Chapter Text
***
Miles to NYC: 1,248
***
Jake Mix #19
Unbelievers – Vampire Weekend
Golden Skans - Klaxons
Kiss Me – Sixpence None The Richer
I Fought the Law – The Clash
Killing Me Softly with His Song - Fugees
Take Me Out – Franz Ferdinand
Don’t Look Back into the Sun – The Libertines
Disco 2000 – Pulp
Come On Eileen – Dexys Midnight Runners
Acceptable in the 80’s – Calvin Harris
O-o-h Child – The Five Stairsteps
Chelsea Dagger – The Fratellis
***
“Stop!”
“Buh is fuuuuuuuun,” Jake’s voice comes from the passenger seat, his words barely discernible thanks to the odd shape he’s making with his mouth.
Amy glances over, and, sure enough, despite numerous requests, he has his head stuck out of the window, his tongue stuck out of his mouth as he tries to lap up the rain like… well, like-
“You’re like a puppy.”
“Extremely cute and super fun-loving? Thank you so much,” he beams over at her.
She rolls her eyes, but can’t deny an ounce of amusement.
“You’re soaked,” she says, observing the dark curls tousled sloppily over his head.
“I’ll dry off,” he says, as if it’s obvious, going back to stick his head out of the window. “It’s been too humid, I’m just happy it’s raining.”
“It is nice,” she admits, noting the smell of petrichor in the air, “but driving in it isn’t super useful, plus it’s getting heavier-”
“If you want me to drive, just ask,” he says, putting his hands behind his wet head and kicking back, finally leaving the window alone.
“I don’t need you to drive.”
“What if you hit an adorable little animal?”
“Shut up, I’m fine.”
“Just saying,” he chirps, “safety first.”
“We’re going to have to stop soon anyway,” she ignores him, “we’ve been on the road for like, ten hours.”
“Actually, that’s a good point, can we get dinner?”
“As soon as we get into Des Moines,” she repeats for what must be the fortieth time this hour, or so she inwardly swears as Jake groans in response, “we will stop for dinner.”
“That’s like, another forty-five minutes.”
“Eat some more candy.”
“Any more candy and I will, indisputably, poop myself.”
“Gross. Don’t you have some gum you can distract yourself with?”
“Nope,” he says, and annoyance stirs within her- she could swear he almost sounds gleeful about it. “Guess I’ll just have to use the music.”
“Please no.”
“Oh, yeah, this is the one,” he says, fiddling with the CD player. “Get ready for almost a whole CD turned into a Jake-y karaoke session!”
“Ugh,” she grumbles, sitting upright and trying desperately to focus on the road. They’ve come to measuring time on the road by how many of his mixes any amount of distance might take- and yet she’s entirely aware that one mix is more than enough to wind her up beyond belief.
The rain is picking up, pummelling against the windscreen in angry, blurred swirls, the wipers futile in their effort to counter its effect. Amy leans forward, narrowing her eyes, desperately trying to keep her focus on the road. The enthusiastic bopping from the boy at her side remains incessant.
She can’t help it- she can feel her focus starting to slip. Perhaps it’s tiredness, but all she can think about is avoiding crashing this damn truck, the clicking of the fairy lights bumping against the corner of the window behind her fast becoming irritating. Jake’s singing and dancing only exacerbates her annoyance.
“Shut up!” She snaps, to which he only giggles. “Jake,” she starts, but immediately stops when a sharp wailing from behind the truck startles her.
As she listens, her stomach drops.
“No way,” Jake murmurs, looking at her- for a moment she thinks he looks genuinely amused, but panic glistens under those dark eyes. She’d feel smug, were the exact same feeling not paralysing her from within at this very second.
Amy checks the side mirror, and, sure enough, matching the loud crying of sirens that seems to ring in the very centre of her head, a patrol vehicle is tailing them.
“We’re being stopped by the police?” She whispers.
“Well,” Jake says carefully, “you’d actually have to stop for that to be an option.”
“Oh my god, right,” she jumps, suddenly aware that she’s not even slowed down, and, as respectfully and as perfectly as she can, pulls the truck onto the side of the road. “What the hell? What the hell?”
“Amy, calm down,” his voice is cautious.
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Jake,” she snaps, “we’re getting pulled over by the cops.”
“I know-” he starts, but she’s already nervously rambling-
“Okay, my license, my license,” she fidgets in her seat, searching her backpack. “Okay, here. Now we need to clean this up a little, it looks like a child’s bedroom in here.”
“It’s fine.”
