Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Go,” he says to me.
Maren
Ozzy: It’s Lola. I’m using my dad’s phone. Can u pick me up?
It’s my first night out since I’ve been home. After Ozzy and Lola left, my parents decided to take me to dinner. As we finish our steaks, I stare at my phone.
Maren: Where are you?
Ozzy: Home
Ozzy: Dad and Nana are fighting about me
Maren: What do you mean by pick you up?
Ozzy: Take me to your house
Maren: I can’t ride a bike yet. Do you want me to come over? I can sneak around the back of the house.
Ozzy: No. Just come get me. I don’t want to be here
“Who are you texting?” Mom asks.
“Lola. She wants me to come get her, but I told her I can’t ride my bike yet. Apparently, Ozzy and her grandma Tia are arguing.”
“I could ride your bike over there,” Dad offers.
“It’s getting dark. I don’t have a light on my bike.” I frown, staring at my phone screen, trying to figure out how to help her.
Ozzy: Come get me in your car
I read her message over and over.
“How far is Ozzy’s from your place? Could I drive your car, and your dad and Lola ride behind us?” Mom suggests.
“She wants to ride in my vehicle,” I murmur slowly, just above a whisper.
“Are you sure?” Mom asks.
I show them the message.
They return wide-eyed gazes.
“Aaron, get the check,” Mom says.
Minutes later, we’re on our way to Ozzy’s. I don’t want to take off with Lola without Ozzy’s permission, but I also don’t want to pass up this opportunity if Lola’s feeling extra brave tonight.
Maren: We’re on our way. See you in five minutes. I’ll pick you up on the street
As I give my dad directions from the back seat, I can’t stop my knee from bouncing, my hands from fidgeting, or my heart from racing.
“There she is,” I point to the sidewalk where she’s waiting, closer to the neighbor’s driveway, out of view from the front window of her house.
I open the door and slide over so she can step into my RAV. “Hey” is all I say as she nervously nibbles her bottom lip and wrings her hands in front of her, staring at the empty seat. I’m afraid to move another inch or say anything.
Lola glances behind her and back into my vehicle, and tears fill her eyes. “M-Mom said the middle is the m-most safe. But I-I wanted to sit behind her s-so I could see my grandpa.”
“Do you want me to go inside the house with you?” I ask.
She slowly shakes her head. “If I do this”—her lower lip breaks free from her teeth and trembles like her voice—“they’ll stop fighting.”
I’m so conflicted. Do I let this happen? Do I encourage her to get into a car out of fear that they won’t stop fighting? Will Ozzy be upset if I let this happen? What if we get into an accident? He’d never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself. I can’t control other drivers like I couldn’t control the weather in Canada. But my dad is an incredibly safe driver, and we don’t have to go but a few miles and nothing over thirty-five. Still . . .
Just as my fear and self-doubt start to win, I open my mouth to tell Lola it’s not the right time and this isn’t the way to get anyone to stop fighting. But she climbs into the back seat, in the middle next to me, and fastens her seat belt. One of her hands grips the edge of the seat while her other reaches for my hand, holding on for dear life.
My parents angle their bodies, gazing back at us.
“Let’s go home,” I whisper, stroking my thumb against her hand.
No one says a word as my dad drives five under the speed limit back to my house. When we’re parked in the garage, my parents climb out, but Lola doesn’t move. Mom eyes me with her door still open. I give her a tiny grin, hoping she’ll close the door and go inside the house.
They do.
Lola and I sit idle and silent for at least another five minutes. Then she eases her grip on my hand and exhales so profoundly that her relief also drains my lungs.
“I did it,” she whispers.
And maybe it’s not the best timing, but I don’t have any control over the tears that spring from my eyes.
I need to text Ozzy and tell him the good news. I also need to let him know that I have Lola, and she hasn’t gone missing or been kidnapped.
“Why are you crying?” Lola asks, unbuckling her seat belt.
I wipe my eyes. “Just . . .” I swallow past the lump in my throat, repeatedly shaking my head. “Happy.” I try to laugh instead of sob while wiping my eyes. “I’m just happy.” My complete sentence escapes as a whisper.