Chapter Seven - Becca #2
Mr. Dozer claps his hands together and lets out an obnoxious little chuckle. "Oh no, my dear. I'm afraid you're dead last.”
Lucky swears under his breath, and my stomach turns over. “And the cars?” I ask.
“The other teams have already selected their choices.”
Lucky and I stare as the other finalists head for their vehicles. Iris waves cheerfully at me as she and Sean climb up into the wrangler. Skai and Ross take the pick-up, and, unsurprisingly, Ziven and Evie have laid claim to the sports car.
I realize then there are only three vehicles parked on the curb. Well, there is a convention center security truck and some crappy little hatchback a few feet down, but there isn’t a challenge vehicle left for Lucky and me.
My heart leaps into my throat. Was this some kind of elimination challenge? I let out a squeak, but nothing else comes out.
“So . . .” Lucky scans the curb. “Those keys go to what exactly?” He points to the keyring Dozer is still swishing around.
“Ah yes, your vehicle,” Mr. Dozer sweeps an arm out indicating the curb, “awaits you.”
I turn around but there’s still nothing there except—
Lucky reacts before I do. “Are you serious right now?” He’s staring at the only car parked on the curb that could possibly be designated as ours, and, unfortunately, it isn’t the convention center security truck.
“A 1999 Geo Metro!” Mr. Dozer booms, as if we’ve just won the lottery. “A rare classic!”
The little two-door hatchback looks more like a rare piece of junk to me. It's a faded orange color trimmed in rust and with hideous bright blue Hawaiian print seat covers and a pair of fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror.
"Happy trails!" Dozer crows, tossing Lucky the set of car keys. “You’ll find all the information you need about your next destination in the information packet in the front seat. Cheerio!”
The other finalists are already pulling away from the curb, and as Dozer and the Starlight team head back into the convention center, I stare at the car as if it were a mirage, hoping that it will just magically disappear or morph into something else.
They can’t possibly expect us to go on a road trip in that? No way this is really our car.
But yet, there it sits. The little orange car in all its rusted glory.
“Look, there has to be some other—”
I’m cut off by Lucky’s booming laughter. A tiny chuckle that quickly morphs into a full grown belly laugh.
“I cannot believe this is our car,” he wheezes.
I can’t decide if I want to laugh along with him or slap some sense into him. I settle on an eyeroll. “For a guy named Lucky, you aren’t exactly living up to your name.”
“Takes two to tango,” he snaps back. “This one’s on both of us.”
“That’s not exactly true. If you would’ve just listened to me when I told you where to go, we never would’ve taken that stupid shortcut down to the Riverwalk.”
“If you hadn’t tried to memorize the map, Carmen San Diego, then we might have gotten a head start on everyone else. Oh, and let’s not forget that it was you who dropped the map in the river.”
“And if you hadn’t—”
Lucky holds his vlogging camera up and zeroes in on my face. “If I hadn’t what?”
I swallow my retort and prance over to the car, completely changing gears. “Check out our new ride!” I say for the camera.
Lucky stares at me for a moment, but then zooms in, panning the camera from the left to the right to take in all the hatchback’s glory. Nearby, Tony is doing the exact same thing.
“Not exactly what we were hoping for, but I think we can make it work. What do you think, Lucky?”
He cocks his head slightly, but picking up my cue, he turns the camera around to face him.
"I think we should name her," He breaks into a grin. “What about Dolores? Or Rita? Nah . . . not good enough. Maybe we should wait until we get to know her a little bit. What say you, Holly G?”
“Uh . . . I guess we should wait.” Banter’s never been my thing, but since the cameras are on, I’m doing my best.
Lucky nods. “Good call. Appearances can be deceiving. We should get to know her first.”
We grab our luggage from where we left it and walk over to the Metro. There are no power locks or keyless entry, so Lucky manually lifts the hatch and we toss our stuff inside.
Exhausted, I head to the passenger side door and open it. I’m more than content with letting Lucky have the first driving shift, but instead of getting in, he hesitates by the open driver’s side door, a peculiar-looking expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He lets out a sigh. “It’s a five speed.”
“And?”
Lucky shifts from one foot to the other. “And . . . I can’t drive a stick.”
“What?” I jerk back. “You’re joking, right?”
“Afraid not.”
I hang my head and groan. I slam the passenger side door with way more force than necessary and cross the front of the car.
“Move,” I demand, shoving Lucky out of the way.
“Wait. Can you drive a stick?”
I answer by holding my hand out for the keys. “My mom’s old boyfriend taught me,” I say with a shrug, plunking myself down into the driver’s seat. “Get in.”
Lucky hops across the hood and opens the passenger door. When he sits down, his knees meet the dash, and his head is only a few centimeters from touching the roof. He looks like he's riding in one of those little clown cars from the circus.
The look on his face makes me laugh so hard, I snort.
Ah, karma.