“We don’t have time,” she says nervously, noticing the officer walking towards her side of the car in the side mirror, “just put everything behind our seats.”
“You already have it organised, Ames, it’s just our bags. It’s going to be okay.”
“Ames?” She asks, taken aback by him using her nickname again.
They look at each other for a moment.
It’s not like he hasn’t used that nickname for her before- it was actually the norm when they were kids, and she’s fairly certain she’s heard him say it once or twice over the last couple of days, but there’s something different about him using it to calm her down. He looks at her blankly.
A loud knock at the window jumps them apart.
Amy smiles apologetically through the window and opens the door.
The officer stood next to the truck is uncaring of the rain that pummels over him- in fact, he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses, standing quite still, rhythmically chewing a piece of gum.
“Hi, officer, sorry about that-”
“Ma’am, are you aware that you were speeding back there?”
“I…” She stammers. Is there a right answer? “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I was distracted by the weather.”
“If you’re distracted by the weather, maybe you shouldn’t be driving at all,” he says coolly. Amy feels herself go red.
“She’s not the only one,” Jake pipes up awkwardly, “I’m pretty sure I saw an old lady in her Prius who had two pairs of glasses on just to see.”
“You think that’s funny?”
Amy looks back at Jake, whose eyes have widened as he stiffens in his seat.
“Do you need my license?” Amy manages in a small voice. The officer, in response, only shoots out his hand, lifting his head slightly while he waits for her to hand him her license.
“So, what is this,” he says, snatching her ID out of her hand as soon as she presents it to him, still indifferent to the rain soaking him, “you and your boyfriend moving out?”
“We’re not… I’m not…” Amy stammers.
“We’re not dating,” Jake says quietly. “Not that it’s really any of your business,” he adds, under his breath.
“Watch the attitude, man,” the officer snaps, and Amy nudges Jake, more out of worry than in an actual attempt at discipline. “Hm. You photograph better than you actually look,” he says, handing Amy her license.
“Excuse me?”
“Listen, sweetheart, we can do this one of two ways. We can go through the boring legal crap or you and your date can compensate for wasting my time and I’ll be on my way.”
Amy looks back at Jake, astounded.
“Are you seriously asking us for a bribe?” Jake asks.
“Y’know, just suggesting that is an offence.”
“No it’s not,” Jake almost laughs. Amy’s stomach churns as she sees a hint of defiance flash across his eyes. She couldn’t trust this cop less, and she knows exactly how he’s winding Jake up.
“Okay, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.”
“What?! No,” Amy falters- “he’s just irritated. Long day, all the rain, tight schedule,” she tries, but to no avail. “Please, officer. Give me a ticket and we’ll be on our way- I’ll even make Jake drive so you know I’m not behind the wheel.”
“You seem awful keen to keep him out of trouble,” he responds, smirking a little. “Probably best I give you guys a quick search, y’know, just in case.”
“This is a moving truck,” Amy manages, her stomach knotting in anger. “It’ll take hours to search.”
“Just a quick once-over can’t hurt,” he mutters, beckoning to Jake, who hops out of the truck and comes round to Amy’s side. His face is still, watching the officer quietly.
“Can I ask your name and badge number?” Amy asks politely. This asshole won’t go unnoticed, she’s decided.
“Officer Pembroke,” he says, no hesitation, no doubt or worry or guilt in his tone. “0185.”
“Thanks,” Amy mutters, taking it down in her phone. “With all due respect, sir, is this really necessary?”
“No, no,” he laughs, “you don’t get to question my methods, sweetie.”
“Would you mind not speaking to me like that?” She asks politely, through gritted teeth, and, stood with his hands against the truck as he’s being patted down, she catches Jake smirk.
“Okay, I get it, he’s the scruffy idiot, you’re the spicy Latina-”
“C’mon, man,” Jake mutters irritatedly at this comment, rolling his eyes.
“Can we speed this up?” Amy asks firmly, trying to ignore the racial jibe, arms folded, officially tired of this absolute asshat of a human being.
“Sure. Open the hatch,” he demands, nodding to the back of the truck. Reluctantly, Jake heads over. Pembroke follows suit.
Amy jumps out of the truck, and follows them, watching on anxiously.
With a loud click, the hatch opens, Amy’s moving boxes and items of furniture exposed. Nervously, she pushes a few of them back, worried of the potential damage from the rain.
Pembroke cuts a couple of them open, rifling through her books, checking in between each of the boxes. When he comes to the corner of the truck, he stops.
“What’s this?”
He taps the back of her bedside table, wedged neatly into the corner.
