Chapter Nine - Becca #2
By the time we get back in the car, I feel lighter, but we still have several hours before we reach our destination, and I’m sick to death of the stupid Metro, its crappy music, and the highway that never seems to end.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, watching as Lucky folds himself, pretzel-like, back into the passenger seat. “How is it that a guy like you doesn’t know how to drive a stick?”
“A guy like me?” Lucky clicks his seatbelt into place. “You mean incredibly hot with a dazzling personality to match?”
“Hardly,” I snort. “No, I mean, you ride motorcycles and jump out of planes and stuff. Isn’t driving a stick shift required for that sort of career?”
“Well, see there, Holly G. You’ve got me all wrong.” He holds up a finger. “I have never actually jumped out of a plane. Sounds killer though. We should try it.”
“No, thank you. Plummeting to my death is not my idea of fun.”
“We’ll wear parachutes, obviously. I’m not that much of a daredevil.” He eyes the gear shifter. “How’d you learn how to drive stick?”
“It was this guy named Ted.”
I smile when I think of his kind face, the red stubble that always prickled my cheek when he gave me a hug. “One of my mom’s boyfriends. He wasn’t around for long, but he was one of the good ones, ya know? He taught me how to change a flat tire, too.”
“That’s impressive,” Lucky drawls in a teasing way.
“Yeah,” I fire back. “I can even open my own jam jars.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I draw the line at jar opening.”
We both laugh, and for the first time since we became teammates, a general sense of ease settles over the car.
I wrap my fingers more tightly around the steering wheel and focus on the road.
The sun has nearly set, and the sky is a kaleidoscope of orange and pink.
I look over at Lucky and stifle a giggle as I watch him try to get comfortable in the tiny amount of space he has, all crunched up like a tin can.
“You going to make it over there?”
He gives me that dopey grin of his. “Of course! Though I must admit,” he leans over and whispers, “my affection for ole Gertrude here is fading the longer I sit in this seat. But don’t tell her I said that.” He pats the dashboard affectionately.
“Gertrude?” I wrinkle my nose. “That’s just cruel.”
Lucky lets out a sigh. “It was worth a shot, old gal.” He pats the dash again, his long slender fingers gliding across the console. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it right sooner or later.”
We keep driving, and by the time the Welcome to Roswell sign comes into view, my legs are so achy, I nearly burst into tears. From the grimace on Lucky’s face, it’s clear he feels the same way. Ten plus hours in a car this small is enough to make anyone feel cagey.
It’s after ten p.m. when we roll into the main street area, but the sidewalks are packed with people.
“Why are there so many people out?” I ask, steering the car carefully down the main road. “I mean, it is summertime, but Roswell’s kind of out in the middle of nowhere.”
“I’m not sure.” Lucky cranes his neck to see out the window. “There’s a flyer on the streetlamp over there, but it’s too dark to make out the writing . . . Oh wait . . .”
He pulls out his phone and does a quick search, his fingers tapping lightly on the screen. “Aha!” he declares a few seconds later, flipping the phone.
There’s a lime green graphic on the screen advertising the annual UFO festival in bold black letters.
“A UFO Festival?”
“According to this, it’s a pretty big deal around here.”
Lucky scrolls down looking at all the pictures posted on the site. “Kinda makes sense though. Roswell is a small town. Its only claim to fame is Area 51 and the whole alien stuff. Might as well capitalize on it.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I turn the car down a side road, moving slowly to avoid the crowd. “Does the packet say anything about what hotel we’re supposed to stay at?”
Lucky pulls the Starlight information packet off the floorboard and flips through it.
“Yeah, here it is. The Holiday Inn. I think it’s that way,” he points towards the town center.
I steer the car in that direction, already thinking about the prospect of a nice, hot shower and comfy bed, but when we pull into the parking lot of the hotel, it’s packed with cars. There’s not a single empty space.
“Wow, ” I say, looking out the window as people pour in and out of the lobby. “I’m glad we already have a reservation.”
Lucky eyes the hotel. “Me, too.”
After several loops around the lot, I manage to find somewhere to park the Metro. I don’t think the space is legal, but I’m too tired to care. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I hop out, limping a little from stiffness in my legs. Lucky does the same, stretching his arms over his head.
“Ugh,” I groan, slamming the driver’s door shut. “If I never get back in this hideous car, it will be too soon.”
Inside the hotel, the lobby is bustling with people.
“May I help you?” A woman wearing a pair of alien eyes on a headband asks me from behind the counter. She smiles, but I can tell she’s just as worn out as I am.
“Yes, hi.” I step closer to the counter. “We’re finalists in the Starlight Challenge Competition. We should have a couple of room reservations listed under Starlight Talent Agency.”
“Name?”
“Lucky DeLucca and Becca Evans.”
The woman nods, her fingers already tapping away on the keyboard of her computer.
“Oh dear,” she says, scrunching her forehead. “I’m afraid we have a problem.”