One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,8
sounds insane—you can't possibly only get to New York by taking a bus—but that's what somebody—some idiot—told me and I really don't know where to go, so can you please help me? Please?” I feel a blush rising as I babble, but really, I'm desperate. And I've waited in this line for a long time. I'm not going to just walk away, I'll beg if I have to.
The teller really looks at me for the first time and sighs. “I'm sorry. I don't take the trains, I just sell the tickets. This is a small station. Trains are being rerouted from Ventura so we're unusually overloaded today. There's a station attendant who could help you, but he's off sick today. I wish I could tell you how to get where you're going, but I really have no idea.”
My heart sinks. “Okay,” I say. “Sorry. Thanks for your help.”
I turn to go, and she calls “Next!” I'm sure the next person knows where they're going. I check my phone. It seems I waited in that line for half an hour. I suppose it's possible that there's still time before the bus leaves. I didn't see the Geek come back, and I had a pretty good line of sight on the door.
I wish I could think of any other way.
I walk back to the bar, wincing with every step, determined to haul the Geek out onto the street and beat him until he coughs up the route. But when I'm half a block away I see him walk out of the bar and shield his eyes from the streetlight.
And then he trips over his own feet and falls down.
I watch as he tries to get up, and falls back down again. It would be funny, except for how I'm hungry, I'm tired, and if it's time to get on the bus—and it had damn well better be, because anything would be better than this—then I'd like the dumbass that fate has made me dependent on to get me on that stupid freaking bus so this ridiculous and humiliating experience can be over with.
“All right, Geek, on your feet,” I say as I haul at his shoulders—I'm tempted to use his hair, but you never know, it might be so burned by cheap hair dye that I'd just pull it out. “Let's go, we have a bus to catch.”
He peers blearily up at me. “Barbie? What the hell you still doing here?”
I pull harder, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my empty stomach. “Up,” I say firmly. “Bus. Now.”
He gets up and leans against me unsteadily as he looks down at his watch. “No. No, no, no, Barbie. No bus now,” he slurs. “Bus long gone. No bus for Barbie.”
I shove him off me and he falls down again, giggling to himself. I take him by the shoulders again and shake him. “Are you still going to New York? When is the next bus?” I want to shake him harder, but I'm afraid he'll puke on me.
“No place else to go but New York,” he shrugs. “Tomorrow morning. Bus tomorrow morning.”
I want to scream. Tomorrow morning? What the hell am I supposed to do until then? I look down and resist the urge to kick him. “What bus?” I demand. “Where is the bus going?” Because I'll be damned if I'm going to follow this asshole around for another second.
He looks up at me, confused. “New York? Aren't I going to New York? We just talked about this.”
“No, you said the bus goes somewhere, and then from there you take a train to Chicago, and then to New York, remember? So where does the bus go?”
His face is blank. Of course it is. I'm going to kill someone. Preferably him.
The hell with it. I'll just go to the Canary Hotel, have some of my favorite mac & cheese and chickpea fries, and I'll figure this all out in the morning. I shove the Geek back onto the sidewalk, and start to look around for a cab. But then I stop.
I can't go to the Canary Hotel. If I use my credit card, my dad will see the charge, and he'll get on his stupid plane and he'll be here before I even have a chance to finish checking in. He called ten times while I was waiting out here, and each message was more and more irritated. I finally had to turn my phone off. I pull out my wallet and check