Page 71 of Twisted Ties
“I’m coming with you. We’ll take my car.”
I gape at her in disbelief. My friend who nearly fainted from fear when she was summoned to the principal’s office is prepared to break a load more rules to help me out.
“I can’t let you do that, but seriously, what? You have a car?”
“Yes, I have a car. How else did you think I got to college? Flew on my broomstick?”
“You never mentioned it before,” I mutter.
Winnie strides over to the wardrobe, wheeling out her little overnight case and tossing clothes inside.
“Winnie, you can’t come with me.”
“I can,” she says, sounding determined. “I’m not letting you go alone.”
“Winnie, even if I let you, there’s even more chance of being caught in a car than on a bike. The bike can travel at least five times as fast.”
“Not this car.” She snaps her case shut. “It’s had certain … erm … magical upgrades. Upgrades that may not be quite … technically …. legal.”
“Winnie Wence, who are you and what did you do with my best friend? You own an illegally-tampered-with car?”
“It was my cousin’s. My mom doesn’t know about the upgrades.”
“Your cousin sounds like he is a badass.
“Sheis.”
“And how fast can this car go, then?”
Winnie shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ve been way too worried about getting into trouble to go anywhere near the upgrades.”
“Then maybe–”
“But now I have an excuse,” she says, holding out her hand to me.
“What about Trent?” I say.
“I’ll message him. Come on, are we doing this or not?”
I look down at her outstretched hand, thanking every god and every lucky star that I’ve made a friend like Winnie.
“Yes, we’re doing it.”
We set off down the path, Winnie hauling her suitcase into her arms because the wheels are damn squeaky. Halfway, we hear boots crunching gravel and duck behind a bush, waiting until Dr. Johnson and another teacher pass us on the path. If they’re meant to be undertaking centurion duty, they’re not making a very good job of it. Both of them are too engaged in their conversation to spy us crouching in the dark. When they’re out of sight we hurry on.
“Where’s the car?” I ask Winnie.
“There’s an underground parking lot underneath the gymnasium.”
“There is?”
“Yeah,” she says, “it’s mostly full of pretentious sports cars and owned by the rich kids. My car looks pretty pathetic parked among them. But hey,” she elbows me, “my car can go a hell of a lot faster than theirs.”
I smile at her through the darkness. Maybe a bit of rule breaking is proving a good thing for Winnie.
When we reach the gymnasium, she points to a side door and then to the road that curves round towards the mansion.
“You wait here, ensure the coast is clear. I’ll go fetch the car,” Winnie says.
