hopefullysomethingnew17
hopefullysomethingnew17
Just Another Web Series
4 posts
Hi, I'm Seth, and this is my series. Not really sure how this is going to go, but please enjoy. All characters are my own, and any likeness is completely coincidental.
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hopefullysomethingnew17 · 8 years ago
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Chapter 2: Peter
The drive to Charlie’s was longer than I had expected. My stops for coffee and liquor had been lightning fast, but the haul to the Hoskins’s seemed to take a year. I finally pulled off the road into a long, winding driveway that was immaculately maintained before arriving in front of a palatial country home with a massive porch. I pulled in front of the detached garage and killed the engine. I heard Charlie before I saw her, looking up to one of the second floor windows as her voice carried down to me.
“Hey jackass!” she yelled down, leaning out the window.
“Some welcome for the guy who’s hauling your ass fourteen hours to a music festival!” I shouted back, making my way up the river-rock driveway to the cherrywood front door flanked by wrought iron lanterns. I watched Charlie start to lose her balance on the window sill and instinctively threw my hands up like I could actually catch her.
“Jesus, Charlie, you’re gonna kill yourself,” I said, stopping just short of the porch.
“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” she called back, slipping back inside the window. I didn’t step up onto the porch until I heard the window slide shut above. I thrust my hands into my pockets and stared at my shoes, fidgeting around impatiently as loud footsteps echoed down the staircase inside. The door swung open, and I looked up to see Charlie standing in the doorway, one shoe on her foot and one strap of her cutoff overalls popped loose. The only thing straight about her was her white-framed glasses, and even those looked as if they’d only made it on as she was coming down the stairs.
“Wow, you look...”
“Gorgeous, right?” she joked, striking a ridiculous pose.
“I was gonna say more like a tornado, but sure. We’ll go with, uh...gorgeous.”
She glared at me and fixed her overalls, turning back inside to start collecting her luggage. I followed her inside a little hesitantly, not sure if I was actually invited in.
“Well?” Charlie asked, turning back to me. “Ya gonna help or what?” She already had a duffel bag over her shoulder and an overstuffed suitcase and was reaching for a cooler.
“Woah, cool it, hotshot,” I said, grabbing the suitcase before a catastrophe unfolded. I grabbed the cooler from her, and she grabbed the last carry-on at the bottom of the stairs. We headed out the still-open front door and made our way to the car.
“Why the hell did you park so far away?” Charlie asked, lugging her small suitcase across the river-rock.
“I didn’t know exactly where to park,” I admitted. “There’s only a half a mile of driveway to choose from.”
“It’s not my fault my parents picked the most obnoxiously ritzy house in their budget.”
“Which was what? Three million bucks?”
“Only one,” she said quietly. She pushed past me and went to the back of the car, searching for a handle. “How do you open your damn trunk?” she asked.
“Like this,” I told her, popping the trunk in the front of the car. I loaded the cooler inside and shut it back.
“What the hell?” Charlie asked, confused on multiple levels. I had already opened the passenger door and was loading her large suitcase into the backseat, but Charlie walked around the other side of the car to the trunk.
“It’s not gonna—“
“Peter, what the fuck?” Charlie yelled, slamming the hood as she found the trunk completely full with my luggage and booze.
“It’s full...” I said, slowly taking the carry-on from her hand and sticking it into the backseat.
“You have to communicate these things,” she said, setting her duffel bag alongside her other luggage. She shot me a half-assed glare and slid the passenger’s seat back into place.
“Whoops.”
“Yeah, whoops for sure,” she said, slipping into the car. “You coming?”
I walked around the front and slid into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine and fastening my seat belt. I looked over at Charlie, whose face was scrunched up like she was forgetting something. “Got everything?”
“I think so..” she said, not sounding very convinced. She looked over to me and asked what she was forgetting like I would know.
“It’s not glasses, I grabbed my extra pair already,” she said, fidgeting with the straps of her overalls.
“Wait, didn’t you say you wanted to take pictures?”
“Yes! My camera! My god, I almost forgot!” She bolted out of the car and back into the house. I plugged my phone into the radio as I waited for Charlie to come back out. I scrolled through Spotify until Alabama Shakes caught my eye, and I put them on shuffle. I was in the middle of “You Ain’t Alone” when I saw Charlie come bolting out of the house from the corner of my eye. I sat up and started to put the car I to gear as she slid into the seat, camera bag in hand.
