Page 21 of Story of My Life
“Nice meeting you, Small-Town Hero.”
I waited until he headed into the store before pulling up a YouTube video on how to pump your own gas. I managed to get it handled and was leaning as casually as possible against the fender when Willis came back out with a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew and a bag of snacks.
He didn’t bother looking in my direction when he reversed away from the pump and roared out of the parking lot.
“It’s okay. You can keep the change,” I called after the truck.
The air here was thick with mid-August humidity, which was working its supersizing magic on my hair. But at least it didn’t deliver any of the wafts of sewer Manhattan treated you to. It wasn’t delivering Manhattan vibes at all. Across the street from the gas station wasn’t a city block of buildings—it was a cornfield with glossy green leaves and blond tufts of silk rolling out in orderly rows over a gentle hill. Beyond it, forest. Nature wasn’t confined and penned in by penthouses and skyscrapers. It unfolded infinitely…well, at least as infinitely as my eyes could see.
The store door flashed open, and Zoey wandered out, holding up a hand to block the sun.
“You barf?” I asked her.
She nodded, looking ashen. “Think I’m done now.”
The pump clicked off, and I replaced the nozzle in its cradle.
“Look at you pumping gas like a real driver,” she observed.
“Piece of cake,” I fibbed.
We got back in the car, and I pointed us in the direction of Story Lake.
“What happened to the roof?” Zoey asked two minutes into the ride.
“Fell off,” I joked.
“Huh. I like it. The air makes me feel less saturated with alcohol.”
My supersized hair whipped out behind me in the wind as we cruised down the sunny road toward my new future.
“This is starting to feel less crazy. You know? Kind of like we might be on the right track,” I said over the wind.
“Really? I was just thinking this looks like the end ofThelma and Louise,” she yelled back.
“Har har, smartass. I’m driving us toward our future, not off a cliff.”
A black piece of plastic from my slightly smashed grill chose that exact second to smack into the windshield, startling us both.
“What the hell was that?” Zoey demanded.
“Nothing. A bug,” I said, trying to turn on the windshield wipers to scrape the chunk of grill off the glass. I found the high beams, the seat warmers, and the hazard lights before the wipers came to life.
“Fourth time’s the charm,” my hungover companion muttered from the passenger seat.
“Excuse me, I think I’m doing a pretty good job. Look. I got us all the way here.” I pointed at theWelcome to Story Lakesign ahead. Some of the letters were missing, and someone had gotten cheeky with a can of red spray paint, leaving behind more of aWe me Snory Lakesituation. To the left, we were served up our first glimpse of glistening lake waters.
“Catastrophe-free. Just like I promised.”
I should have kept my mouth shut. Because at that moment a pterodactyl-sized shadow fell over us.
“What the fu—” Zoey’s question was cut off by a wetthwap.
Something shiny, silver, and slimy hit me in the face, and then Zoey was screaming.
I swerved blindly and stomped on the brake. Gravel slid under the tires and a powerful rush of air moved my hair as something cold and slick rubbed against my forehead.
Crunch.
