That was the only reason why I agreed to trudge along.
“This kind of wind rarely lasts more than an hour,” Mandy says, resuming the conversation.
“I hope so,” I mutter and close my eyes, slumping deeper into my seat. “So, where are we exactly?” I ask for the umpteenth time.
“It’s a road trip, Ava. The beauty of it is that you don’t know where you are,” she says dryly, leaving the rest open to interpretation.
I watch her in thought.
Her lips are pressed together, and her grip on the steering wheel has tightened.
“Basically, you have no idea where we are,” I say matter-of-factly.
She shrugs. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m so not wrong.”
I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she hasn’t thought about a stopover to get dinner either.
I should have known better than to leave the planning details to her. Now, with thick rainclouds roiling and twisting over our heads, and the wind picking up in speed, I can only hope the satnav will guide us safely to the nearest town.
I groan audibly to communicate my displeasure. “You said you were taking a shortcut, but this shortcut is taking longer than the estimated time to arrival. How do you explain that?”
“Fine. If you must know.” Mandy shoots me a disapproving look. “We sort of got a bit off track, but don’t worry, we’ll get there eventually.”
I sit up, suddenly alert. “What do you mean by ‘off track’?”
Warily, I peer at the satnav, which is a palm-sized black device attached to the windshield, its screen turned to Mandy. Given that neither I nor Mandy are particularly adept at reading road maps, the whole purpose of buying the thing was to get us from A to B without the need for a map. I realize it’s been at least two hours since we last stopped at a petrol station. It’s been even more than that since we last drove past a city.
With a strong sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach, I turn the screen toward me and realize in horror that all it shows is a country road surrounded by a huge patch of green and a message stating ‘no service available at this time.’ There’s no street name, no information on the nearest highway, no sign of a petrol station or motel. Wherever we are, it’s not on the freaking map.
Shit!
We probably left civilization behind a few hours ago.
“We’re off the grid,” I say, mortified, as I stare at the screen. “Mandy!”
“It’s not a big deal.” She shrugs again.
“How can you say it’s not a big deal? We’re lost.”
“We’re not lost,” Mandy protests feebly. We’ve been friends for ages, which is why I know she’s lying. She catches my glance. “As soon as the storm calms down, the satnav will start working again. I’m pretty sure we’re headed in the right direction anyway.”
“How do you know?”
“Call it my gut feeling.”
“Is this the same gut feeling that almost got me expelled from school after you suggested we paint the walls red as a means of protest against the lousy food?”
Mandy remains quiet, so I ask the most obvious question in a voice that can barely contain my anger, “How did this happen?”
“I took a shortcut.” Her words come so low I’m not sure it wasn’t just the howling wind gathering around the car that spoke to me.
“What?”
“I said I took a shortcut!” she yells at me. Then she adds quietly, “Or so I thought. And then the damn thing failed—” she points at the satnav “—probably because I forgot to update the software.”
“This is so typical of you.” I open the glove compartment to pull out the roadmap, but all I find are cans of soda and several packs of Twinkies. “Where’s the map?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“I didn’t think we’d need it.” Mandy shrugs and stares ahead at the darkening road.
I laugh from the waves of hysteria collecting at the back of my throat.
Why would anyone ever take a shortcut in the middle of nowhere and consciously decide against packing a map? Then again, this is Mandy. Given that I’ve known her all my life, I have no one to blame but myself.
“There goes my backup plan,” I mumble.
“It wasn’t really that much of a backup plan anyway, given that neither of us has ever found her way around with the help of a map,” Mandy says, not really helping.
“But still. You should have known better.”
“What about you?” Mandy prompts. “You could have thought about packing one instead of obsessing over your non-existent love life.” The accusation is palpable in her voice. She’s trying to blame it all on me.
“I’m not even going there because I wasn’t obsessing. I spent the last few months working my ass off. You know how hard I had to work to get where I am now.”
“Where?” she asks innocently. “We both know that by ‘work’ you mean you were secretly obsessing about the fact that you shouldn’t have brushed off the guy who hit on you at Club 69.”
Oh, for crying out loud.