“My… my bedside table.”
"Any reason the back is detached?”
Amy looks at Jake urgently, in utter confusion. It’s not detached, it’s not detached, it’s not detached, her head seems to insist. Jake wears a similar expression.
“It’s not,” she manages. “It’s pretty old, it’s probably just falling apart.”
“Could you please step aside for a moment?” He asks, and takes the small pistol out from where it sits on his hip.
“Woah, okay,” Jake begins at the sight of the gun, stepping back so that a good half of his body shields Amy’s- but before either of them can say anything else, Pembroke, in one swift whack, hits the back of the dresser. The small frame of wood on the back wobbles, clearly a little loose, but doesn’t give way. “Seriously?” Jake mutters.
Stepping forward, he hits the dresser again- and this time, the frame comes loose, clattering out of the hatch and onto the road. Amy scrambles for it quickly, nervous of the rain, despite how utterly saturated her and Jake have now become. She clings it to her chest as she stands up.
Pembroke’s face has splayed into a wide grin.
“Bingo.”
Amy’s stomach drops so hard she feels nauseous.
Sat awkwardly between the back of the dresser and a moving box full of books, sits a small bag of weed.
***
“Do you think they’re even allowed to keep us in here?” Jake murmurs, shifting awkwardly against the crumbling pale blue of the brick wall behind him. A small flapping noise comes from the soggy T-shirt uncomfortably peeling on and off his skin around his torso.
“Yes, they are,” Amy says, exhausted.
In a tiny holding cell, they’ve been sat, waiting for Pembroke to return, for at least two hours.
“My back hurts.”
“Mine too,” Amy agrees, noting the numbness in her butt brought on by this bench.
“Maybe we should go over it again.”
“We don’t need to.”
“We’re getting tired, I don’t want that jackass to try and use that against you or manipulate your words. We just need to be certain, in case he pushes more than a fine.”
“Okay.” She sits up. “That end table belonged to Raf. When he was involved with his friends-”
“With Dylan-”
“Sure, with Dylan. He would have had to hide his drugs somewhere. We just found it.”
“Right. And?”
“And it was a tiny baggie, clearly neither of us were using it. There’s barely anything there. It would be unreasonable to arrest us.”
“Exactly. Amy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about this.”
She watches him, a sincerity in his eyes. Her thumbs twiddle around each other anxiously- she catches herself, stops, in an effort not to concern him.
“You have nothing to apologise for, Jake.”
“I provoked him.”
“He was on a mission to have us arrested from the second he saw us. It’s honestly a miracle one of us didn’t punch him.”
“One of us?”
“Yeah. Only, I’m pretty certain I would have thrown a decent punch before you.”
“Not true. I learnt all my greatest moves from the best action franchise of all time.”
“I took self-defence at a precinct in the city.”
“Same difference.”
Amy chuckles softly, rolling her eyes, briefly calm as she sits uncomfortably in the one place, she thinks, nobody would ever expect to find her.
A holding cell in a police precinct just outside Des Moines.
“I think it’s safe to say we’re not going to arrive in New York as quickly as we wanted,” Jake says, smiling weakly at her.
“That’s okay,” she says, leaning back. “At this point, I think it’s pretty safe to say that this trip so far has proved that being on time or sticking to a plan is pretty overrated.”
“Wow,” Jake laughs, “of all the people I thought I’d hear saying that…”
“Yup. I’m truly broken.”
They chuckle feebly under the cold wash of the flickering light above them.
“Do you think they’re searching the rest of the truck?”
“I think so, yeah,” Amy replies. “God, the whole organisational system will be ruined. Move-in day is going to be a nightmare.”
“I hate to break this to you, but it would have been a nightmare either way.”
“But-”
“Nope,” he interrupts, “no list, system, or reminder will make moving into dorms bearable. I promise.”
“I’d end up improvising a plan on the spot anyway,” she murmurs, to which she receives an amused mumble of agreement. “It would’ve been the actual meeting people that would be the issue.”
“Oh, please,” he laughs, rolling his eyes.
“What?” She asks, a little defensively.
“You’ll make friends so quickly, Amy.”
Her insides warm, admittedly with a rush of excitement.
“Not that it really matters what I think, but you’re funny, and smart, and friendly, and in college you only need to be one of those three things to have a few friends. You’ll probably have a fanbase within a week.”
“A fanbase,” Amy laughs, evoking a few giggles from him, too.
“Okay, not Bieber-style, but you get my point.”
Their giggles die down, slowly, but surely.
“Thanks, Jake.”
