The car ride back home usually takes around two and a half hours, three if traffic is bad. Today, though, Blake is driving slower than my 87 year old grandmother. We've been driving for almost two hours already and we are only a little over halfway there. Thomas Rhett is playing on the radio and she hasn't even started to sing once. She's definitely overthinking something.
"What's going through that pretty little head of yours?" I ask when the song is over, because, according to her, no one is allowed to talk when Thomas Rhett is playing.
"Did Steve think it was weird when you called and asked if he would meet us?" She replied after some consideration.
"Steve doesn't think much is weird. Heck, Steve doesn't think much period." This comment got a little giggle out of her so I keep going, "No, no. He didn't think it was weird, he was a little confused why I was the one calling but, when I explained, he pretended he understood me pretty well." I said with a small smile.
It was a weak attempt at making her laugh again but she just said, "Carter, that's so mean. You know he never was very smart. Plus, he's going to try to help me."
Her voice sounded serious but the smile on her face gave her away; she was at least amused by it and that was good enough for me. I would cartwheel across the country and back if I could always make her smile. All of the sudden, that smile turned into a smirk and I think I'm back in high school with the most sarcastic version of Blake ever. "Someone has to since you're still refusing to help me with my... let's call it a project."
Here we go again. "I'm not refusing to help you with it, I just don't think I should be included in this specific research because the data you collect from me has a different set of circumstances than the rest of your little test subjects."
"Okay," she says sarcastically. Then, in her worst Carter interpretation, she said, "Hey. I'm Carter. I am against talking about the past, even if it means my best friend would finally be happy. I don't ever talk about the past; I'm only here because Blake's mom makes good pie." She can't even begin hold in her laughter now.
"Oh. We're playing this game now? Fine. Hi, I'm Blake." I say, making my voice as high as it can be, "I think I'm funny because I make fun of my best friend. I love ice cream and chick flicks, also, spending Carter's money." I should've expected that she would backhand me for that one. It's worth it to see her still laughing, though. "Pull over at that gas station, I have to pee."
"Car, we're only, like, a half hour from home, can you try to hold it?"
"Fine, but if I pee in your car, you can't get mad."
"Okayyy, so we're stopping."
As soon as I walked in I regretted my decision. I should have just held it because this place is absolutely disgusting. The floor is gross, the shelves are a mess, the bathrooms stink, and the guy behind the counter looks like he hasn't showered in a month. As I turn to walk back out, I hear my name.
"Carter Ames?" This call came from the walking beard behind the counter.
"Yes, uhm, do I know you?"
"Patrick. Patrick Kamp. We went to school together. I dated your friend--"
And just then, like she were right on cue, in walked Blake. "Blake!" Patrick shouted, "we were just talking 'bout you!"
"Carter, can you please hurry up, we're supposed to meet Steve at 1:00," she scolded, completely ignoring Patrick.
"Yeah, sure I just ran into your good pal Patrick. Hey!" I said, feigning excitement, "Maybe he could help you out. Patrick, when you and Blake dated back in, what was it? Grade eight? Why do you think the relationship failed?"
By now Blake has probably cursed me and called me every terrible name she can think of. The look on her face tells me I'm right.
"Hmm, that is a good question. Ya know, I don't really know what the problem was. I'm gonna say it was pro'lly the fact that she dumped me."
"Ohh, I see," I reply, faking interest and intrigue
"Carter, stop this is ridiculous! We need to go." She grabbed my hand and turned on her heel as she dragged me out the door.
"Thank you, Patrick!" I called, before the door had closed.
When we were back in her Explorer, I really got it. "What were you thinking?! You know he was crazy!"
"I was just trying to help my best friend," I stated, a little too innocently. "I don't know why you're upset."
One exasperated groan and the car radio was all either of us heard the rest of the trip. At least she had good taste in music.
