Chapter 2: California

I heard a sudden dinging noise and jumped, swerving off the road a little and nearly hitting my head on the ceiling of the truck. I sighed when I realized it was only my gas light coming on to warn me that I was very close to empty.

I hadn't even crossed the border into California yet, and I already needed to stop at a gas station. Why hadn't I filled up completely before my trip? And furthermore, why hadn't my mother reminded me too? The only answer to those questions was scatter-brainedness on both of our parts, even though scatter-brainedness probably wasn't even a word.

Oh well, now it was, I thought as I pulled into the first gas station that I saw.

To me, pumping gas was always very awkward. When I had first gotten my license, I refused to pump my own gas because I was certain I would get the pump stuck in the vehicle. The most mortifying image to me was driving away with the gas pump trailing behind me.

Renee told me that wasn't even possible.

I slid out of my truck and fumbled in my pocket for the credit card that I would use for everything on my way to Washington. I swiped it and began to pump my gas.

I narrowed my eyes as I saw that I had chosen the slowest possible pump. Leaning against my truck, I let my eyes wander.

An obnoxious family in matching Hawaiian shirts was piling out of a mini-van and into the convenience store for snacks. I counted them as they exited their large van…there were twelve of them. That was insane.

An older couple was getting back on their motorcycle, decked out in tight blue jeans and leather. They must have been in their seventies, at least. I raised my eyebrows. At least they were living.

I saw a guy walk out of the convenience store at that moment, carrying a newspaper and a pack of gum. He met my gaze and I immediately looked away, back to the pump that was still going slower than slow.

He was absolutely beautiful. I don't think I'd ever seen anyone so handsome before. He was young and tall, with bronze-colored hair and pale, smooth-looking skin. Get a grip, Bella, I told myself. I wasn't usually one to scout out hot guys and I hadn't ever been in a serious relationship before.

But I still couldn't stop myself from raising my eyes again.

He was leaning against the gray brick of the store, in the shadows, the newspaper open. Only, he wasn't reading it. His head was bent down, but his eyes were still fixed on me.

Alarmed, I turned around fully, looking out at the busy street. That was just…terrifying. He had a mysterious air about him, a way of transfixing people with his gaze.

I was beyond relieved when my tank was finally full, and I was able to get in my truck and continue my journey. I turned off the radio and turned up the volume of the GPS system. I couldn't help but take one last look at the guy in my rearview mirror. I saw him getting into a silver car and I thought to myself, Good. Hopefully he's going in the opposite direction.

I drove towards the highway, already a bit bored. My journey was going to be a plethora of highways. Not riveting hills and back roads and open spaces; just…highways. I sat up a little straighter and became a little more alert as I merged onto I-10 west, on the left ramp that would lead me towards Los Angeles. After a few moments, I was in California.

I glanced at the GPS and groaned when I saw that I had 344.5 miles until I had to merge again. 344.5 miles of highway road. Again, although I should have concentrated a bit harder, I turned the radio back on and resumed listening to the conversation and theories about the plane accidents.

I tended to stay in the right-hand land, because I considered myself "slower traffic". I knew I had a long journey ahead of me and that I should have tried to make good time, but highways still made me slightly nervous and I preferred going around 60-70 miles per hour. Not 90.

Although I was looking forward to seeing Charlie, whom I hardly ever saw, and having a bit of a vacation, I still found myself missing home. I sighed. I was homesick already and it was only eight o'clock in the morning. I reached for my cell-phone and flipping it open. I saw that I already had a missed call and a voicemail. Keeping my eyes carefully on the road, I dialed my voicemail and put the phone to my ear.

It was Renee. Not even an hour into my trip and she was reminding me to be safe, be wary of predators, to make sure I stopped for lunch, and to not, under any circumstances, try and drive the entire night through. We had already had that conversation at least five times. I was to stop at a motel when it began to get dark.

An hour went by and the same radio talk show was still droning on. They had moved on to more intriguing topics. Like the hobo that had run down the coast of a Californian beach naked and the dog that had supposedly told his owner to set his backyard on fire. Yes, intriguing, I thought sarcastically.

I glanced in my rearview mirror, as I usually did every once and awhile, and my brows furrowed a bit at what I saw. A silver car was a few cars behind me in the right hand lane, only it wasn't just any silver car. It looked like the exact same car from the gas station.

Stop it! I thought to myself. I had to stop because I was only making myself paranoid. I began to blame Renee. Every time we had discussed my road trip to Washington, she had warned me about the possibility of creepers. And now that was the only thing I could think about.

The silver car looked like the same car, but really, it could have been anybody. There was not only one car like that in the entire world. It was probably someone else. No, in fact, it was most likely someone else.

I hadn't even noticed that because of my close scrutinizing, my speed had decreased and people in the lane behind me were starting to pass me. But the silver car remained behind me.

I wasn't sure how I felt about intuition. Sometimes I didn't think I even had any. But I couldn't fight the strong, gut feeling that there was something strange about that silver car and that something overall was just not right.

