I sigh, yanking the driver’s side door open. “It gets me where I need to go. Usually.”
Before stepping out, my eyes catch on the black box Elena gave me yesterday, half-hidden under a pile of reusable grocery bags in the backseat. The neon-green monstrosity inside makes me snort.
If I ever need a blunt object for self-defense…
The joint she’d added as a “backup” present is still tucked away in the glove compartment.
“Well, at least I’m prepared forsomekind of emergency,” I mutter, stepping out into the damp air.
As I unscrew the gas cap, a gust of wind whips my hair into my face, plastering it against my cheek. The pump clicks to life, and I glance at the convenience store’s grimy windows. My stomach growls loud enough to make me cringe. It’s only been 30 minutes since I left, but apparently, my body thinks I’ve been trekking through the desert for days.
I duck into the store, grabbing the first edible thing I see—a protein bar that probably tastes like cardboard and a lukewarm bottle of water. At the counter, I fumble with my wallet, dropping a handful of quarters onto the sticky floor.
“Rough day?” the cashier asks, deadpan, not even looking up from his phone.
“You have no idea,” I reply, scooping up the coins and trying not to touch anything sticky.
Back in the car, the GPS chirps again.“In 2 hours and 20 minutes, arrive at Shadow Hill.”
I blink. “How did weaddfive minutes? I was standing still!”
The protein bar tastes exactly as bad as I imagined, and I toss the wrapper onto the passenger seat. My eyes drift to the glove compartment. For a second, I consider pulling out the joint, but no. Showing up to a listing smelling like weed probably won’t impress Sandra—or ghosts.
The rain picks up again as I merge back onto the highway, and my tires hit a pothole the size of a small crater.
“Of course,” I groan, gripping the wheel. “Why wouldn’t California roads try to eat me alive?”
The heater sputters again, this time blowing air so hot it feels like I’ve accidentally triggered an oven. I fiddle with the dials, but nothing changes.
“Cool, Betsy. Fry me alive, why don’t you? I’ll just add that to the growing list of reasons why this day is terrible.”
Another honk blasts behind me, and I glance in the rearview mirror to see a truck riding my bumper like I’m his sworn enemy. I ease into the right lane, muttering, “Go ahead, speed demon. Have fun being late to your midlife crisis meeting.”
The truck roars past, splashing more water onto my windshield. I flip the wipers back on, but they only smear the mess around.
My stomach growls again, and I groan. With the way this drive is going, I might have to find some questionable roadside motel to crash in just to avoid having a breakdown in the middle of nowhere.
The GPS chirps cheerfully again.“Recalculating… arrival time: 2 hours and 30 minutes.”
I grasp the wheel and scream into the empty car.
The smell hits me first. It’s faint at first, like something burning, but within minutes, it’s unmistakable—a mix of hot rubber and something vaguely metallic.
“Betsy,” I mutter, cranking down the window just enough to let the damp, rainy air in. “Please don’t catch fire. I really don’t want to explain to Sandra that I didn’t make it because my carself-combusted.”
The smell gets worse, like an old gym sock was thrown onto the engine for good measure. I pull over to the side of the road, the car sputtering dramatically as if it knows it’s on strike.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say, turning off the engine. Rain beats against the windshield like Mother Nature’s personal drumline, and I let out a long sigh, staring at the near-empty road ahead. The GPS mocks me from its spot on the dash, flashing“30 minutes remaining.”
“You said thattwo hours ago,” I snap at it, as though the GPS can hear my rage.
I glance at the clock. Four hours and forty-five minutes since I left the house. Four hours and forty-five minutes of bad roads, terrible rain, and Betsy acting like she’s auditioning for a role in “Final Destination.”
I give the dashboard a stern look. “Listen, Betsy. I know we’ve been through a lot today, but I really need you to pull it together. Just this once. No more breakdowns, no more tantrums. Just get me there, and I’ll… I don’t know, get you detailed or something. I’ll even clean the fries out from under the seats.”
The car is silent, but I swear it’s judging me.
Ten minutes pass. The rain doesn’t let up, and I’m stuck sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for the smell to fade or the courage to try the ignition again. I drum my fingers on the wheel.
