One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,11

feel like an idiot, though.

I don't feel like such an idiot when Jess announces that our bus leaves in fifteen minutes. Ha. Bet he's glad I woke him up so early now. He rubs his head a bit sheepishly and nods his head at the bus.

“Want to go find some decent seats?”

Does he mean…together? Like, sitting together? I cock an eyebrow at him, considering.

“You know,” he continues. “To protect each other from the various unsavory types that catch buses to Sacramento at eight in the morning.”

Hmm. Based on my observations, Jess totally qualifies as one of those unsavory types. In all the time I've spent with him, he's been either incredibly rude or drunk. The last half hour or so of polite behavior doesn't exactly go a long way to offset the rest of the time. On the other hand, better the unsavory type you know…

I smile at him. “Okay,” I say.

“Cool.” He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. “I'm just going to go to the vending machine and get some snacks for the ride. Want anything?”

Um. He doesn't have as much money in there for snacks as he thinks he does. “Uh, no thanks. You know, I had pizza and all. I'm good.”

“Right. Hey, Bee?”

I look at him warily.

“Thanks again for getting me out of the street, and for paying for a place for me to crash last night. I really appreciate it.”

“You're welcome.” Jess turns to walk over to the vending machine, and I bite my lip. God, it's going to come out sooner or later. “But, actually…” I call after him. He turns. “Uhh…you paid for it.”

He stares at me blankly, then pulls out his wallet. “There's only five dollars in here,” he says incredulously. “I had eighty bucks. What the hell did you do with all my money?”

“Well, we needed a place to sleep,” I begin defensively.

“So you stole money from a guy too incapacitated to defend himself?”

I put my hands on my hips. “What happened to ‘thank you for getting my incompetent and drunk ass off the street, Bee?’”

“I could have slept in the bus station!” Jess exclaims. “That was all the money I had to get back to New York, and you stole it!”

People around the platform are starting to stare at us. They're looking at me like I'm some kind of thief, rather than the clearly way too nice and thoughtful person who helped out an ungrateful jackass.

“Fine!” I snap. “I'll pay you back, what's the big deal?”

“Great,” Jess snaps back. “Hand me the cash.”

I roll my eyes, exasperated. “I don't have any cash. If I did, I wouldn't have needed yours, now would I? I'll pay you back later.”

“There's an ATM right over there,” Jess says, pointing at the bus station. “You can get the cash, and pay me back now.”

I don't move, and Jess grabs my arm and starts to drag me. I plant my feet firmly, which is kind of difficult in his giant flip-flops.

“What?” Jess says. “Are you telling me you don't have a dozen credit cards you can use?”

I shake my head. Not here. This is way too close to LA still, and there are dozens of people who've noticed us arguing—if I use my card, my dad will show up here looking for me and find out in five minutes where I was going. My credit cards are officially off-limits until I'm out of California. “I can't. I'll pay you back once we get to Chicago.” Jess looks at me incredulously. “I promise!” I say.

“And what am I supposed to do between here and Chicago? Starve? It's like a forty-eight hour trip!”

Forty-eight hours? Is he kidding me? We've already been traveling since yesterday afternoon. There's no way it takes that long to get from California to Chicago. This is the 21st Century, for God's sake.

“I don't know,” I say sarcastically. “Maybe you could use the ATM? If it's such a big deal to you, I'll cover your vending machine expenses as well. With interest.”

Jess glares at me. “Not everybody has that option. My credit card happens to have been cancelled—that money was literally all I had. And you stole it. Because you're spoiled and psychotic.” I glare back at him, but he ignores me, and points at the ATM machine again. “Now go get my money.”

I cross my arms and shake my head. “In Chicago,” I repeat.

Jess throws up his hands in frustration, grabs his duffel bag—nearly swings it into me, by the way—and stomps