“It’s okay.”
“Hey, you love this one,” she says quietly, after a little while.
“What?”
“The radio.”
Jake looks over into the small bullpen in front of them, relatively empty – perhaps given that it’s a Thursday night – aside from a couple of officers working quietly at their desks. Sure enough, his ears seem to prick up as he notices the radio playing softly in the corner.
“Oh, yeah,” he smiles, squinting a little as he tries to hear the radio. “You remembered.”
“Kind of hard not to, after the fuss you made.”
“I wanted it loud, you didn’t-”
“There’s loud, and then there’s deafening-”
“You admitted it was worth it.” He grins at her.
She looks at him, stubborn, eventually allowing herself to smile back. After a moment, she replies.
“It was.”
***
93.3 FM – KIOA
Steve James’ Alt Charts on Thursday! With co-host Uli Elizabeth
The Sound – The 1975
Coming of Age – Foster The People
Nothing In My Way – Keane
Trouble – Cage The Elephant
One by One – Sticky Fingers
There Is A Place – Tibet
Can’t Stop – Red Hot Chilli Peppers
Someday – The Strokes
Untitled – Interpol
Indulge Me – Vague
Silly Boy – The Blue Van
***
“In the back… move it... the wrong…”
Amy stirs at the sound of Jake’s sleep-talking, soft against her shoulder. She sits up awkwardly, as best as she can. She didn’t even realise she’d fallen asleep. The bullpen in front of the holding cell is now totally empty, apart from one or two desk lamps left on.
Noticeably, one of these desks belongs to officer Pembroke, she realises.
“One less,” Jake gabbers in his sleep, leant against her shoulder, his voice croaky and soft.
His voice warms her, lusciously sleepy and calm.
“Jake,” she murmurs, “Jake, wake up.”
“Huh,” he manages, sitting up. “Oh, sorry,” he says, lifting himself off her shoulder.
“I guess falling asleep on each other is becoming a habit,” she mutters, and immediately regrets it, freezing up as she realises that she’s just confessed to total awareness of last night in the motel.
“Right,” he says finally.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven-something.”
“What?”
“There’s a clock by the entrance, but it’s too dark for me to see the minutes,” Jake explains.
“Oh my god. We’ve been here for like, four hours. Where is this asshole?”
“No clue. Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d add another ten minutes for every look I gave him.”
“He said that?”
“Yup.”
“Damn it, Jake.”
“If I’d known we were going to be held up this badly I would have just bribed him.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I know,” he admits, “I’m just making a point.”
She stands up and walks to the edge of the cell, looking around. “Hello?”
“I don’t think anybody’s here,” Jake starts, but immediately stops when the sound of a door closing comes from off to the side.
“Alright, losers,” that familiar, irritating voice comes as Pembroke walks through the door, “your truck’s clean.”
“We know,” Amy murmurs.
“As for this bad boy,” he says, waggling the offending bag in front them, “we’re going to have to give you a warning and a small fine.”
“Okay,” Amy manages, desperately restraining herself from saying anything stupid. The last thing she needs is more time here.
He heads over and opens the cell, a smirk residing on his face as he lets them out.
“You’ll need to sign these.”
“No worries,” Jake says, a little too quickly.
When everything’s signed and sorted, they leave as quickly as they can, practically skipping out of the precinct.
“We’re free, we’re free, we’re free!” Jake sings, evoking a weak giggle from Amy. “I never thought I’d know what life’s like on the inside... but now I’ve seen it all…”
“We sat in an empty holding cell for four and a half hours, then walked five minutes to our truck.”
“I know. And I can honestly say I feel blessed to have made it out alive. God is real.”
“Okay then,” she smiles, “let’s just get going, please, I’m so tired.”
“Wait, I’m driving?”
“You bet your ass you’re driving,” Amy says matter-of-factly, swinging open the passenger door. “No way am I risking being at the wheel with someone as distracting as you sat next to me the whole time again.”
“That is fair enough,” he chuckles.
She jumps into her seat, slinging her backpack over behind the chair, and as Jake starts the truck, feeling the familiar grumble around her as it comes to life, she does a double take.
In the last few hours she has been caught with drugs she didn’t know she had, detained by the police, fallen asleep in a holding cell, and been set back a good couple hundred miles of their journey.
And sure, it’s unsettling. Definitely abnormal.
But somehow, it’s not surprising.
She watches him as he settles into his seat, making himself comfortable for the journey. Nobody she’s ever known has had the ability to remain as calm and unshaken by moments like these- even in Vegas, when he’d realised something had gone wrong, he’d acted immediately, then pushed forward as quickly as he could when they needed to keep moving.
