One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,16
kidding?”
“I don't care how much it costs!” I exclaim. “We have to get moving. I mean, if you want, you can stay here and wait for a bus that may or may not show up…”
“Oh, no,” Jess laughs. “You're not leaving me here while you travel in style. But how are you going to pay for it, Miss I-Can't-Use-My-Credit-Card-Until-We-Get-To-Chicago? Won't daddy be able to trace where the cabdriver takes us?”
I bite my lip. “I'll pay cash. When the car gets here, I'll use the ATM and take out enough money—”
“You'd better take out a hell of a lot of money to cover the rest of the trip, plus what you owe me, by the way,” Jess interrupts.
“I'll take out plenty of money,” I scowl. “And we'll get in the cab, and we'll immediately get on the train for Sacramento, and all my dad will know is that I was at a rest stop in the middle of where in the hell.”
Jess picks up his cheeseburger and finishes the rest of it in one bite. “Okay then. Hurry up and call.”
* * *
It seems to take forever for the cab to arrive. We didn't exactly know the closest town, but Jess and I guessed it would probably be Paso Robles. We ascertained that we were at the rest stop between exits 95 and 96 on the 101, but the not-very-helpful dispatcher at the cab company didn't sound like he believed us. Fair enough, I suppose—it's not often that people who managed to get themselves to a rest stop in the middle of the day can't get themselves away from the rest stop without calling a cab. We finally convinced him to send somebody, but every minute of waiting was torturous. I was sure someone would recognize me, and I sat hunched over in the corner the whole time.
But the cab does finally pull up, looking exactly like one of those creepy black town cars that carry mobsters from place to place. Jess and I look at each other and shrug. It'll do.
I run to the ATM, and after hesitating for a moment, I take out $500. That's the most it will let me take out, but even covering the cab fare, and not forgetting Jess's oh-so-important eighty bucks, that should be plenty to get me to Chicago, at which point I'll hit a bank and draw more. A lot more, because $500 isn't going to get me very far in New York City.
In the process of calling the cab, I had to turn my phone on and see the million missed calls and voicemails, some from Julia, but most of them from my father. I tried not to feel guilty—it's not like he's really all that worried about me, he's just taking advantage of the situation to fulfill some terrified father fantasy he's been harboring. It occurs to me as I swipe my card that he might have cancelled it, which would have been pretty dangerous considering that it would leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere with no money—it probably would have forced me to give up and turn myself in. But no, the card works fine. I shrug off any remaining guilt I may have had, because, see? Any normal father would have cancelled the card, would have made it so this whole thing would be over sooner rather than later. But not my dad.
I stuff the cash into my wallet and run out to the town car. Jess has already shoved his duffel bag in the trunk, and is explaining patiently to the driver that yes, we really do want him to take us to the San Jose train station. The driver shrugs, and programs it into his GPS system, and finally we get the hell out of the rest stop.
The town car is much more comfortable than the bus. I'm in leg room, back support, air-conditioning heaven. Not to mention the car has decent shocks and doesn't roar like a freight train. The next several hours pass by in kind of a blur. I nod off again sometimes—cars do that to me, I'm like an infant—and Jess spends most of his time either reading or looking out the window. It's kind of weird how quiet he is—most people in such close quarters as the back seat of a car would feel obligated to make some form of small talk, but not Jess. Between naps I try to decide if I find this annoying or something of