Chapter 3 #2
I cross my arms. “You think?” I say sarcastically. “Thanks for pointing that out, Wayne Brady.”
I pull my phone from my leggings pocket and check the time. “If we’re driving down there, we’re already way behind schedule. We can still make it there tonight if we speed and keep pit stops to a minimum,” I say, starting back toward my parents’ front door.
I hold up the key fob, hit the trunk button, and watch Thane lift the back hatch. “Throw your stuff in. I’ve gotta grab my bag,” I shout over my shoulder.
I wheel my suitcase out the front door and down the driveway. Thane throws his duffle bag into the trunk and turns to help me.
“I’ve got it,” I insist, heaving unsuccessfully at my suitcase.
Thane stands back against the car and watches as I struggle to fit my suitcase into the tiny trunk.
“Stop watching me,” I huff. “You’re making it harder.”
“And miss out on free entertainment?” He laughs.
After a few minutes of unladylike grunting, I drop my suitcase to the ground and sit defeatedly on top of it, pushing errant hairs off my sweaty forehead.
“Congratulations. Three days have passed because you’re too stubborn to let me help you. May I?” he asks sarcastically, gesturing to my bag.
I give a reluctant nod, and before I have a chance to stand, Thane yanks the suitcase out from underneath me, sending me right onto my butt. He sets the suitcase into the trunk with ease, then pulls me to my feet.
I glare at him and throw my purse angrily into the car. “I won’t even waste my time commenting on how ungentlemanly that was,” I sneer, dusting off my leggings.
“Good. Because that would put us even further behind your schedule,” he teases, slamming the trunk. “Now, let’s lock up the houses and go.”
I stomp down the driveway, give the house one more look-over, and lock the front door, muttering complaints under my breath the whole way.
Thane meets me next to the driver’s side door and holds out his hand.
“What?” I ask.
“The keys, please. I’ll drive.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Come on. I’m a much better driver.”
“We’re not even going to discuss why you’re wrong on this one,” I say back.
He checks his watch. “Tick-tock, Fina. Time’s a-wastin’!”
I sigh heavily, reaching for my purse to grab the keys. “Fine. But only because I hate driving in morning rush hour.”
“Wait, where’s my purse?” I ask, searching around the outside of the car.
Thane lies down on the driveway and looks underneath. “It’s not under here,” he says as he stands. “Did you leave it in the house?”
My heart stops. I run to the back of the car and peer into the trunk. There on top of my suitcase is my purse—with the keys in it.
“Seriously?” I complain, stepping to the passenger door. I grab the handle and the door doesn’t budge. I move to the back passenger door. No dice. “Uh, Thane? Can you open the driver’s door?”
He tugs on the handle, and from the sound of it, I know the answer.
“Nope.”
“Crap!”
“Why? What’s wrong?” he says from over the top of the car.
“I may or may not have locked the keys inside.” I grimace.
“How is that even possible these days? Those fobs are supposed to prevent that, aren’t they?”
“I thought so too. But maybe the car can’t sense that it’s in there because it’s way in the back. I swear it unlocked when I opened the trunk!” My voice starts to get into the panicky pitch I hate. “I hit the trunk button, you loaded our bags, slammed the trunk, and…”
“You never actually hit the unlock button, did you?” he says dryly.
“Isn’t it implied when you open the trunk?”
“I’m not sure cars understand implication, Fina.”
I bury my face in my hands. “What are we going to do? We can’t call the rental place, we have no idea which one our parents used. We can’t break a window, it’s not our car…”
“We could pry open the sunroof,” Thane suggests. “It looks like it’s vented. We’re halfway there.”
My mom knows how bad I hate the smell of rental cars and hotel rooms. At least she was considerate enough this morning to crack the sunroof. I glance at the top of the car.
“That may just work!”
Thane begins wiggling the sunroof backward and forward. “It feels like it’ll work, if I just give it a bit more force. But the angle I’m at makes that hard. I need to stand on something,” he says, looking around.
“We have a stool inside my parents’ house,” I offer weakly, “but… the front door is locked and those keys are also in my purse.”
“And you had the gall to call me The Master of Disaster?” Thane pokes at my pride.
“Shut up,” I clip. “What about your parents’ house? Do they have a step stool?”
“Probably. But I don’t have a key to their house.”
“What kind of son doesn’t have a key to his parents’ house?”
“The kind that doesn’t live there,” he says with a shrug.
I look around the yard for a stool, a ladder, or even a rock he could stand on, to no avail.
Why did my dad have to be so paranoid about robberies?
I sigh, remembering the time Thane boosted me up to see a bird’s nest outside the treehouse window.
“I have an idea,” I say sheepishly, kneeling down on all fours.
Thane begins to laugh. “You’re going to give me a boost? I’m way too heavy for you. How about I give you one?”
I look up from my humiliating pose on all fours. “I’m not strong enough to pry that sunroof open. It’s this, or we waste more time and money calling a locksmith.”