Maybe it’s because he’s spent so much time doing the exact same thing at home, she thinks. He doesn’t seem immune to these few big events, not by any means- he’s tired, she can tell, a croak having crept into his voice and the creases in his button-down suddenly more appropriate to his entire demeanour, and he’s slightly quieter than normal, but by the morning she knows he’ll be back to regular Jake.
It’s calming, reassuring, yet exciting, the presence of somebody utterly willing to take on and handle these big challenges when they’re thrown their way. In it lies a kind of unpredictability, she thinks-
“Fuck!”
-Like the capacity to suddenly start swearing like a sailor, apparently.
“What is it?” Amy responds, jumping out of her train of thought.
“You’re telling me you can’t hear that?”
She stops, listens- and instantaneously an almost disgustingly noisy spitting noise becomes evident to her, as though somebody’s hitting the underside of the truck.
“Pull onto the shoulder,” she says calmly, “we need to check it over.”
“Right,” he agrees, steering the already slowing vehicle onto the side of the road.
The truck comes to a stop, and Jake gets out of the truck as quickly as he can, jumping down so he can check… well, Amy’s not entirely sure what he’s checking, she thinks, watching him crawl around next to them.
It occurs to her quite quickly that not everyone would have been taken through and taught the various stages of vehicle maintenance and repair. Sue her, it comes with living with eight males and a mother intent on stressing the importance of her independence.
She crawls over into the driver’s seat, still warm from where Jake’s been sitting despite only having been on the road for about five minutes, and watches him tiredly. As she stifles a yawn, her eyes drift lazily over the dashboard.
“Oh my god,” she murmurs, sinking into the seat as soon as she sees it. “Jake.”
“What?”
“It’s gas. We’re just out of gas.”
“Wait, what?”
He climbs up onto the step under his door, bringing himself up next to her, and look at the dashboard, where the little fuel light is flickering uncertainly, signifying the age of the truck.
“Oh my gooooooood,” he sighs, leaning his forehead on her shoulder. “Whyyyyyyyyy?!”
“Get off, loser,” she mutters, nudging him off her.
“Real nice, Amy. Good to know that in my desperate, aching moment of need-”
“-Please never use ‘aching’ and ‘need’ in a sentence together again,” she grimaces-
“- you are casting me aside.”
“Fine,” she says, crawling back into her seat.
“What now?”
“We try and get gas, I guess.”
“Say ‘gas, I guess’ five times fast.”
“You’re hysterically tired, aren’t you?” She laughs.
He only laughs in response, a tad exasperatedly, letting out a long, tired groan, stretching himself out before running a hand through his hair, his other propped up by the elbow against the window.
Dark, messy hair shifts under his fingers, a vein pronounced in his forearm under the warm lamplight outside as he tenses in his stretch, his eyes tired and unfocused, with his thick lashes occasionally fluttering wearily against his skin as he struggles to keep himself awake.
Heat pools within her as she watches him.
Briefly, only for a second, his tongue glides over his bottom lip, before his lips purse. He does this sporadically, she’s seen it, but not like this, not in a way that makes her want to mimic his movements with her own lips, do it for him.
An inkling of Stop! flutters through her head at this quite obvious, pulsing attraction to him, but her exhaustion overwhelms it, a sleepy haze that whispers go on as she looks at him. She knows what she’d do if she could, right now, wildly exhausted and hazy in the head.
She’d climb over, slot her knees over either side of him, finally weave her fingers into that hair and feel each strand against her fingertips. She’d move forward slowly, so, so slowly, and as carefully as she can, taste his lips, find out if that big mouth is good for anything other than relentlessly smirking, teasing-
“Amy?”
Aaaaaand she’s back.
“Hm?”
“You’re looking at me kinda weird, there, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m just, I’m tired,” she stammers, feeling herself flush with heat.
Nope. No way was she just thinking the things she was thinking. Her whole body recoils in embarrassment.
“So what do you want to do? I think there’s a gas station just up the road.”
“Yes,” she says, too quickly, granting a slightly odd look from Jake. She clears her throat. “Um, yeah. Let’s try… and see if we can get gas.”
“Right.”
“Okay.”
“Cool.”
***
At three in the morning, in a motel room coldly lit by an old blue lamplight outside, Amy is out cold.
One thing from her surroundings keeps her clinging onto those last threads of consciousness, though- the soft, repetitive drums escaping Jake’s earbuds from across the room.
