Authors: Kelli London

Charly's Epic Fiascos (11 page)

BOOK: Charly's Epic Fiascos

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“I
t's easy,” Stormy said, and Lola was in the background, backing Stormy's insistence up.

Charly connected her earpiece with the cell phone, and listened intently to her sister and best friend try to tell her how to drive Outlaw's van. “The key's in the ignition,” she told them. “And I'm about to put it in drive,” she warned, then looked over her shoulder at the now sleeping Solomon and Outlaw.

“Make sure you look for oncoming traffic in the mirrors,” Stormy said, her voice coming through Charly's headset like her sister was right next to her.

“Yes. Do that!” Lola screamed, her mouth apparently next to Stormy's phone.

Charly nodded. She thought it sad and pitiful that she had to call home to get driving instructions, but she was too rattled to give it a go, and she needed to keep someone informed of her whereabouts. “How do you know all this stuff?” she asked her younger sister.

Stormy laughed. “The Internet. I'm at Lola's,” she explained. “So, do you think you got it? I don't want you to talk and drive. It's too dangerous.”

Charly nodded as if they could see her.

“Do you?” Lola asked.

“Yes,” Charly said. “I got it. Buckle up. Check my mirrors for traffic. Put the van in drive. Ease into traffic. Use one foot,” she said as she performed each of the things she said, step by step. She gripped the steering wheel tight, afraid to let go. “Hang up,” she told Stormy and Lola. “Hang up because I can't. I'm driving! Can you believe it? I'm driving!” she exclaimed as she pulled onto the expressway.

“Okay!” Stormy yelled. “And don't forget to power off your phone. Remember you have to save battery time until you find a plug to charge it.”

The line went dead before Charly had time to tell them it wasn't necessary. Her phone was fully charged, and so was her heart, she realized when she pulled into traffic and could hear its beat in her ears.

Cars and trucks now sped past her, blowing their horns and flipping her the bird. She looked at the dashboard. She was driving forty-five miles per hour, the minimum speed limit according to the sign she'd just passed, so she didn't see what everyone was so angry for. She shrugged, keeping her hands stiff on the wheel. If everyone was in such a hurry, they could just zip by her, she thought, then felt a stabbing pain in her stomach. It stopped as quickly as it had started, and it didn't worry her. Unlike Solomon and Outlaw, she hadn't eaten the takeout so she knew she didn't have food poisoning. A yellow light lit on the dash, pulling her attention for a second. The gas tank was almost empty. “Mmm,” Charly said. Her stomach seemed to be knotting. A loud noise rumbled like she was digesting food. She shook her head, then saw a big blue sign. A rest stop was coming up in a few miles, and the picture showed symbols for food and gas.

A low, moaning noise came from the backseat. Charly turned her head for a second, then whipped it back around. She didn't have this driving thing down yet, and, for fear of having an accident, she was too scared to look long enough to see who was making the noise.

“Ugh,” the sound came again, and Charly didn't know if it was from Solomon or Outlaw.

“Are you . . . ?” she began, then was cut short by her own stomach growling and hurting. She could feel the gas build in her stomach, and an intense heat warmed her from inside. She gulped. She'd felt this way before, but usually after eating broccoli or beans. “Ooh,” she whispered, lifting up her bottom from the seat. She'd cut one, and hoped no one knew.

“What's that stanking?” Outlaw asked, half asleep. His voice sounded chalky. A smell, worse than the one Charly had just dealt, filled the air. His god-awful breath.

Charly reached over and let down the automatic window. Her phone almost fell from her lap, and she caught it, then stuck it in her pocket. The van swerved, zigzagged into another lane. In the side mirror, she could see a car jerk into another lane, right before it blared its horn at her. She shook her head. She'd almost crashed trying to air out the van and save her cell.

“I dunno,” she lied, her stomach balling and aching. She had the worst case of gas ever, and had never felt pain so badly. Again, it slipped from her silently. She winced. It was so bad she couldn't take it.