But wasn't this paranoid feeling to be expected? This was my first major trip traveling somewhere by myself. Wasn't it normal to be a tiny more creeped out than usual?

Perhaps, but I told myself to knock it off before it became a serious problem.

I spent about four hours on that particular highway. The silver car remained behind me and it kept me occupied. I tried to tell myself that even if it was the same guy from the gas station, there was no indication that he was a stalker. Perhaps he was just going the same way I was. Maybe he lived here in California or maybe he was on his way to Oregon.

Maybe he was going to Washington. But that thought nearly sent me into hysterics and I didn't understand why.

After three hours, the silver car finally passed me and sped up. It was a four lane highway and my eyes widened a bit as the car zipped this way and that, weaving between different cars dangerously. He must have been going above 100 miles per hour. Why was he driving so fast all of a sudden, after being behind my slow vehicle for three hours? And how could he drive that fast so skillfully?

I was relieved that the last hour on this highway would be spent with no weird silver car behind me. But as the vehicle had passed me, my suspicions had been partially confirmed.

As the car passed, I glanced over at it quickly. I saw the unique, bronze-colored hair glimmer slightly in the sunlight, and the same guy from the gas station looking over at me, holding my gaze with his and traveling at my same speed, before he sped off.

Right, Bella, I thought bitterly. Even if it just happened to be someone from the same gas station going the same way you are, there is no rational reason why they would have followed you, then traveled alongside you just to look at you.

I tried to fight off the alarm.

Around noon, I merged onto a CA-57, north. After a little bit, I merged onto I-210 and decided that it would probably be a good idea to stop, since my stomach was practically howling and my bladder was close to bursting. I spotted one of those rest stop buildings on the side of the highway, the ones that had public restrooms and ATMs and fast food. I quickly got out of my truck, locking the doors carefully behind me.

I made my way to the women's restroom and afterwards, when I was washing my hands, I heard two middle-aged women walk in, talking loudly and excitedly to each other.

I peered at them in the mirror, seeing them standing near the paper towel dispenser. I didn't really care about their conversation; I just wanted them to move.

"Oh my GOD, Rita!" said the short, overly-tan women with the wild, black hair. "Did you see that man?"

"Did you just call him a man, Fran?" said Rita, a tall woman with obnoxiously red hair. "More like kid! He didn't look like he could be above twenty!"

"I hope this doesn't make me seem like a pedophile," said Fran, putting a hand on her friend's arm. "But he was smoking hot! It kinda makes me wish I was a young lady again…"

"Like we'd even have a chance, honey!" Rita laughed, leaning on the towel dispenser that I really wanted to get a paper towel from. "He's a heart breaker and a rare one! Did you see his eyes? I've never seen such a color -"

"And his hair!" Fran added. "That gorgeous color that reminds me of…bronze."

I froze and all of a sudden, the paper towel dispenser wasn't my first priority anymore. I pressed my palm against the soap dispenser again and resumed washing my hands, wanting to hear more of what they had to say.

But they had carried their conversation to the stalls and I wasn't about to follow.

As I dried my hands, I tried to fight the killer butterflies in my stomach. Anyone could have bronze hair, I reasoned. And besides, this was California! The sun made hair that way, right?

I hoped so.

I got lunch (ah, good ole' McDonalds) and retreated into the small food court, choosing a booth located behind a large plant. I ate as fast as I could, looking around, and looking for the guy.

I saw my buddies Rita and Fran come out of the bathroom and while walking towards Starbucks, they stopped abruptly. They looked like they were going to faint for a moment, before they started whispering excitedly and batting their eyelashes. I followed their gaze and sure enough, there was the mystery guy from the gas station back in Arizona.

I groaned and leaned back in my seat, trying not to look at him but failing miserably. He was studying the large map above the ATM machine, the map of California and the route that led to Oregon. I sincerely hoped he wasn't going to Oregon. That was the way I was going.

I pulled out my cell phone and pretended to text someone busily. Not that I really had anyone to text and I sure wasn't about to text Renee, because she wouldn't stop if I started. She had just discovered texting and it amused her endlessly.

When finally, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guy leave, I threw away my trash and made my way back out to my truck. I was almost halfway there when I stopped.

He was getting into that same silver car, parked just a few spaces behind me. And his license plate said Washington.

Nervously, I walked as fast as I could the rest of the way to my truck, before getting in and locking the doors immediately.

I knew I was being paranoid. No wonder he was on the same highway and no wonder he stopped where I did. He was heading the same place as me. He had probably been visiting family or friends in Arizona and now he was going home.

But that didn't explain his timing and it didn't explain his stares. I shrugged it off. Now that I had a rational explanation, I felt a little better. I turned on the radio and smiled a little as I realized the radio stations had finally began to play music.


A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I hope this story still seems interesting; I'm trying to keep it as intriguing as possible and I have some interesting developments in mind for the next few chapters.

I'd like to thank MapQuest because I sure don't know the route from Arizona to Washington.

Please review! =)