13. Driving Sucks
13
Driving Sucks
Diana
I hate cars.
Nothing spikes my heart rate more than sitting—or standing—in a moving vehicle. I’ve spent the past six years avoiding them whenever possible, and that’s worked out somewhat well. But living in California means I don’t have the option of walking there myself because of how large and stuffy the city is.
Los Angeles adds a whole new definition to the word stuffy .
The only thing keeping me sane at the moment is holding onto the handlebar with my left hand while my right wrist—which is currently in the splint Carson gave me—rests on my lap, right onto the dark gray seat belt.
Chase Atlantic’s “Meddle About” playing from the car speakers would help keep my mind off of the fact that we’re stuck on the freeway if Carson and Jake weren’t arguing about the choice of music.
“You could have played anything else in the world,” Carson argues. “Why this song?”
“Because I like it,” Jake retorts back. “Remember the car rules? Passenger picks the music while the driver shut his piehole.”
Madi chuckles next to me, while Adrian sighs. “They do this every time.”
“Isn’t this Jake’s car?” I ask Adrian.
He nods.
“Then why is Carson driving?”
“I don’t know,” he tells me. “Jake and Carson were roommates before the rest of us came into the picture so for them, it’s normal, I guess. I don’t ask about it.”
Not helpful, Adrian.
I move my eyes forward, to see what song is about to play when my eyes connect with Carson’s blue ones in the rearview mirror. His eyes are softened, lines in between his brows that are somehow darker than the rest of his hair. Or maybe in comparison to his ivory-colored skin.
I glance away and look back down at my lap, fiddling with the fingers that are still exposed from the splint wrapped around my wrist.
Normally, when I'm in a situation that leaves me no other choice but to step inside a car, bus, or whatever fucking mode of transportation that exists, I focus on breathing carefully, and keep my ears tuned to a certain noise.
Since I didn’t bring headphones, the noise would be the music playing. The music then gets overshadowed by Carson’s laugh at something Jake said.
How did I go from barely tolerating Carson Ryder to noticing every minuscule detail about him? Like the guy is made out of some crazy aphrodisiac that I can’t get enough of. Everyone has that. For me, it’s the taste of my favorite cherry soda or sweet treat. Or Carson's cologne, apparently.
The guy always has this woodsy scent that follows him. I’ve only noticed because it’s intense. No other reason, I swear.
“Diana.” I blink and turn to find Madi’s eyes on me. “Did you hear what I asked?”
I shake my head. “You asked for something?”
She eyes me in concern, brows dipping. “I asked if you were okay.”
I shrug. “I’m fine. Just thinking about how scary Horror Nights in Hollywood will be.”
Madi chuckles. “Probably nowhere near as crazy as Orlando.”
“True.” Around this time, every year, my family and I would make the three-hour long drive from Miami to Orlando to attend Horror Nights for my birthday. The last time we all attended was probably the best birthday I ever had.
Even seven years later, I still remember it.
“The actors were allowed to touch you in Orlando,” I beam, thinking back to those birthdays. “Last time, a zombie accidentally stepped on Crystal’s shoe and she screamed like a fucking banshee.”
My little sister is still terrified of zombies to this day but I believe that to be a more reasonable fear—because at least they don’t exist in real life.
“Can you imagine the Friday the Thirteenth walkthrough?” Madi’s eyes light up. “That one’s gonna be great.”
I am so thankful that Madi is distracting me right now—even if she’s clueless—because I was about one freeway exit away from fainting. Sounds dramatic but fainting in a tight space like this car is no joking matter.
Luckily, Carson exits the freeway and drives up the path that leads to the parking lot of Universal Studios. Once he parks and the engine finally dies, I practically rip the seatbelt off my person and jump out of the car faster than any speedster ever could.
Fresh air in Hollywood doesn’t exist but it beats staying inside the car for so long.
Madi hops out right after me, checking her leggings and sweater before closing the door. She’s wearing a pumpkin-themed sweater, a bright orange turtleneck with a classic jack-o-lantern face. “That was a fun ride,” she smiles. Madi is a literal ball of sunshine.
How is she interested in Adrian of all people? Opposites really do attract, I guess.
“Yeah,” I mutter, fidgeting with the strap of my splint. “Fun.”
Jake approaches the two of us. “Ronnie and the others parked on the other lot so we’re just going to meet them at the entrance.”
We all start our trek towards the park entrance. I’m walking next to Madi, who is absentmindedly cracking her knuckles as she listens to Adrian gush about the studio tour tram that they “must ride first.”
On second thought, I understand now.
A hand grasps my left shoulder and pulls me back. I almost turn around and smack the guy before noticing Carson’s concerned eyes pinned on me yet again. “Are you okay?” He asks softly.
It doesn’t take a genius to realize that he’s talking about the car ride here.
Nodding, I lift his hand off my shoulder, which now feels cold from the absence. “I’m fine,” I bite out.
Carson tilts his head, strands of dark hair falling to the side and a frown turning his lips. “Are you sure about that? You kind of looked like you were about to pass out, earlier. Or vomit. Maybe both.”
“Well, I didn’t,” I tell him, my tone of voice annoyed. “I’m wide awake, with my stomach still inside my body.” Usually, in the dying seconds after a mini-panic attack, I can get a little bitchy. I shouldn’t take it out on him because Carson’s genuinely concerned about me.
And the thought of that alone causes my stomach to bounce around a bit.
I take a deep breath and count to three, allowing my organs to catch up with each other. “Sorry. But thanks for the check-up, Doc.”
He observes me for a little longer before nodding and I turn back around to catch up with Madi, who is listening intently to what Adrian has to say about…something. I don’t know—I’m not paying much attention to him.
My attention was shot by the boy walking behind me.