“Sure thing.” He tosses it out the window and speeds away.
Gasping, I rush over to where it fell, picking it up and noticing that the screen is shattered. The signal is weak and the battery is clinging to life support.
I’m screwed.
I hold back a scream as his car eases onto the highway, as his lights join the red sea of traffic far ahead.
I didn’t think this out far enough, and with every sheet of rain that falls over me, I’m thinking about how I’ll have to write about this in my next poem.
How no other title except“Foolish, Foolish Girl”will fit.
I gave up a night at the writing café for this, a night with a warm latte, my playlist, and words…
Holding onto my umbrella, I start walking and envision Sean getting hit with a Mack truck.
It’s not until I reach an “Upcoming Food and Gas Stations” sign, when I see that they’re all three miles away, that I let out a pent-up scream.
I pull out my phone and it flashes the dead battery icon.
Okay. Now, I’m fucked.
1A
EMILY
The first place I reach is called Fuel-Land—a rest stop with a diner, a gas station, and a stale, burnt coffee smell that hits me the second I walk in. My soaked hoodie clings to me, my socks squish in my shoes, and the lights overhead buzz like they’re seconds from dying.
A row of truckers slouches at the counter, all hunched over their mugs like they’re waiting for the will to live. I head straight to the bathroom, dry my face with sandpaper paper towels, and try not to cry.
When I return, one of the truckers—mid-forties, scruffy, semi-decent smile—gives me a once-over.
“Outlets are over there.” He points behind him to the bar. All taken.
“Here,” he says, handing me a cup. “Get a coffee on the house.”
I nod in thanks and move to the self-serve machine, pretending I’m not shaking. As I add cream, a guy in a green flannel approaches with a long cord.
“Phone looks dead.” He hands me the charger.
“Thanks.” I plug it in, but an alert pops up.
Liquid detected! Dry port before charging.
Of course. “Actually... I could use some help,” I say.
“Where you headed?”
“Teaneck. New Jersey.”
“That’s not far. I’m passing through there now, actually.” He smiles. “I can give you a lift.”
He doesn’t seem threatening, but I’ve seen enough movies to know that means absolutely nothing. Still... I have twenty-six bucks and no working phone. A cab would laugh in my face.
“My truck’s the red Kenworth out front. I’m pulling out in twenty. Get some snacks if you need ’em, and meet me there.”
I nod and murmur a thank you, though his eyes linger on me a beat too long.
As he leaves, I turn back toward the gadget aisle for a mini cloth and power bank. I grab a bag of chips, a Sprite, and make a beeline for the cooler to check for ice cream.
