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With his gaze on mine and our noses an inch from touching, he says, “I guess that answers it. I’m definitely not a gentleman.”

He glances down at my chest, where my boobs are bubbled close to his body like they are shoved into a corset, and then his gaze finds mine.

His lips curl, and he adds, “And now we know, you’re definitely not a lady.”

I scoff and wriggle away.

Chuckling, he rights me and releases my arms, but then asks, “For real, though, if I give you my car, who will drive me around while I’m here? You?”

“I’ll trade you.” I hold up the puffy paint-embellished business card, testing plan C. At this point, I will do anything to get that car. I’m desperate.

I take on the tone of a high-stakes hostage negotiator. “This is the number for the best taxi service on Kauai. In fact, Jaz’s aunty owns it.” I nod my head toward the teen, like I’ve got the golden ticket in my hand. A granny-crafted golden ticket!

The man grins widely. Too widely, like he’s charmed, or he knows something I don’t. He chuckles and flips his baseball hat backward. And my God, this aggressive show of hotness might as well be its own act of war.

“I think I’ll pass, but thanks, Sparkles.” He smirks as he turns to walk away.

Sparkles? My fists ball at my sides. Sparkles! I grind my teeth.

With each step he takes, he flips the key ring and fob around his index finger and catches them in his cupped palm. Flip. Clank. Flip. Clank. Flip. Clank. My eye twitches with each metallic jingle.

His stormy gaze locks with mine when he bumps open the door with his butt. He pauses, mid-exit, to make a show of lifting the key fob and pressing the button. Behind him, a single black Jeep in the empty parking lot chirps with flashing headlights. A rakish grin spreads across his face.

An internal scream echoes throughout my insides, summoning a monstrous and fire-breathing wave of insta-hate. When it crashes, it’s so loud that my fragile mood fractures into a million broken shards.

I will not let this man have the last word!

“If I’m Sparkles, you’re, you’re . . . you’re a salami!” I yell, my arms flying.

His villainous laugh fades when the glass door snaps shut.

Game over. I lose. Again!

With a groan, I stomp my foot and face Jaz. She’s frozen in the act of counting money, studying me with apprehension.

“Really? A salami?” she asks, her head shaking.

“Didn’t you see it?” I flap my arms in frustration and smack my thighs. “It literally said SALAMI in huge gothic letters on his backpack.” My voice cracks as I try to make my outburst make sense. It doesn’t, but that’s what came out in the heat of the moment.

“Argh!” I’m furious for not coming up with a better put-down, or any put-down for that matter. In a few days, I will devise the perfect comeback. I just need a little more time.

Salami? Come on!

I’ve always been nice. Too nice.

No more.

From here on out, I’m a recovering nice girl with a budding bad-bitch streak. I will chuck a pail of water on every person who steps on my yellow brick road. And after they melt into a puddle of black ooze, I’ll dance away in my ruby slippers. Slash that—my hot-pink sparkly heels.

With my blood boiling, I cross to my things. One piece at a time, I dramatically lug the oversized suitcases outside.

Seconds after I’ve completed my mission, the front door shuts behind me, Jaz turns over the metal lock, flips the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and switches off the interior lights. She even has the nerve to wave good-bye as she wheels her electric scooter out the back door.

Unsure what to do next, I glance around the tiny rental facility.

The problem is it’s not only Jaz who’s closed. Every car-rental shop is. It’s exactly how it was when I arrived. What’s worse? The area marked for taxis is empty, and when I try the car-share apps, my phone won’t connect.

Seeing no other option, I call Jaz’s taxi service. Mercifully, the line rings, but after a moment it cuts off.