Chapter 17
Roscoe smells like a dog who has spent his entire life in a sweaty locker room filled with pigs. It’s not just that normal dog smell when a dog is dirty or has been outside a while. It’s about a thousand times worse than that. I know I probably smell too, since I’ve only given myself a fresh coat of deodorant in the last two days instead of a real shower, and Aunt Donna isn’t too great herself, but the dog makes the air a stifling fog of stank.
I drive with the windows down and the air conditioning cranked. Aunt Donna insisted that Roscoe was fine in the back seat laying on top of her bags, and so far he doesn’t look too uncomfortable. The massive white dog hangs his head out of the window, letting a stream of drool splatter all over the outside of my car.
I’m starting to think that letting the car get taken in the hurricane would have been a better fate for this poor thing.
But at least we’re on the road, and the traffic isn’t bad, and for the first time since I left my house, I know exactly where to go. It’s a straight shot up Interstate 45, and then we exit at the De Sota exit. It’s easy to remember, but I keep repeating it to myself anyway.
I get plenty of cell phone signal now, so I have my phone plugged into the car’s USB port to charge and the GPS is locked onto our hotel. I refuse to get lost again.
April texts me and I reach down to grab my phone. Aunt Donna slaps my hand.
Like, not a playful smack the way my mom might do if I’m reaching for one of her blueberry muffins before they’re ready, but an actualslap.
“Ow!” I jerk my hand back and shake it trying to wring out the sting. “What’d you do that for?”
Aunt Donna’s lips flatten and she glares at me and I’m reminded of that very mean second grade teacher we had back in elementary school.
“You are driving a car, Ella Lockhart!” She punctuates each word as if she thinks I’m slow and I need the extra attention to understand what she’s saying.
“We’re going twenty miles an hour,” I say, glancing forward at the traffic. When we left Kountry Korner, we were going at a pretty good speed, but over the last ten minutes the traffic has gotten thicker, and with it our speed has dropped significantly. It’s still moving though, so that’s good.
“You can still die at twenty miles an hour,” she says, still glaring at me. “And even if you don’t die, getting in a wreck right now would be an awful inconvenience. You think the cops will show up soon?” She snorts. “Hardly. We’ll be waiting for hours just to file an accident report that will most definitely raise your insurance rates and get you in trouble.”
I’m trying so hard not to roll my eyes. I mean, I get it. I do. I don’t text and drive and I don’t play with my phone under normal circumstances. But we’re going so slow, and I’m pretty sure I’m capable of glancing at April’s text without dying.
My phone gets another text from April.
“Don’t even think about it!” Aunt Donna says.
“I just want to read them!” I say, as another text comes in. “That’s no different from reading the GPS instructions!”
“It’s completely different. The GPS talks to you and tells you where to go.”
I can tell she’d be pissed if I tried to take my phone again, and I’d really like to avoid any more unpleasantness. I don’t really know my aunt very well anymore. She used to be fun and sweet and charmingly eccentric. But now that I’m not a kid anymore, she’s not treating me like one. This is just so awkward.
We drive in silence, those texts from April going ignored. Then I get another text from her, and I don’t even bother trying to see what it says. I wish I had one of those fancy new cars that display your texts on the screen while you drive. Ethan’s truck does that, and it’s the coolest thing ever. You can press a button to talk and tell it what to reply back.
But I’m stuck in my crappy car that’s technically my dad’s, and there are no futuristic texting features to help me out. The GPS says we are nearing Blackwell again, which means I’m finally back to where I started. I shouldn’t be more than an hour away from the hotel if traffic stays good.
There’s no point in listening to the radio because all the stations are talking about the hurricane and the horrible devastation it’s caused along the coast. I listen to it for a while, but then I get overwhelmingly sad for the people on the coast, and my fear for my little town grows too big to handle. I don’t want to think about my parent’s meager possessions they’ve acquired in our new rental home. I don’t want to think about it all getting wiped away and making them start over again. I don’t want to think about Evan’s house or his family losing all of their things too.
I shut off the radio and listen to the sounds of Roscoe panting in the backseat. Aunt Donna stares out the passenger window, and she’s so quiet I almost forget she’s in here.
We drive for half an hour longer and then my mom calls. Aunt Donna grabs my phone before I can even consider it.
“Hi Samantha,” she says. “We’re almost there. Got like maybe twenty minutes left. Mmhmm… Yeah.”
She glances over at me. “Ella’s driving so she can’t talk right now. Wouldn’t be safe. I’ll tell her. Okay. Bye.”
She ends the call and puts my phone back in the cupholder. “Your mom says to call her when we get to the hotel. She’s a smart woman, and she knows it’s better to be safe and only talk on the phone when you’re not driving.”
I’m pretty sure my mom said none of that last part, but I nod anyway. “Okay.”
“You don’t need to be sarcastic,” she says. “I’m just looking out for you. When you get my age you’ll understand.”
I take one hand off the wheel to rub my forehead. The traffic had started to ease up and we got to drive up to fifty miles an hour, despite the speed limit being sixty-five. But now it’s slowing down again. You’d think all these people would be eager to evacuate, but they drive like they’re taking a casual Sunday morning stroll.