She’s been trying to sleep with the sound of it niggling at her for the last hour or so, mostly successfully- arriving at a motel after spending a night in a police precinct and wandering around trying to find gas for a truck for a couple of hours, all after a long day of driving, makes sleep pretty easy.
Eventually, she lifts her head, trying to see if he’s asleep in the twin bed across from her. He’s totally still, lying face down with his arms wrapped around a pillow into which he head is buried.
She slips her legs out of bed, then tiptoes over to him, searching silently in the dark for his phone, eager to turn off his music. If nothing else, she thinks, he’ll give himself brain damage, with music that loud in his ears while he sleeps.
Gently, she tugs an earphone out of his ear, then the next, taking them as carefully as she can. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to affect him- he barely even stirs, still fast asleep.
Trapped under his arm sits the remainder of the wire, Amy realises, giving it a cautious tug in an attempt to retrieve it from beneath him. It doesn’t move, wedged firmly underneath him. Amy withdraws, deciding instead to look for his phone so she can stop the music altogether- she starts at his charger, following the cord with her eyes in hopes of finding it.
Obviously, he can’t even sleep with his phone on a bedside table- somehow, his phone, too, is buried beneath him, the corner sticking out from next to his waist, slightly concealed by the white fabric of his T-shirt that’s come loose as he’s rolled over. Amy pulls at the corner of his phone, once, twice, before it finally releases itself from his body.
Just as she’s about to congratulate herself for doing this in the dark, in silence, a loud cry startles the life out of her, and it takes everything within her not to yell.
“Oh my god,” Jake jumps, “what the hell are you doing?”
“What?” Amy looks at him incredulously, backing up, stumbling into the wall next to his bed, “Oh,” she puts two and two together- he just woke up in the middle of the night to see her, crouched over his sleeping body, holding his phone. Right.
“Y’okay there?”
“Yeah, no, that was just a little freaky,” she hands him back his phone.
“Title of your sex tape.” He beams sleepily, his eyes still wearily narrow.
“Shut up,” she gives his shoulder a firm shove before diving back for her own bed. “Your music was still playing and it was annoying.”
“Oh, right. God, of all the people I’ve ever thought I’d wake up underneath.”
“Huh?” Amy stiffens, grateful for the darkness of the room.
“Underneath… ahem,” he clears his throat, “like, several feet underneath. Not, like…”
“Right.”
“Yeah.”
Tense silence falls in the room, thick in the late-August warmth.
“Kind of a crazy day, huh?” Amy asks, eventually, somehow intrinsically aware that neither of them are asleep.
“That’s one way of putting it,” his tired voice responds, in a low chuckle.
“Are all your road trips back to NYU this exciting?”
“No,” he says, straight away, laughing, “I don’t think any road trip is gonna compare after this one.”
Inadvertently, her heart takes off, fluttering warmly in her chest.
“Hey,” she says, checking the time on her phone, “it’s almost been a week.”
“Huh?”
“A week tomorrow since we left Portland.”
“Woah.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry we’re a little off-schedule.”
“My fault as much as yours.”
“Well, I mean, not really.”
“No. Not really,” she says, and they both giggle. “It’s definitely more your fault,” she laughs-
“There it is-”
“But I haven’t stopped you. And not everything that’s held us back has actually been us.”
“And we’ve, like, chosen to stay together at some points, right?”
This catches Amy off-guard. His voice sounds uncertain, like he’s really asking a question.
Chosen to be together? She considers it. There have plenty of instances, sure, she realises, every single day this week, where they’ve chosen to stop to eat together, stayed a tad too long, gone to sleep or gone to dinner instead of driving just a few hours more.
“Yeah,” she agrees quietly, and she doesn’t know how, but she feels it in the room, and she knows Jake is smiling. “Basically, we shouldn’t be trusted with a moving truck and a time limit.”
“I don’t know,” he chuckles, “I think we’ve done pretty well given the stuff we’ve dealt with.”
Amy laughs.
“Right. A surprise trip to Vegas, an entire day stuck in a heatwave,”
“You forgot the first major hurdle.”
“Huh?”
“The infamous map incident.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I’m considering referring to it as MapGate.”
“You’re the worst.”
“I was petrified. I actually briefly considered jumping out of the truck and running home.”
“Oh, really,” she mocks, “what stopped you, the promise of your next burger?”
“Something like that,” he says, “that and the fact I’ve never been sat next to someone so sure of herself and where she’s going. Kind of impressive.”