“Better be glad I forgot this,” she said. “I almost left the tickets.”
“That would’ve been beyond awful,” I said, releasing the parking brake. “Sure you have everything now?”
“Everything that matters,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Alrighty then, let’s get this show on the road.”
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hopefullysomethingnew17 · 8 years ago
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Chapter 1: Brinn
The only light on the street was the dim glow of porch lights as I pulled the car into the sandy driveway and parked it in the carport under the house. I killed the headlights, plunging everything around me into a thick darkness. I sat in silence for a minute, slumping forward against the steering wheel. I could see the lime green glow of my phone charger next to me and the muted orange of the dials and needles on the dash in front of me. The dim glow of the lights made me realized just how tired I really was. It had been a much longer drive from Tuscaloosa than I though it would be. Maybe staying for dinner had been a mistake. It was already after midnight, the drive down taking every bit of five hours. I shook off my drowsiness and stepped out of the car, feeling the soft breeze against my face before breathing in the fresh salt air. It was a refreshing feeling. I hadn’t been at the beach in almost two years now. It was nice to feel the salt spray against my cheeks.
I walked around to the other side of the car and opened the passenger side door and grabbed my backpack from the floorboard. Slinging it over my shoulder, I headed towards the stairs, leaving my larger luggage in the trunk for the morning. The trek up the stairs seemed much harder than it should have been, my eyelids drooping with every step. I made it up to the door and fished the keys out of the front pouch of my backpack, looking out towards the ocean before unlocking the door and heading inside. It was just as dark inside as it had been outside, but it took me a second to find the right light switch for the living room. After clumsily switching on the lights in the hallway and on the porch, I finally found the one for the living room, washing the familiar room in a warm yellow glow.
This house had been a huge part of my childhood. My family had owned it for years, and we used to come here every year, sometimes for a month at a time. The beachy baby blue of the siding was one of the most comforting colors I knew. We almost always spent at least one week here with all my cousins, fighting over who got the bedroom and who got the couch. In high school, I started sneaking out at night and partying on the beach with my friends. My first boyfriend was from Gulf Shores. So was my first girlfriend. I always felt more alive here. And even though I was about to pass out from exhaustion, now was no exception. I felt lighter, happier. I felt like partying again. But first I needed a five-year nap.
I trudged towards the couch and plopped down face first. Not a minute later, my phone buzzed in my back pocket. I fished it out without so much as lifting my face from the pillow, completely bewildered as to who would be texting at this hour. When I picked my head up, I was greeted by a scheduled reminder, not a text.
“GROCERIES,” read the message in all caps. How I had predicted the time so impeccably over five hours ago was completely beyond me, but I rolled off the couch and walked to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee before I headed back out.
“God, you’re an idiot,” I mumbled out loud. “No one’s gonna be open this late.”
I pulled out my phone again and opened the maps as my coffee brewed, hoping that there was a Walmart or at least a pharmacy open. My memory had served me just well enough: there was a Walmart a few minutes away open 24 hours. I scrounged through the cabinet for a travel mug and poured the coffee, adding a few ice cubes to cool it off quickly enough for me to chug. By the time I made it out to the car, half the cup was gone. I almost choked with every sip because the coffee was blacker than the night around me, but I got it down and started feeling a little better by the time the engine was running again.
The drive to the Walmart was just as quiet and lonely as the drive into town had been, but it was definitely shorter. I parked in the nearly empty lot and headed in through the sliding doors into the harsh fluorescent world that was Walmart. I couldn’t remember exactly what I needed, so I ambled around for about half an hour grabbing anything we might need for the week. The cart quickly filled up with milk, cereal, candy, frozen dinners, and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. On the way to the checkout I swung by the frozen desserts section, grabbing three cartons of ice cream and an entire tub of cookie dough. I made my way to the self-checkout, completely ignoring the ten-or-fewer sign. There was no one within a five-mile radius to bother by taking too long at a Walmart checkout. After scanning each and every item, I swiped my credit card through the machine before I could look at the price. I knew that in a few months I would hate myself, but this week was mine, and I was going to splurge, dammit.
