Ariel drives a pick-up truck so rusty I seriously think should be illegal, or at least it should be mine if only I could get my driver's license. But if I got my hands on any steering wheel I would just be a rapid motion hazard so it's better if she keeps me in the passenger seat as long as possible.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpunQC9pN5B
Or dead in the trunk.
Or nested in the truck's bed like I am right now. Well, more like slumped, really.
–Sit like a normal person would, can you?– She noticed. Because she always does. Because she's the older sister. Always so responsible. I think she's paid to be such a killjoy.
–We're not even moving.–
–Well we're about to, since Angel is nowhere to be seen and we're going to be late.–
It takes quite a moment to straighten up, because like the genius I am I did not take my backpack off when I jumped in, and she watches me struggle from the rear view mirror. I also sound like some rodent stuck in a tin can, on top of that. At least Angel can't see me or I will never hear the end of it. Ariel is used to my lack of dexterity by now.117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqEj14l8CRo
–Can't you give him a call?– I already know every single one of the things she's going to say from here on out. Bet. 117Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSTlWIW1Ulp
–No can't do, my phone is broken, I do not know his number by heart, much less his brother's, yes he knew you'd be driving us today and he's got better sense than to stand up a lift. I think.– Ariel's rides are amazing, mainly thanks to the monstrosity she drives, but her company isn't that bad either. Most of the time.
–Okay, weasel, given all that,– she shouts over the engine's sputters as she turns it off –It's time we pay him a visit.–
I have to grab the seat with both of my hands as I lean forward with half of my body, because this is not a good idea. At all. What if his brother opens the door, or worse, if his mother does? I've been shouted at for way less. I feel like being put under a restraining order by the strictest law enforcing unit in the world and it sucks, especially given that I haven't done anything to deserve it. At least the hate is mutual.
–I'm not getting anywhere near that door, it probably has a mouse trap instead of a doorbell.–
–You wait here then, I won't get lost.–
–I'm not worried about you getting lost, I'm worried about you getting shot right in the middle of that big ass forehead of yours because, like an idiot, you got too close.–
She's already on her way! Like she doesn't even hear me!
–Don't get too excited, you're not inheriting the truck anyway.–
I can't believe her, she might be an adult but she behaves like a child! Well then, if she doesn't want to listen to me, so be it. I slump down on the seat again, there's not much I can do other than that, and look up at the sky: it's the best part about an open car, after all.
It's still chilly, obviously, it's barely eight in the morning, but the sun is already up and the sky is blue and neat as it should be at the beginning of May. Not a cloud in sight. I like the autumn more, because everything looks warm and cozy and it's time for expeditions in the chestnut groves and brambles, and I like the smell of damp dead leaves as we walk in the woods looking for mushrooms to draw, but spring has its perks too. Apricots and cherries, mainly. Also, the sunlight lasts longer and the temperature begins to rise, which on one hand makes school even more difficult to bear, but on the other hand is overall a nice thing.
School, school, school, I'm just so tired, I can't wait to be over with it. It's just a month and a half and then I'll be out of there. I'm not Angel, I'm not an artsy intellectual that any university would want, but I'm quick to learn and good at fixing things and at Ariel's work they're always looking for handymen, so until I choose what to throw myself into I will have something useful to do. And even if I end up deciding that higher education isn't for me, so be it. I'm not afraid of working odd jobs, it actually scares me less than a degree right now.
Angel, oh, Angel is another story. He wants to be a comic artist, but he's so smart, he could do anything he'd set his mind to. He breezes through textbooks and sketchbooks, he's always writing, drawing, studying, painting, taking notes. He was born for signings and conventions, just like Ariel was born for stages and performances. They're not the kind to serve tables their whole life, they're the local hotshots.
–Wes!–
While getting lost in thought I slumped down again, but even from here I can recognize my sister's voice and the unusual edge to it. The urgency of it is enough for me to get up smoothly this time, a motion so fluid it deserves an applause, and I squint against the remnants of the morning mist.
Angel lives in a resigned farmstead in the middle of the fields and to get there from the road you have to take what among the townsfolks is known as the boulevard, but is really just little more than a gravel path sneaking through the farmlands. There's Ariel, alone, walking back towards the truck.
–Yeah?– I call back but get no answer other than a wave from her. I can't stand when people do that, it's something she got from dad and it makes me itch all over. I'm an impatient and curious one, as everyone likes to remind me with that stupid little nickname of mine.
–Yeah?– I ask again, clearly annoyed, while she climbs back in. She does look worried though, which isn't reassuring. What did the sea cucumber tell her? I can and will fight.
–Angel isn't home.–
–What? Did he take the bus? I knew he was dumb but not that dumb.–
–He didn't take the bus,– she sighs as we set off, –Not that they know of, anyway, they haven't seen him since Friday.–
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