Amy smiles to herself, looking up at the ceiling. If you’d have told her a week ago that she’d be lying here, laughing along with, even being complimented by the irritating, messy boy with whom she left Portland, she wouldn’t believe you for a second.
“Honestly, I think we do pretty well together,” she says quietly.
“Same.”
***
BREW’D AWAKENING
5045 NE 14TH ST DES MOINES IA 50313
SERVER: KAT
COFFEE X2 $4
BREAKFAST WRAP – BACON $3
BREAKFAST WRAP – EGG $3
TOTAL $10
COME AGAIN!
***
Jake Mix #11
Two Weeks – Grizzly Bear
Heavy – POWERS
Un-Break My Heart – Toni Braxton
Spaceman – The Killers
Adventure of a Lifetime – Coldplay
Lonely Boy – The Black Keys
Complicated – Avril Lavigne
Modern Love – Courteeners
Teenage Kicks – The Undertones
I Get Around – The Beach Boys
Little Talks – Of Monsters and Men
Electric Love – BØRNS
September – Earth, Wind & Fire
***
“That makes NO sense!”
“Right? She wouldn’t let me have it!”
“You’re telling me… your ninth grade math teacher gave you detention-”
“-Yup-”
“- because she thought Die Hard wasn’t a Christmas movie and you did?”
“Yes!”
“No.”
“I’m for real!”
“I just don’t believe it. You must have done something else.”
“My mom has the detention slip framed in our kitchen.”
“I want pictures.”
“Fine!” Jake pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens his texts. “Be prepared, it’s the most iconic piece of paper known to the Western world this century.”
“I look forward to it.”
“I still get angry over this argument, y’know,” he continues, sliding his phone onto the dashboard when he’s texted his mom. “The whole movie is Home Alone but better.”
“Plus, his wife was called Holly…”
“Right!”
“And at the end they finally discover the importance of family unity and love.”
“Exactly,” Jake enthuses, eyes wide with his passion for this subject, his mouth half-full of his breakfast. Amy watches him amusedly. “And Hans Gruber falls thirty floors and dies the most awesome death of all time.”
“That too,” Amy smiles.
It’s a warm morning, yet cooler than normal, yesterday’s torrential downpour seemingly having cleared the air. Both of them sit in what feels to be becoming a typical position: either legs kicked up on the dashboard or sat cross-legged, facing the other. Amy is currently positioned as the latter, sipping eagerly at her coffee, still a little worn down from yesterday’s events.
“Hey, is that yours?”
Amy looks up to see him gesturing to her phone, which is buzzing repeatedly on the dashboard.
“Oh, yeah,” she says, a little taken aback- nobody ever calls her apart from her mom or Kylie.
She picks up her phone, on which clearly reads one name she was not expecting to see: Julian.
“I should take this,” she smiles apologetically, jumping out of the truck. Jake looks at her questioningly, confused. “My brother.”
“Ah.”
She hops out of the truck and slides open her phone, accepting the call.
“Hello? Julian?”
“Ames, hi,” that friendly, authoritative voice comes, as if he’s taking a business call.
Amy is, and always has been, in awe of, best friends with, and totally petrified of her oldest brother.
Maybe it’s because he’s almost a decade older than her, or maybe it’s because he’s the closest in personality to her, just as organised and on-task and mature for his age as she’s always been told she is. Maybe it’s because he’s the trailblazer of her and her siblings; top grades, a scholarship to an Ivy League college, law school, married to his high school sweetheart and the sweetest, most away-with-the-fairies woman on earth. Amy wouldn’t be surprised if they started popping out grandkids soon- if there’s something that would please their parents that he hasn’t done yet, you can bet it’s round the corner.
The magical thing about Julian is that she’s never been jealous of him- she’s never had to compete against him for attention like she has with the other boys, because he was out of the house before she turned nine, and up until then he was essentially a third parental figure. She’d never admit it, but there’s nobody in the world she admires more.
“Hi, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says carefully, “I was actually wondering if everything’s okay on your end.”
“What?” Amy asks, then she remembers that inconvenient truth- she and Jake have been on the road for almost a week. She should be in New York by now. “Oh, yeah, I’m good.”
“How’s the trip?” He asks, and Amy can tell, just through his voice, that he’s holding back, a hell of a load more questions bubbling under the surface.
“It’s…” she tries to find the words. “It’s been eventful.”
“Uh-huh…” he responds slowly, “Mom said something about Vegas?”
“Yeah. Kind of a surprise detour.” She laughs awkwardly.
“You took a surprise detour?”
“Well, Jake took the detour, I kind of… happened to be in the vehicle at the time.”