After my receipt printed, I tossed everything into the cart without bagging it, my little way of saving the planet. I pushed the cart out the door and was met with a wave of heat I’d somehow missed until now. I shrugged off the light jacket I’d worn in the car, letting the warm breeze brush across my bare shoulders. I tossed the jacket into the basket of the cart and hopped up onto the cart, pushing my way through the parking lot like a twelve-year-old. I made it to the car and popped the trunk, only to be greeted by my unpacked luggage. I groaned, realizing how impractical my Nissan 370z was for grocery runs. I fit what little I could in the trunk—beer, chips, and soda—before opening the passenger side door and fitting what I could behind the seat. The rest went in the floorboard or in the seat itself. I pushed the cart back to its little corral and slid back into the driver’s seat, cranking the engine up and heading home.
The drive back was slower than the first trip. I had my arm across the passenger seat, making sure the ice cream and milk didn’t topple into the floorboard and crush the loaf of bread I’d bought. I made it back just before 1:00 and opened the little closet under the house to grab tote bags. I found one big one we usually filled with towels and loaded everything inside, lugging it up the stairs for what would hopefully be the last trip of the night. I sorted everything out into the mostly empty cabinets and fridge, leaving the chips and candy scattered across the countertops, knowing they would be the first to go this week.
After everything was in its place, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and my backpack off the couch before heading upstairs to my bedroom. I skipped the light switch here and instinctively plugged in the strand of fairy lights that circled the room. The faint glow was comforting and not too bright. I could make out the metal bunk beds up against the wall and the bookshelf full of picture books and novels. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, a smile widening on my face. I fished my headphones out of my backpack and my phone out of my pocket, heading towards the window and throwing it open. I stepped through onto the roof of the porch below and plopped down on the warm shingles. The salty breeze whipped around me, and the sound of the waves in the distance washed over me. I started to listen to music, but I decided the ocean’s soft lapping was music enough.
This roof held so many memories. Ever since I had figured out I could walk out here, I’d spent almost every night of every summer under the stars. It was quiet, calm, always here. I spent hours sitting up here, staring into the sky, reflecting, dreaming, laughing, crying, occasionally drinking. It felt amazing to be here again. I smiled again, sipping my beer until it was gone. I tossed the empty can back through the window and leaned my head back against the window. It took every bit of willpower I had not to fall asleep up there on the roof. I slipped my shirt off as I sat there, letting the ocean air brush my midriff. My eyelids drooped low, and I had to get up before I drifted off. I slid back in through the window and sat on the bed, sliding my shorts off and tossing them towards my backpack. I grabbed my phone and plugged in my headphones, queuing up Chance the Rapper before falling back on the bed.
I thought it would be easy to go to sleep, but I twisted around for half an hour, unable to drift off, even as tired as I was. After a while, I opened my phone and started scrolling through my Instagram feed. I absentmindedly scrolled and double-tapped until I saw one picture in particular. A pang of emotion swept through me. I stared at it for a second before closing the app and opening my messages. I scrolled through until I found his name. Emilio. I hadn’t seen him since the last time I’d been in Gulf Shores. I hadn’t even talked to him in three months. I started to text him, but then I glanced at the clock. It was past 2:00 AM. He probably wouldn’t even be up to see it. I decided to plug my phone in for the night and try to sleep again. Everything else could wait until later in the day. I tugged my bra off and tossed it over with my other clothes and pulled the blankets up higher around my chin, finally drifting off to sleep. I smiled as I nodded off, feeling like I was finally home for the first time in a long time.
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hopefullysomethingnew17 · 8 years ago
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Chapter 1: Charlie
My phone pinged on the table beside my bed. I only heard it go off because I had just hit snooze on my alarm clock for the third time. I rolled over groggily, untangling the sheets from around me so I could reach over and grab it. I checked the time. It was already 7:45.
​“Oh, shit,” I said out loud, flying out of bed and nearly faceplanting as the mangled sheets wrapped around my foot, which was followed by more obscenities. Peter’s name lit up my phone. I unlocked it and checked my messages.
PETER: Hey, gonna be late. Needed coffee and booze.
I sprinted across the hall to the bathroom and turned on the shower, sliding my underwear off and hopping in before it had the chance to warm up. I yelped and jumped back out, sending a cascade of water with me. It was even colder outside of the shower, and I shivered as I waited for the water to heat up. I still got in before it was completely warm, but it was a life or death decision by that point. I frantically lathered shampoo in my hair and scrubbed down with body wash as the seconds ticked away in my head. Good God, I thought. He’s gonna be here any minute and I’m gonna be buck-ass naked. I showered even faster and almost fell twice. When I got out, I realized my towel was laying in my bedroom floor, so I shook off what I could and dove across the hall to my bedroom, trying to drip as little water as possible on the way.
