Page 42 of Here for a Good Time
“Okay, kid, let’s find some of this kindling before it’s too dark.” Leila jerks a thumb over her shoulder and into the woods. “And just so you know, Sandra might be okay with you blabbering on beside her, but I like to work in silence.”
“Is that because you’re concentrating really hard on not letting it bother you?” Antonio asks.
“Letting what bother me?”
“The stick up your ass,” Antonio says coolly. Leila gives his shin a swift kick. “Ow! That hurt!”
“Good! That’ll teach you to perpetuate the misogynistic joke that a woman in charge who likes things done efficiently has a stick up her ass.”
“Are you two always like this?” Zwe asks.
“Yep,” Antonio responds with a proud grin. “Leila’s the uptight big sister I never had. I’m the funny one, she’s the smart one.”
Leila rolls her eyes, but a smile dances at the corners of her lips. Despite their bickering, it’s clear she cares about him. “No need for flattery, let’s get this pit built.”
The two of them head out in one direction, and Zwe in the other.
Leaving me alone for the first time in twenty-four hours. If I were in better spirits, I’d almost view it as peaceful and tranquil.
My screen opens to the page with the 12-point font, but every time I try to type a sentence, my vision goes blurry. The only thought going through my head is terrible and macabre and makes me want to curl up into the fetal position:What if this is my last night alive?
I stare at my laptop, suddenly wanting to laugh at myself for thinking I’d be able to work on a book while hiding in the forest. I know it’d have killed me to just leave it behind, but right now all it’s doing is making me feel stupid and more useless. Once again, I can’t do anything right.
The thought pops up before I can usher it away:Should I write a goodbye letter to my parents?
As though the words could jump out and attack me, I slam my laptop shut, not even worrying about the screen.
It’s been in the back of my mind this whole time: What will happen to my parents if something happens to me? Thankfully, I don’t mean in a financial sense, but mentally. Emotionally. Besides Zwe and Soraya, my mom is my best friend. And I promised my dad that next time I was in Bangkok, we would go see this Green Day tribute act he’s obsessed with. And we were all going to go visitmy cousins and aunts and uncles in Mandalay next Thingyan. The realization that I might not be able to do any of that would bring me to my knees if I weren’t sitting down already.
I wipe away a stray tear from my cheek.
Positive thoughts. Manifesting an escape safe and unharmed.
I put my laptop to the side, and because this is the only other thing I can do besides write, I take the book I was reading, flip to my earmarked page, and pick up where I left off.
“How was writing?”
“Jesus,” I exhale. “You scared me. And I… wrapped up writing for the day. It was fine.”
“Uh-huh,” Zwe says, his tone hinting at suspicion. “How’s the book? Do you know who she was sent to assassinate yet?”
“What?”
“Your book.” He gestures at the book I’m holding. “The main character. Who was her target?” he asks, confused that he’s having to explain the plot of the bookIwas readingtome. “Do we know yet?”
“Oh. No, not yet,” I say, recomposing myself. “It’s hinting that it was the main guy, the love interest. But I dunno, it feels like too obvious of a plot twist.”
Zwe sits down, and I notice that both of the reusable shopping bags that I’d dug out from my backpack and gave him are full. “Good job,” I say, nodding down at them. “Leila would be proud.”
It’s not meant as a dig, although I’m not sure if I mean it as a compliment either. But he smiles as though itisa compliment, and says, “Thanks, it actually wasn’t as difficult as I was worried it would be.” Then, “Who wouldyoumake it?”
“Huh?”
“If you were writing that book, who wouldyouhave her assigned to assassinate? What would be a good plot twist in your opinion?”
“I’d change the whole plot,” I say immediately, because I’ve been pondering this exact question for the last few chapters. Zwe’s face morphs with surprise, and he nods at me to explain. “They’re rival assassins from rival organizations, and they don’t realize that they’ve both been assigned to kill the same target until they see each other on the plane. And their mutual target is this big deal in their industry, and they each want to be the person to kill him, so they also keep preventing theotherone from killing him.”
Zwe nods slowly as he considers it. “Would yours still be a romance? Where’s the romance plot?”