“Right.”
A pause falls between them.
“How is Jake?” Julian asks eventually.
“Pretty much the same as he was when we were kids, but taller, and not eleven.”
“Sure, he must be in his twenties now, right?”
“Twenty-one, yes.”
“God, that makes me feel old.”
“You’re twenty-nine.”
“Still.”
“Anyway,” she continues, “I know I’m a little late, but I’ll definitely make it into the city for my move-in day.” She kicks a piece of rock by her feet as she paces, dust flaring around her.
“The 28th?” He asks incredulously- of course he’s memorised the date, she thinks. “How far off are you?”
“Well, we’re in Des Moines right now-”
“You’re only in Iowa?!”
“Julian, it’s okay, I’ve got a few days, and we got caught up with this officer last night so we were a little stuck,” she says, instantly regretting it.
“An officer? What the hell did you do that got you involved with the police?”
“Well,” she mumbles, “I was speeding.”
Julian doesn’t respond, which only makes her more anxious.
“Can I speak to Jake?”
“Why do you want to speak to Jake?”
“I just… the police, Vegas, wherever the hell else you’ve been, it’s not you.”
“What?”
“You don’t get into this kind of trouble, Amy, it’s not you.” His voice is firm. “You don’t even sound mildly panicked about the fact that you’re whole days behind schedule.”
“Because I’m not!” She feels her volume raise. “I’m safe, I’m happy, and I’m having fun, Julian.”
“Are you having fun or is he having fun?”
“Excuse me?”
“Jake. When you guys were kids he was always the one that initiated whatever competition or plan got you into trouble, I remember.”
“I just told you it was me who was speeding.”
“I know, but I’m willing to bet it was because of him,” he says, and Amy feels herself withdraw when he does, because it’s true. “Does this mean you’re not going to hand the phone over?”
“No, Julian, because I’m eighteen years old. I’m not a child. I can make my own decisions and I’ve decided to have as much fun as I’ve had this last week.” She looks back up into the truck window, where Jake is grinning childishly at his phone, warmth stirring instantly within her in response to his youthful happiness. “He’s my friend.”
“Riiiiiight. I get it now.” Julian’s voice is sarcastic, but warmer, as if he’s teasing her.
“Huh?”
“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think someone’s got a crush.”
She goes quiet. Her first instinct is to deny it, but nobody’s said it yet, and to hear someone pick up on that part of her relationship with Jake- over the phone, no less- from Julian… it evokes something excited, something scared in her.
“Maybe.”
There. She’s said it out loud.
“I’m sorry for being harsh, you know I worry about my little sister.”
“I know.”
“You promise that you’re safe?”
“I promise I’m safe. And as soon as I’m in the city I’ll tell you, and come to yours.”
“Ames?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to come to ours straight away.”
“I know. Actually,” she realises, “I’m meant to be stopping in Chicago.”
“Chicago? Dare I ask?”
“For fun.”
“As long as it’s for you, then good.”
“It is.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“I should probably go, I really just wanted to check you were safe.”
“I know. And I am, I promise. I’m not just saying this for the sake of it, but I genuinely trust Jake.”
“Me too. I think.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Julian responds carefully. “Just be careful and call me if you need anything. Anything, Amy, okay?”
“Yes, Julian,” she drones teasingly, “I love you, I’ll see you soon.”
“I love you too.”
She hangs up, clicking her phone shut, and looks back to the front of the truck, where Jake sits. He notices her, a smile spreading over his face before he tilts his head questioningly.
“Just wanted to check where we were,” she explains as she walks back. “Probably should have explained the delay to him a little earlier.”
“Potentially.”
“Did I hear you tell him about Chicago?”
“You did,” she smiles, settling into her seat.
“So?”
“So…”
“You want to go?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I mean, we do kind of attract trouble,” he chuckles.
“I don’t know, I’ve got a good feeling about Chicago.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she smiles. “I say let’s go now, get ourselves a place to stay, go explore the city, then have a night out. What was it you called it?”
“A bender?” He asks, watching her with that look, astonishment and excitement and warmth and intrigue all packed into his dark eyes.
“Yes. A bender.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
“Right now?” Amy almost laughs in excitement.
“Right now,” he beams back. “Music, maestro?”
“Of course,” she chuckles, picking out a new CD.
They buckle their seatbelts, and Jake starts the truck, the engine roaring to life much quicker than normal. Outside, the sun casts warm light over everything in sight, the beginning of another bout of warmth.
“Okay,” Jake says as they start to pull onto the freeway again.
“Here we go.”