I snatched the towel off the floor and wrapped it around myself before making sure all of my luggage was packed for the week. I opened my largest suitcase first, making sure all of my clothes were there. Tank tops, check; shorts, check; bras and underwear, check; bikinis, check; socks…shit, forgot socks. I ran over to my dresser and pulled open the drawer, yanking as many pairs of socks out as I could find in the chaos. I stuffed them unceremoniously into my suitcase and started checking my other luggage. I had all of my shoes, chargers, earbuds, and medicine in my carry-on. I hadn’t packed my glasses, though, so I grabbed the extra pair off of my desk and stuffed them into the front pouch. I glanced at the clock sitting on my nightstand. It was almost 8:00. I grabbed my phone to text Peter back as I fought my way into a bralette.
ME: Ah shit I just woke up.
PETER: Why am I not surprised?
ME: Oh get off my case.
I waited a second, leaving my phone on the bed as I found a pair of shorts that was cute enough to be seen in public but comfortable enough to wear in a car. I settled on a pair of cutoff overalls. I slid them on and checked my phone again. Seeing no response from Peter, I fired back a sarcastic comment of my own.
ME: You’re the one buying booze at 8 AM.
PETER: Well it’s either I buy it now or you get stuck with Bud Light for a week.
ME: Oh, nvm good call man.
I clicked my phone off and pulled on a cute baseball tee with red sleeves, buckling the straps of my overalls as I checked my last duffel bag. It was full of all my festival-going essentials: three weeks’ worth of makeup, five weeks’ worth of makeup remover, glitter, face paint, bracelets, glow sticks, Tylenol, Advil, a sewing kit, sunscreen, water bottles, and two extra bathing suits. I was pretty sure I had everything, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something.
“No,” I told myself, “you’ve got everything. You’re just nervous. Yeah, it’s just nerves.” I pulled all of my stuff together into the corner and examined it.
“Cooler!” I exclaimed, hopping over my luggage and barreling down the stairs. I ran into the kitchen and almost ripped the pantry door off its hinges before grabbing the cooler. I glanced at the oven clock as I flew by to fill the cooler with ice. I stopped dead in my tracks and walked slowly backwards. It was only 8:07. I checked and double-checked the time, but it was right. It seemed way too early, but I wasn’t going to complain. Peter was usually very punctual, but he said he had errands to run, so maybe I had more time than I thought. It took me a hot minute to fill the cooler all the way up with ice because the ice trays I’d put in the freezer the night before didn’t put nearly the dent in the cooler that I’d hoped they would. I had just enough to start adding drinks and snacks into the cooler. Half of the space was taken up by Dr. Pepper and water alone, but I made sure there was room for cheese, cold cuts, yogurt, bread, and the few beers I had in the fridge.
I was just about to shut the cooler before I remembered the promise I’d made Peter a few weeks back. I snuck into the dining room to swipe a few bottles of my parents’ most expensive champagne. My parents weren’t even home, but I always felt the need to be stealthy when I snuck liquor from the cabinet. I toted the bottles back to the cooler and nestled them deep in the ice before closing the lid. I tried to drag the cooler to the door, but it was hard for me to lift it. I decided I’d make Peter help me whenever he got here. I looked at the clock again: 8:18. Peter really was late. I marched back up the stairs to decide which shoes I wanted to wear. I sorted through the few pairs I hadn’t packed up and settled on a pair of cherry red Chucks, but then I realized I needed a pair of no-show socks. When I couldn’t find them in my drawer, I had to scrounge through my suitcase until I found a pair, which took me longer than it should have. I was only able to get one shoe on before I heard a honk in the driveway. I checked the clock before the window. It was 8:28, about time Peter showed up. I threw my window open as I pulled on my second shoe, sticking my head out to make sure it was Peter in the driveway. A baby blue Volkswagen was idling outside the garage, Peter’s Baby.
“Hey, Jackass!” I called.
“Some welcome for the guy who’s hauling your ass fourteen hours to a music festival!” he joked back, killing the engine as he opened the door and stepped out. I leaned out a little further, almost losing my balance.
