MARCO IS SITTING next to me in the back.
This should make me happy—and it does—but I’m also hot and unable to catch my breath. Something about him is making my stomach tight. Twisty.
From nine till ten, Vicks and Marco made small talk. It’s so effortless for her. She just talks and jokes like she doesn’t care at all what anybody thinks. I could never be like that. Even back home with Laurie and the other girls at my old school, I couldn’t just talk. I didn’t want them to think I was too chatty, too plain, too boring.
I guess I was myself around Alex, since he was always hanging out at my house. He used to Rollerblade with Blake and fake-flirt with Nikki. We’d eat Pringles and have chess matches and listen to music and try to teach ourselves how to play piano.
I wonder if Laurie knows “Chopsticks.”
Vicks and Marco seem to have run out of conversation, because now they’re listening to “Drops of Jupiter” in silence. Like they’re lulled by the mellowness of the song.
But not me. I desperately have to pee. Not that I’m going to admit that.
I do not talk about those types of things in public.
Especially not in front of Marco.
It’s not that I like him or anything. Because I don’t. I mean, I don’t not like him, but I barely know him. He’s just some random guy sitting next to me in a random car.
Meanwhile, I’m convinced Jesse is purposefully driving over potholes to cause me physical pain. Bump. Bump. Bump. She knows I have to go to the washroom because she saw me down that entire Diet Sprite. “How are we doing on fuel?” I ask in my most nonchalant voice. “Do we need to stop?”
“Are you kidding?” Jesse asks. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank. Why, do you need to stop?”
It’s because I voted against her. That’s why she’s punishing me. The swing voter strikes again. No matter which way I go, I always make someone unhappy. It’s too bad, because when we were at the museum, she made me think that…I don’t know. Made me think she’d started to like me.
Vicks likes me, I guess, but it’s not like she’d notice if I was gone.
“No, I’m fine,” I say, squirming. I can’t be the only one who has to pee, can I? Damn that Diet Sprite.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Ow. Ow. Ow.
Vicks is staring out the window deep in thought, oblivious to Jesse’s unique form of torture.
And Marco is…Marco is sitting beside me, smelling like salt and peppermint. He’s tapping his fingers against his knee. His nails are jagged and ripped up. He reaches into his backpack, takes out a pack of Certs, and offers me one.
“No, thanks,” I say, noticing that he’s inched closer to me now, closer than he was before, and his knee and my knee are almost touching.
“You don’t take candy from strangers?”
I laugh. “I try not to.”
He pops one into his mouth. “Safer that way. You shoulda searched me when you had the chance. Tested my Certs for poison.”
“I see a sign for Fenholloway,” Jesse pipes up. “Exit 382?”
This is it. Good-bye, Marco.
“That’s the one.” He picks at a piece of ripped cuticle on his thumb.
“That must hurt,” I say, courageous now that I’ll never see him again.
He wiggles it. “Sometimes.”
“Bad habit.”
“I know. One of many.”
“So why don’t you stop?”
He’s watching me now and it’s burning up my skin. “Don’t you do anything you know you shouldn’t do?”
“I’m in this car.”
“You shouldn’t be here?”
Well, you’re not supposed to get into a car with strangers, yet here I am. All three of them—strangers.
No, I probably shouldn’t say that.
“I, um, didn’t tell my parents,” I lie. “They don’t know where I am.”
“They probably think you’re lost somewhere in your house,” Jesse pipes up from the front.
I bite the inside of my cheek. I hate that she just said that. I want Marco to think I’m mysterious, not some spoiled rich kid. “It’s not that big.”
“Puh-lease,” she says, laughing. “It’s like a museum. Well, not Old Joe’s museum, but, like, the Louvre.” She pronounces it Loo-vur. “You can practically charge admission to get in.”
I sink into my seat.
“So how long are you staying in Miami?” he asks, letting his knee fall all the way to the right, so his jeans are grazing my bare thigh.
“Just the weekend,” I answer.
“Where are you staying?”
“A hotel, I guess? I don’t know. We’ll figure it out when we get there.”
“It’s already after ten. You’re not driving straight there tonight, are you?”
“I don’t think so. We’re not supposed to be on the road after…” I let my voice trail off because I’m being a wimp again. “Are we driving straight there tonight?” I’m hoping no. Forget breaking the law; if there’s not a bathroom break soon I’m going to burst. “How far is Miami from here?”
“It’s a good five hours,” Vicks says. “We need to find a place to crash.”
“Mel’s springing for a hotel,” Jesse says. “Right?”
He’s looking at me again.
“Right, Mel?” Jesse persists. “Unless you’re going to go back on your promise.”
“I can pay for a hotel,” I say quickly. I turn back to Marco. “Do you know if there are any nice places to stay nearby?”
“Oh, yeah, there’s a Hilton right off the exit,” he says.
“Do you know if there’s a Marriott?” I ask. “My dad’s a frequent customer, so I bet I could get us a suite.”
His cheeks redden. “I was kidding. There’s no Hilton. There’s a Super 8 Motel.”
Vicks and Jesse burst out laughing.
“I knew that,” I lie again, wanting to crawl under the seat.
Jesse is still laughing when Marco turns to me and says, “Why don’t you guys come with me to Robbie’s? You could crash there. He’s having a house party.”
I feel sick and then excited and then sick again.
“Oh, we are so there,” says Vicks.
“We are not,” says Jesse.
“Make a left here,” he says. “You are not crashing or you are not coming to the party?”
She puts on her blinker and veers left. “No to both.”
“Now make a right at the next light,” Marco instructs.
“Let’s go to the party and then decide,” Vicks says. “We can always leave.”
“Left here,” Marco says.
Jesse turns and we can hear the party even before we see it. The thump, thump, thump of a heavy bass makes the road vibrate. My insides are thumping too, but not from the music. His jeans are still touching my leg.
“It’s the house on the—”
“Yeah, I got it,” Jesse says. “We’ll just drop you off.”
The one-story white house we pull up to has a wide front yard crowded with girls in short jean skirts and fluorescent halter tops, and guys with baggy jeans beginning at their knees. “Oh, just park,” Vicks says. “We’ll stop in for a second.”
Jesse veers onto the wrong side of the street into an empty spot, but she doesn’t cut the engine. She looks hard at Vicks. “I think you’re forgetting what this weekend is about.”
“I have to pee,” Vicks tells her. “So if you don’t want me urinating on your seat, you better park the car.”
Ha! I knew I couldn’t be the only one.