes up and tapped my feet on the ground when he did so.