“Oh. Ill.” That was Solomon. “Roll up the window,” he said.

“Smells like someone hit a skunk,” Charly said, seeing the exit just up ahead. Her stomach grumbled, her gas bloating her small frame and making her sweat. She gripped the wheel, trying to hold it in. Without thought or fear of having an accident, she punched the accelerator. The van sped, bouncing along and over potholes. Outlaw and Solomon moaned in the back, but she didn't care. She had to make it to the gas station as quickly as she could. Never mind the tank needing to be filled, she needed to be emptied. Fast.

She skidded to a halt at the stop sign, forgetting if the station was to her left or right. The area was desolate, and there was nothing but trees and farms in her view. Charly shrugged, then whipped the van to the right and sped, looking for a gas station. She'd driven almost two miles, and still, nothing. Sweat now formed in bullet-sized droplets on her forehead, and tracked down the sides of her face. She could feel the gas pushing its way down to her pelvic area; then like someone had punched her, it made its way out, loud and strong.

Outlaw broke out into laughter from the back. “I knew it. That's you, Charly! You smell like somebody done crawled up in you and died!” He was silent for a second, then moaned again in pain. “I ain't never eating that mess again.”

“Un-unh,” she lied. “I don't know what that is. I must've ran over something.”

There was nothing in front of her but open road; then she spotted a farmhouse in the distance. She'd make a U-turn there, she decided. If she hadn't seen a gas station yet, it had to be the other way.

“Mm-hmm,” Outlaw said.

Charly looked in her rearview, saw that he'd fallen asleep and Solomon hadn't been awakened by her gas. She exhaled, relieved, then tensed up as fast as she'd relaxed. The gas was attacking her again. She shook her head. The farmhouse was only a few hundred feet away, but she didn't think she could make it, not with the way her stomach was bubbling. “Here we go,” she said, slowing, then throwing the steering wheel all the way to the right, and punching the accelerator. The van shot down the road at over a hundred miles per hour.

In minutes, the filling station was in sight. Charly slowed and prepared to pull in when her stomach set fire again. She hit the accelerator to speed up, but had underestimated the power of the van. She'd bypassed the entrance. “Dang!” she said, putting the gear in reverse, and pressing the gas again. Her stomach gripped her, and she threw the van in drive, turned the wheel to pull into the lot, accelerated, and drove straight into a ditch.

“What the . . . ?” Outlaw yelled.

Charly's head bounced off the steering wheel. Her hand grabbed the door handle. She pulled. Hopped out. Dug her heels in the ditch and pushed her way up and out. She ran like she was on fire. Yes, she was sorry for driving them into a ditch, but she didn't have the opportunity to apologize or explain. The only thing she had time to do was run to the bathroom, and she wasn't even sure she was going to make it.

H
er head was heavy and she was embarrassed. Charly rinsed her hands, then pounded the pushbutton on the wall-mounted electric dryer. It didn't work. She laughed, unsurprised. Every move she'd made since leaving home had proved to be the opposite of what she'd expected. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Quickly, she dried a hand on her shirt, grabbing the phone. A text from Lola.

My cuzn lives in Detroit. Call her.

She'd sent her cousin's number in a separate text. Charly saved it to her contacts, then exited the bathroom. She smiled when she saw Solomon purchasing medicine at the register. “You okay?” she asked.

Solomon smiled. “I should be asking you the same thing,” he teased, opening the bottle of pink liquid, and guzzling it like Outlaw had the liquor. “Let's hope it works 'cause I don't like hospitals.”

Charly nodded.

“Here,” he said, handing her a bottle of the pink magic potion. “This one's for you.”

She drew her brows together in question. “I don't need Pepto. I didn't eat the food.”

Solomon laughed. “No, but you took a laxative. Maybe this will stop it from working.”

