Chapter Eight - Lucky #2
“So, how about this,” I say, breaking the silence. “We agree to approve all content before posting.”
I’m steering the conversation back towards the idea of ground rules—mainly because I’m pretty sure my ears will start bleeding if we don’t turn the music down soon, but also because this is a team competition.
Becca looks over, taking stock of my face.
“That works,” she finally says, through slightly gritted teeth. “We should also agree to post as many pictures and stories as possible. The fans are going to want all the extra content.”
“I’m good with that. Maybe we could do a livestream together at some point.”
“That’s a good idea.” Her words come out a bit more smoothly this time.
I rub a hand across my face. I need to get out of this car. Up ahead, I see an advertisement for a truck stop.
“Hey, think we can make a pit stop? My legs are dying for a stretch, and I don’t know about you, but I can’t properly road trip without snacks.”
Becca puts on her blinker and moves over into the other lane. A few more miles and the exit for the truck stop appears. I’ve never been so happy to see a gas station in my entire life.
As soon as the car is in park, I throw open the door and hop out, groaning as my legs stretch out to their full length.
Becca smirks a little, standing just outside the driver’s side door, rolling her shoulders.
I reach inside the car and grab my phone, and then toss it over to her.
“Here, let’s get some more footage, and then I’ll edit the video on the next leg.
When we stop for lunch or whatever, we can upload. ”
“Sounds good to me.” Becca turns the camera on and points it at herself, breaking into a gleaming smile.
Not a single remnant of any lingering annoyance or anger shows on her face.
“We just made a pitstop and are just about to head inside for some snacks. What do you say, Lucky? Are you a sweet or a savory guy?”
Her quick about-face startles me slightly, but I think fast on my feet, and when she whips the camera around, I put a hand on my chin and pretend to be in deep thought.
“Well, normally, I’m a sweets kind of guy, but there’s just something to be said about processed cheese on a road trip. There’s also packaged meat to consider.”
“That sounds absolutely disgusting,” Becca says with a little chuckle.
I sweep my arm out indicating the door. “Shall we?”
She follows me inside, still filming, and we both let out a sigh of relief when a burst of icy, air conditioned air hits us. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“Same,” Becca murmurs.
Her eyes are closed and her long hair is blowing gently in the breeze. Her skin is flushed pink, and there’s the tiniest glisten of sweat on her forehead.
I won’t lie, I fully appreciate the view.
We spend the next twenty minutes stocking up on every sort of snack imaginable, going to the bathroom, and buying the biggest size Slurpees we can find before heading back to the car. Becca opts for the classic Coca-Cola flavor, while I, of course, go for all the flavors mixed in one.
“Seriously? You’ve never had a Slim Jim before?” I ask, folding myself inside the metro. I’m holding my camera, capturing the last bit of b-roll before we start driving again.
Becca wrinkles her nose. “Um, no. It looks disgusting.”
“Looks can be deceiving. You should try it.”
“I think I’ll pass,” she says, turning the keys in the ignition to get the air conditioner going.
“You’re missing out. It’s a savory treat packaged in the convenience of a hand-held stick. What more could you possibly ask for?”
“How about real meat?”
“There’s real meat in here . . . probably not a lot, but it’s there.”
“Whatever you say.” Becca settles into the driver’s side and pulls her phone out of the cupholder, quickly tapping out her passcode and swiping at the screen. She stiffens, and I notice the longer she stares at the phone, the harder her face becomes.
“Are we ready?” I ask, acting as though I haven’t noticed the change.
Becca is quiet for a moment, but then finally clicks her phone off and drops it back in the cupholder. She puts her sunglasses on and puts the car in reverse, slowly backing out of the parking space.
“Yep,” she says, but there is no smile in her voice.
When we pull back on the highway, the car is quiet—save for the wheezing of the vents and the random “thwarp” of the windshield wipers. I bite into my Slim Jim and even my chewing seems deafening in the silence.
“Care to be adventurous?” I hold the meat stick out to Becca, waving it back and forth. I’m hoping to at least elicit a small smile. She offers me none.
“No thanks,” she says, not taking her eyes off the road.
“Your loss,” I joke, taking another bite.
Becca continues staring straight ahead, the corners of her mouth twisting down. Not quite sure what just happened, I tap my phone screen and get to work editing our footage.
By the time I get all the footage uploaded and somewhat sorted in my editing app, Becca still hasn’t said a word.
And I’ve nearly got the words to Drops of Jupiter memorized.