Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Saga.


It is now 7:30. I am running frantic.

"Mom! Where are Dad's car keys!" I clearly remember placing them on top of the box of Cheerios. But I look, and I only see Special K. Did I put it by the milk carton?

Inside the fridge, I find the keys sitting snugly between the cheese slices.

I look at the clock. 7:37

- - -

"Did you even bother to set your alarm clock?" Jess grumbles while we are in the car. In my defense, she didn't call me to confirm our plans.

We are now driving south. It is 8:00. All I see are trees. Trees and cement.

"So...here we are," I say, tapping the steering wheel. Jessica fastens her seat belt.

"Yeah," she sounds relaxed. "We should get there sometime tonight, if we drive fast."

Yippee. "When do you want to take over the wheel?"

"When you're ready to collapse."

"Okay."

She puts her feet over the dash. Which reminds me, I didn't have any music with me, and reception was probably bad along the interstate, especially in my dad's slightly old Hyundai.

I look at Jess. Her eyes are closed.

"Jess?"

"Yes?" I try not to smile at the rhyme.

"Did you—by any chance—bring some CDs?"

She opens her eyes and sits straight. "Actually, I burned a couple. Just some mixed CDs. Here, lemme get them." She reaches behind for her large purse and rummages through it.

I was hoping she would say no. But I will never tell her this.

To my horror, the disc she puts in is markered "Jack Johnson/ Death Cab".

Jess reclines in her seat. The CD player makes a whirring sound, meaning it is processing the disc.

My eyes twitch. I inhale sharply.

Some acoustic-y type guitar intro plays.

Ignore the music, Mike. Ignore it.

"Do you remember when we first met?
I sure do.
It was some time, in early September..."

Oh, hell no. This is not the type of music to drive to, especially when I have hours of lonely road ahead of me. Maybe if Jessica is asleep... No, she's looking out the window. Her fingers are tapping against her thigh.

"You play me boogey-woogey;
I play you love songs.
You'd say we're playing house.
Now you still say we are..."

I stare past the windshield, hear past the music, and concentrate on getting a mile closer.

A mile away from home, a mile closer to destination. Every freakin' tire revolution.

- - -

How many songs does Death Cab for Cutie have? Why do they all sound sad?

I think Jess picked the saddest of the bunch, because no band can write about depression that much. Unless they were zombies. If they were, Eric's never told about them to me.

I frown. All I see is road. Besides me, Jess stares out the window. It's drizzling.

I clear my throat. "Jess? How far away are we?"

She looks at me when she should be looking at the MapQuest printout.

"Six hours, maybe less."

I look at the CD player. Track 18 is over, and—

"Jess, switch the CD. It's over."

She fishes two silver discs from the back.

"Which one do you want first? Coldplay or whatever?"

"What's whatever?"

"Mixed songs. Random, really."

"Okay, put it on," I say.

- - -

"What song is this?" I ask her after a while. The song is soothing—if you're into that kind of music.

"You wouldn't know it." I can tell she is trying to sleep. Her back is facing me and she sounds annoyed.

"Who's it by?"

"The Shins," she murmurs. "I'll drive in two hours."

I stop asking questions.

- - -

After half an hour, I stop at the gas station. I pay almost forty dollars for a full tank. Life is cruel.

Back in the car, another song starts. I strain my ears.

It can't be...

"Modest Mouse!" I say in awe. I look at Jessica, but she is asleep. "It really is." She remembers my favorite band.

I smile.

"I backed my car into a cop car, the other day," I sing along. "Well he just drove off sometime's life's okay..."

- - -

Jessica is driving. We ate—Burger King—before switching positions. It is getting dark.

"Look at that sunset," Jessica says softly.

I look to the right. The sky is pink and orange and purple. Strawberries and oranges and bruises.

"It's nice." I yawn. I want to cover what little sunlight is shining on the window and snooze.

"We're in San Francisco, you know," she says sweetly. "We'll be in the hotel in a few minutes."

Yeah, a hotel is fancy. That was my two weeks' salary, and of course Jess chipped in her share.

"Well," I cough. "That was fast."

She rolls her eyes.


I don't know about this chapter. It's pretty pointless.