Chapter Nine
Vivian
Once Jonah gets approval from his boss, things take off. George brings home a used van he bought so we wouldn’t be right on top of each other, and he beams as he shows it off. I swear, I’ve never seen the man this excited about anything. Mom told me they used to go on trips with Jonah’s grandfather before he passed away.
The van is old and dusty. I wrinkle my nose at the interior.
Maisy climbs into the back. “Get in, Vivie.”
I shake my head. I love my clothes too much.
Jonah rolls his eyes. “Sorry it’s not up to your standards, princess. We don’t all have trust funds.”
Fucking asshole. How am I going to survive this trip? “My standards? I don’t need anything fancy.” I gesture to Maisy and her dust-covered jeans. “But I’d like it to be clean.”
“I’m detailing it today.”
I’m assuming that means cleaning it. I don’t own a car. I have a driver’s license, and I’ve driven, but it’s not my favorite. In New York, there’s no need to own a car.
Even though the van is much bigger than either George’s or Jonah’s vehicles on the inside, it still looks too small for all of us to ride in for ten days without doing bodily harm to each other.
I call Frankie and update her. “Oh my God, Viv! This is the best news ever,” Frankie squeals. I pull my phone away and rub my ear.
“Or the worst,” I say dryly.
Then my best friend laughs. “You did say you’d get here by any means possible.”
“Rude. Throwing my words back at me.” I groan. “Two weeks stuck in a car with Jonah? No thanks. I’m not into torture.”
She snorts. “That’s not what you said last week.”
“Rude,” I say again. “Last week was different.” Torture had definitely been on the table. Or rather, I’d been on the table. Being tortured. Nothing too intense. And the guy drove a motorcycle, so at least he was somewhat interesting. And if I imagined my stepbrother’s voice telling me to take his fat cock as he fucked me, well, that was no one’s business but my own.
After talking to Frankie, Mom and I work on planning the trip. Jonah insists on being involved, so I don’t mess everything up. Mom deserts us pretty quickly, so I argue with Jonah just for the point of it.
“No go-karts.”
“But I love go-karts,” he says like an excited puppy. Jesus Christ.
“Not happening.” I search through my phone for more ideas.
“Because I suggested it?”
I glance up. He’s got that mutinous look on his face, and I can’t help poking the bear. “Yes. Exactly.”
He grabs the notebook off the table and looks over my notes. “Colorado Springs? What are we doing there?”
“We don’t need a plan for everything, Jonah. Being spontaneous can be fun.”
“I’m fine going with the flow, Vivian. As long as I’m in charge of the flow. And I can direct the flow.”
Fuck. I am so screwed. I resist the urge to fan myself. “Weirdo.”
“Jerk.”
But the name-calling is lackluster at best. By some unspoken agreement, we’re trying to get along. It might not last. Oh hell. Who am I kidding? It definitely won’t last.
As soon as possible, I sign up for the talent show. The prize is five thousand dollars, and while the money isn’t what I’m after, it certainly won’t hurt.
