Page 19 of Something Tattered
Ten minutes later, I was stomping along the lonely country road that I'd taken to reach the campground, back when I'd had a working car and a heart brimming with good intentions.
Now, the car was abandoned, and my intentions were mostly homicidal.
Screw you, Painter Guy.
Already, I'd done the unthinkable and called Derek, who hadn't even bothered to answer his phone. So, in retaliation,Ihadn't bothered to leave a message, because let's face it, if he wasn't available to give me a ride, there was no reason to let him know exactly how right he'd been all along.
After giving up on Derek, I'd called Cassie, who also wasn't answering. Maybe that was a good thing, because I’m pretty sure if shehadanswered, I'd have flat-out begged her to find someone – anyone – to come out and get me.
Surely,someoneinside T.J.'s was still sober, right?
I heard myself sigh. Doubtful. The way it sounded, even Dorothy was drunk off her ass.
On the bright side, I was officially twenty-one now. So, even if I missed my own party, there was nothing to stop me from hitting the town's only liquor store and getting raging drunk, even if I had to do it alone.
Of course, I'd have towalkthere, which would make me feel even more like a giant loser.
I glanced to my right, where a wide ditch, filled with darkened ditch-water, ran along the roadside. I rolled my eyes. If only I had a canoe, I could get paddling.
Happy freaking birthday.
I was so lost in my miserable thoughts that I didn't notice the pickup truck roaring up from behind me until it had already passed. Startled, I watched it squeal to a sudden stop a few car lengths ahead.
It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was. So, he'd decided to give me a ride after all, huh?
I lifted my chin. Well, maybe I didn't want one. Not from him, anyway.
I stopped walking and crossed my arms. If he expected me to scurry forward and leap into the truck bed, he had another thing coming.
A moment later, the vehicle shifted into reverse, accelerated, and then squealed to a stop right next to me.
The passenger's side door was so close, I could almost reach out and touch it. But I didn't. Instead, I stood with arms crossed and watched as the passenger's side window slid down to reveal a face that was all too familiar – except, it didn't belong to the painter.
It belonged to Chester Dunn, a guy I'd known back in high school. The guy was big and blond, with a ruddy face that I knew all too well.
Probably, I should've been glad to see him, but ever since that thing at homecoming, he'd been near the top of my people-to-avoid list.
He leaned out of the window and said, "Mel?" He laughed. "Oh man." He turned to whoever in the driver's seat. "Itisher." He turned back to me and said, "Ithoughtit was you."
I wanted to groan. The guy hadn't changed. And, he'd just called me Mel. I hated being called Mel.
Still, I tried to smile. "Hey Chester."
He looked around. "So, uh, what are you doing out here?"
It was a simple question. And yet, I didn't know how to answer. I recognized this for what it was – one of those godawful moments where time stands still as you're forced to choose between two equally unappealing options.
Let's see…Do I want to be eaten alive by Army Ants? Or flattened by a steamroller?
I looked at Chester, who was still hanging out of the passenger's side window. Back in high school, he'd been an all-state wrestler. The way it looked, he was still in prime condition, with thick muscular arms and a chest the size of Texas.
Good for him. And I meant it, too. It's not that I didn't like him. It's that, well, in spite of his size, he definitely fell into that Army Ant category.
I considered asking him for a ride. He'd definitely give me one, no matter who was behind the wheel. There was only one problem. It wouldn't end there. If it turned out anything like homecoming, that little ride would lead to months of grief.
And not only for me. For him, too.
Still, a little voice in my head reminded me that I had at least five more miles to walk and a booth full of people waiting.
