much she’s sacrificed to help me get through school. And I know what the fuck I’m doing.
Oh, did I say that out loud?
“Yeah,” he says. “You did.”
“Well, I’m sorry you think it’s stupid,” I say. “But I have to do this. I have to try.”
I open the back doors to Steady Beth so I can dig my guitar out of the gear pile, but then he gets right in my way, blocking me so I can’t walk past him.
“Cut it out,” I say.
“No,” he says, moving right in front of me. “We’re not done talking about this.”
Joey’s head pops up over the gear and he sees me attempt to shove past Travis, who puts his arms around me and still won’t get the fuck out of my way. Now I’m really angry. That’s when Cole and Joey hop out of the van and come around the back.
“What the fuck, Travis?” I say. “Let go of me.”
Travis lets go of me, but he won’t move out of my way.
“What are you doing?” I snap. “He’s going to leave before I can even ask for a ride home!”
“What the hell?” Cole says. “Who’s going to leave?”
“She thinks she’s going to hitch a ride home on a truck,” Travis says.
“You can’t force me not to hitchhike home. You’re my guitarist, not my fucking father!”
“I’m just trying to help you!” he yells back. “It’s a grade on an English test, for fuck’s sake, it’s not worth putting yourself in danger!”
“I’m not!” I say.
“Dude,” Cole says. “Everyone calm the fuck down, all right? Let’s talk this through.”
“Let her by, Trap,” Joey says. “Before one of you gets hurt, seriously.”
He glares at Joey and then steps to the side. I want to smack him right now, I swear to God, and this time I don’t want to fuck him at all.
“I’m trying to help you, Emmy,” he says. “It’s late, you’re upset and you’re not thinking straight.”
“Fuck you, Travis.”
“Fuck me?” he says. “Whatever, then. Fine. Go on and get yourself molested by a lonely trucker. Great idea.”
“Jesus Christ, Trap,” Cole says. “Calm down, all right?”
I grab my guitar and I am so pissed off I feel like if I can actually manage to get this trucker to give me a ride north, I might just quit life and apply to be his trucker assistant. Maybe I’ll become a trucker myself and never have to put up with stupid boys treating me like I can’t figure my own shit out and telling me what to do. God damn it.
Travis paces away from me, muttering, his hands clenched at his sides. Then he goes to the front of the van and I figure that’s it, and fuck him anyway. I’ll deal with him when he gets home. Or whatever.
“I’ll get my jacket,” Joey says.
“No you won’t,” Travis calls from around the side, then reappears with my backpack and my jacket, and he’s wearing his. “You guys stay here with the gear. Call Triple A and have them tow it to the nearest garage. I’ll be back down in Emmy’s car with the cash by one o’clock.”
“What?” I say.
Travis turns around and pulls his guitar out of the back.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m going with you,” Travis says.
“You are?” I’m still so mad I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I’m too relieved to say it.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not letting you hitch a ride with a trucker by yourself, are you crazy? Oh wait, if you weren’t crazy, we wouldn’t be bumming rides off of lonely truckers in the first place.”
“You don’t know that he’s lonely. You don’t even know for sure it’s a he, do you? Don’t be sexist.”
“If we end up dead in a Hefty bag on the side of I-95, I’m going to be pissed,” he says.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Jesus Christ.”
“Come get the plate number off of this truck,” he says, pointing across the parking lot to the gas station. “That’s our ride. Call Sonia by eight thirty, and if she hasn’t heard from us, somebody better come looking.”
Cole pulls his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and hands it to Travis, who takes it and stuffs it into his front pocket. “The corkscrew to the eye should get you out of a pinch.”
“You people have no faith in humanity,” I say. “Or truckers.”
“Hey, I’m a realist,” Cole says. “You never know.”
“You guys,” I say. “This is Maryland, not Camden.”