Laxative? What was he talking about? “I didn't take a laxative,” Charly said. “The only thing I had was some green tea.”

He pointed to a nearby shelf with over-the-counter medications, and Charly saw a bottle of tea exactly like the one she'd bought from the Chinese store. “I think you need to reread it, then compare the ingredients to another laxative.”

She was shaking her head when Outlaw walked in. Solomon had been right. Her special green tea was indeed a laxative, a fortified one that contained more laxative medication than the others.

“You ready?” he said to Solomon. “They just pulled the van outta the ditch.” He looked at his watch. “And not a second too soon, we got about two hours before the funeral.”

Charly noticed he wasn't talking to her, and she hoped he wasn't mad at her. She hadn't meant to drive the van into the ditch. “Outlaw, I'm sorry.”

Outlaw looked at her and
tsk
ed. “You sholl is sorry. I don't know what made me let you drive!”

“Alcohol and food poisoning,” Solomon reminded. “You can't just leave her here.”

Outlaw reared back his head. “And why the heck not? You know how much that tow truck cost . . . ?” He looked at Charly, then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Seventy-five dollars.” He eyed her. “You got that, and you can ride to Detroit.”

Charly gulped. Yes, she had the money, but if she gave it to Outlaw to cover the towing cost, she knew she wouldn't have enough to get to New York. She wasn't sure how much bus or train fare would cost from Detroit, but whatever the price, she was certain that giving up seventy-five dollars would make her short. “I . . . I . . .”

Solomon looked at her like
Help me help you. Please say the right thing
.

“Don't stutter now. You weren't stuttering when you hopped in the van for a free ride,” Outlaw said, scratching his head. “So is you riding or not?” he asked, holding out his hand for the cash.

Charly nodded, then turned her back to them. She reached into her shirt, removed the safety-pinned handkerchief, unfolded it, took out four twenties, and had secured it back in place in seconds. She hated to give up the money, but if she wanted to make the audition in New York, she had to part with it. She handed the cash to Outlaw. “You got change?” she asked.

Outlaw laughed. “Yeah. I can change my mind if you want,” he said, pushing the gas station door open and exiting. “I know this big head girl ain't expecting no change, Solomon. Like we don't need five extra dollars in the tank,” he complained, walking to the van. “Now y'all get in. I wiped it down, and picked up some number ones from Mickey D's for y'all,” he said, pointing to the burger joint that was attached to the building.

Charly, though upset from being eighty dollars short of what she'd had, smiled. Outlaw may complain and curse and drink too much, but he was okay, she decided, biting into the burger he'd bought. His having a meal waiting for her in the van was a clear indication that he'd had no plans of leaving her stranded.

Solomon's grasp was strong, Charly thought, pushing away from him. She'd just hopped out of the van, and was standing on the curb next to her luggage. What he and Outlaw had called Detroit wasn't really Detroit, no more than Belvidere had been the Southside of Chicago, she'd learned. They were actually going to Ann Arbor, Michigan, a town that was about an hour from Motown. “You sure you gonna be cool here?” he asked, stepping back and putting his hands in his pockets.

Charly nodded yes despite not really knowing. She'd called Lola, who in turn texted her cousin, who'd promised to pick up Charly from the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor campusâif Lola, Ms. Cheaper than Everybody, wired money to pay for gas.

“I'll be fine, Solomon. I'll just go in here and grab a brownie and a sandwich,” she said, nodding to the Panera Bread behind her. “My ride should be here any second.” She looked at her watch. They'd contacted Lola's cousin fifty minutes ago, and Lola had wired the money ten minutes after that. Charly estimated that her ride would be arriving within the next half hour, and she was certain she'd recognize Lola's cousin without problem. According to Lola, she and her cousin had always been mistaken for twins. How many black girls with natural blond hair and blue eyes could there be? Charly wondered.

