Take Me Home | ✔

Chapter Eleven

[ eleven ] - the last band-aid

            ↠  saturday - six days before graduation   

"Just keep going straight." 

"What if we get lost?"

"We've been going straight for the past ten miles, do you really want to doubt it now?" 

"Fine, fine, you're the navigator," Elliot rolled his eyes at me and pressed on the gas pedal, moving the convertible forward. 

"I can't handle the pressure," I joked, folding up the map. Leaning back, I looked out at the side of the windows and let them down, moving my fingers to the cool breeze and relaxing my joints that were too filled with stress. When I played with the seat controls, I made the chair lean back a little, squeaking  and propped my shoes on the dashboard, kicking up a dust cloud that made me cough and sputter. I waved it away but the wind in the open car had already done its job. When I scraped my finger over the dashboard again, my skin collected mounds of dust. 

Elliot reached over and started playing with the radio controls, but only static emerged. After two minutes of pressing random buttons and spinning the useless knobs, one of them fell out, falling to the dusty floor, and Elliot gave up. 

"So much for a reliable, dependable convertible," he said. "Convertibles never do much good." 

I glaced over at him and a scowl was on his face, something passing over his eyes that I thought I didn't see. Waving it off, I smiled to myself, feeling relief wash over me as I wasn't the only one with an irrational fear. 

"How long do you think we have till we get to LA?" I asked. It was only after I said the sentence that it sounded rude and impatient, but I couldn't take it back anyway. 

"When you see the Pacific Ocean, you'll know," Elliot said sarcastically. 

"Your sarcasm and wit isn't necessary," I retorted. 

"I know, but it makes you feel idiotic, doesn't it?" Elliot glanced over at me with that smirk of his that always got underneath my skin. It was the same smirk he held when he taunted me in kindergarten, and the same smirk that plagued me in the elementary years. I couldn't believe I'd remember how annoying it had been, but it was really becoming an issue now. 

I rolled my eyes, disturbing our locked glance and looking out at the blur of yellow and green, at the cornfields rushing past met by the blue sky. "Whatever, James. You never answered my question." 

"Sure I did," he insisted. When he saw me deadpanning, he added, "I guess we'll just keep going west until we reach the next gas station, and then we ask for directions. You happy?" 

I nodded. Having a plan was one gigantic leap from where we were before, even if we were still penniless teenagers with a rustic convertible and a lost sense of direction. 

"Just go to sleep," Elliot advised, pulling on his shades from his neckline of his shirt. "We'll switch off." 

"You mean we're not stopping for the night?" 

He gaped at me. "Do you have the money?" 

Faced with the fact that lint was the only thing filling our pockets, I shook my head, "Touche." 

And taking his advice, I propped my feet up on the dash, dusty or not, and tugged at my jacket tighter, my eyes fluttering to a close. 

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