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“And you can just take it everywhere?” I pull out my phone and scan the barcode for the app.
“Well, you can’t go on the freeway, but yeah, cheap as shit. You need help?” He smiles and moves closer as I type, creating an account.
“No, I’ve got it, but thanks.” I smile, only to frown when he moves closer and his friend snickers and walks away.
“What’s your name?” The guy gets so close I can smell that he had garlic for lunch. And I’m done with all men today.
“Look, I don’t want to be rude, but all I asked was if these things were easy to use,” I snap, then feel like a complete ass when his smile fades, and he holds up his hands like I have a gun pointed at him.
“Wow, I was just trying to help.” He shoves the scooter at me. “Bitch,” he mumbles, and I almost drop my phone to catch it since it’s heavier than expected. The jerk runs after his friend.
On a deep inhale, I close my eyes and exhale slowly. I’m letting all this stress get to me.
“You can do this, Alex,” I say under my breath, looking at the many scooters parked in a row.
Again, a wave of homesickness floods over me. I miss my brother. He’d be making me laugh, saying this is not a good idea, but supporting my decision anyway.
Stop lying, Alex.
Okay, he’d freak and say I’m going to break my neck and to take an Uber. Then I’d suck it up and call our dad.
My teeth gently nip at my lower lip, and I look back at this scooter thing.Come on, this has to be a piece of cake. Everyone rides one.
I’m doing this.
I’m not calling my dad. And I’m also not getting bullied into dropping a class. Dean Powers will have to deal with me not being an engineering major.
There. All my anxiety is taken care of. I finish creating my account, then watch a quick video on how to ride it. Looks simple enough.
Clearing my throat, I walk over to a different e-scooter than the one the jerk shoved at me, scan the QR code, and like magic, it unlocks.
This has to be like skateboarding, only easier, I assure myself, trying not to remember the reason I stopped skateboarding. I’m still traumatized at the memory of having my dislocated shoulder popped back into place.
Puffing out some air, I put the other arm strap on so my backpack is ready and sweep the kickstand like the cartoon character did on the video… and nothing.
“What the–?” I jerk it as it moves forward, and the kickstand goes up. “Oh, thank God…” With a quick glance around, I hope no one was watching all this. Thankfully, I appear not to be of interest as I try to remember what’s next. The thing on the throttle says, Kick, Press, Go.
“Fantastic,” I mumble and push it. It instantly jerks forward. Holy shit, it works. My heart pounds with nervous excitement. This machine is my independence. It’s also good for the environment and cheap, win-win.
I swerve around a couple, ignoring them as they yell at me. I might need a little practice, but I’m doing great for a beginner. Just me and the e-scooter, and the wide open road.
“Okay,” I whisper, glancing at the bunch of cars behind me as I cautiously jerk forward and stop at the light. I think I need to stick to the bike lane, and smoothly turn when the light turns green. If I can do that, there should be no problems the rest of the way to Santa Monica.
Jesus, my hands are sweating and kind of aching as I try to relax my grip.Just focus, stay calm, and relax, I chant over and over as the car to my right speeds past me, alerting me that the light is now green, and green meansgo.
“Don’t panic, just look straight ahead,” I whisper as I push the throttle and move forward, slowly turning. Now that I’m actually on the road, I’m not seeing anything but cars.Just stay in the bike lane.I clutch the handlebars, trying to swallow and not scream as cars fly by me. A loud honk makes me instinctively jerk to the right as an SUV driver flips me off as they pull out of a parking lot.
“Oh my God,” I scream because I’m not in the bike lane, and all I can hear are horns and people yelling. This is how I die. I tried to save money, and I’m going to be run over.
“Get off the road.” A car jerks around me, pulling out into the lane intended for oncoming traffic except for a small window where it’s clear.
“Over that way.” A guy points.
Trying not to look, I jerk my head. But now cars are passing me on the other side, so I can’t do anything but go straight and pray I don’t crash or get plowed into.
“You fucking idiot,” he screams, then guns it forward.
Hot tears spill down my cheeks. I’m clinging to the handlebars. My knees feel like they’re about to buckle, and I’m trying to block out the fact that I’m literally in the middle lane on Pacific Coast Highway with what feels and sounds like hundreds of vehicles honking, their drivers screaming terrible things at me.