Solomon licked his lips, then took out his cell phone. He handed it to Charly. “Call yourself. That way you have my number and I have yours. Call me if you need anything.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out some cash. “And take this five. We didn't really need yours for gas. Unc was tripping.”

Charly pocketed the five dollars and did as he asked, then waved good-bye to him and Outlaw, who'd stayed in the van pouring himself a little “something-something” as he'd referred to his Big Gulp cup now filled with alcohol.

“You watch yo'self, shorty doowop,” Outlaw said, throwing the van in gear as soon as Solomon climbed in the back.

Charly smiled. “Hey, Outlaw!” she yelled. “Just a quick question. How come no one rides in the front?”

Outlaw laughed. “Didn't you see my best friend sitting up here?” he asked. “Sorry if I didn't introduce you. His first name is Jack. Last name is Daniels.” He pulled off, and Charly laughed, noticing his license plates for the first time: ALKEE.

She'd ordered and eaten three brownies and a sandwich, and was now on her second cup of coffee. Charly had called Lola's cousin a million times and had only gotten a message saying the voice mail hadn't been set up. She'd also texted Lola for the umpteenth time, double checking the time Lola's cousin was supposed to arrive and asking for her name. In the midst of all the chaos, getting Lola's cousin's name had slipped her mind. She shook her head. Lola still hadn't replied. College students had come and gone, the work shift had changed, and the second manager of the day had asked her if she needed anything. Charly looked at her watch. Waiting for Lola's cousin had proved useless, she decided, getting up from her seat. She wheeled her bags into the bathroom, then splashed water on her face. A tired feeling had begun to take over again, and she couldn't risk falling asleep. Sticking her wrists under the faucet, she waited for the cold stream to help. She'd read somewhere that it gave your body an energy jolt, which is just what she needed.

The door swung open, and a red-haired girl wearing glasses and a Panera Bread apron entered with a huge backpack in her hand. She lifted the bag, setting it on the counter. It landed with a thud, and Charly could tell it was heavy. The girl gave Charly a courteous smile as she stood in the mirror next to her, unzipping the knapsack, and removing a cell phone and charger. She connected them and plugged them into an outlet on the wall.

“Excuse me,” Charly said, deciding she had to do something to further her journey. She couldn't just wait on someone she didn't even know to help her. It didn't matter if the person she was waiting on was Lola's cousin or not. Whoever Lola's cousin was, she didn't have allegiance to Charly. “Do you happen to know where the nearest affordable motel or hotel is? I gotta find somewhere to crash before I go.”

The girl pressed a button on her phone, then smiled when the cell made music, signaling that it had powered on. She set it down, then took out a tube of gloss from the bag's outside zipper, then pursed her lips in thought. “Well, there's an inn close by, I passed it on my way here. But . . .” She looked at Charly with large, dark brown eyes, opened the tube, and painted her mouth a fantastic gold. “You're kinda young. I'm sure they won't let you stay there.” She set down the makeup and took off her apron, revealing the University of Michigan T-shirt she wore underneath.

Charly laughed and shook her head. She waved her hand. “Thanks. I get that all the time, but I'm older than I look. How far is the inn?”

The girl rubbed and pressed her lips together, smoothing out the gloss. She picked up the cell from off the counter and looked at the screen as if she was expecting a call or notification. “Not too far. As a matter of fact, I'm going that way in about five . . . if you want to follow me.”

Charly smiled. “Speaking of five, if I give you five dollars, you think you can drop me off? My ride kinda didn't show up.”

The girl nodded, then shrugged. “If you don't mind stopping by the store with me first, I don't see why not. I was supposed to be meeting this dude here. But you know how these men are. You try to do right by them, and all they know how to do is do wrong.” She stuck out her hand. “I'm Nicole, by the way.”

Charly smiled. “I'm Charly.”

Nicole shrugged. “I'm so sorry to hear that, but I won't hold it against you. The dude that stood me up, his name is Charles.”

BOOK: Charly's Epic Fiascos

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