“Jesus, Charlie, you’re gonna kill yourself,” he said, walking up the path to the front door.
“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” I called back, a little shaken. I slipped back inside and shut the window before heading down to meet Peter at the door. I slipped my shoe on as I hopped down the stairs, not able to tie it before reaching the foyer. I stood at the door, taking a deep breath before turning the knob and opening it wide, ready to leave this house and this state in the dust.
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hopefullysomethingnew17 · 8 years ago
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Chapter 1: Peter
​I slapped the alarm as I rolled over. It was too damn early. Way too damn early to be waking up on a weekend. It was a good thing classes were already over. I pulled myself out of bed and grabbed the first clean shirt I could find. It ended up being a faded tank I hadn’t worn since spring break. I plodded around half-asleep, half-naked, and all-irritated. I trudged into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. That helped. I squinted into the mirror, the image of my face a little fuzzy without my glasses. I needed to shave. Oh well. I walked back into the bedroom and grabbed my glasses off my nightstand. Once I had them on I found a pair of khaki shorts and pulled them on, only to have them slide halfway down my ass by the time I made it into the living room. So I turned around and grabbed a cloth belt off the back of my closet door and cinched it tight as I walked back into the living room.
It was too early for any of my roommates to be up, but I wasn’t worried about being quiet. They were all probably too hungover from whatever end-of-the-year parties they had been to the night before. I checked the fridge. It was overflowing with cheap beer and Chinese takeout, easily the most stereotypical college apartment fridge I had ever seen. I grabbed the carton of milk from behind a case of Bud Light and shut the fridge. Then, I grabbed a box of cereal and a bowl and made myself a meager little breakfast. I ate it quickly and went back to my room to double-check my stuff. Most of the clothes I owned were stuffed into a duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. I rifled through it to make sure I had enough for the next week. It was mostly khaki shorts and t-shirts, but I made sure I had two pairs of trunks and plenty of underwear. Never could be too safe.
Once I was sure all my clothes were in order, I unzipped my backpack to make sure everything else I needed was packed inside. My laptop and various chargers were tucked into the back pocket; my shampoo, soap, and deodorant was bagged up in the bottom; my toothbrush and toothpaste were sitting on top of that; my headphones were neatly tucked into there case on top of the toiletries; and my sparkling clean sneakers were holding everything in place on top. All my other shoes were in my duffel bag, but these sneaks were special. They were vintage Chicago Air Jordan 1s, 1985 stock. I wasn’t a sneakerhead by any stretch of the imagination, but my dad had given them to me as a kid, and I had taken meticulous care of them since. They were like my good luck charm. I took them with me everywhere I went. I ran my thumb along them before zipping my backpack up and checking the front pouch for everything else. Tylenol, check. Earbuds, check. Aux cord, check. I still had a nagging feeling I was forgetting something. Extra glasses maybe? I opened my nightstand drawer to find them. They were sitting next to an unopened box of condoms. I laughed and tossed both into the bag. As if, I thought. I zipped everything back up and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I grabbed my duffel and headed towards the door before I remembered one last thing. I set my stuff by the door and walked back to my dresser to pick up my record player.
I pulled off the record sitting on the turntable and thumbed through my collection until I found the right sleeve. It was Queen’s Greatest Hits, sides 3 and 4. I slipped the vinyl back into its spot and shut the lid to my player. I unplugged it and rolled the cord up, sticking it into my carrying case along with the player itself. I had room for ten vinyls in the case, so I flipped through my collection and picked out my favorites: Queen, Snarky Puppy, Steve Miller Band, Imagine Dragons, They Might Be Giants, Survivor, Commodores. I tucked them all into the case and closed it tight. I looked around the room for anything else I might need, and, finding nothing, I grabbed my record and headed out the door, grabbing my backpack and duffel on the way out. I checked the clock on the living room wall before I left. It was only 7:30. I told Charlie I’d be there at 8:00. I’d have to hurry. But then again, knowing Charlie, it would be 9:00 before we ever left. I turned the lights off behind me as I left, heading downstairs to the parking garage. I decided to go through the courtyard on my way. It was more doors to go through, but even as early as it was, it was a beautiful day. The lights hanging around the courtyard were just turning off as I made my way out. I headed through the lobby and out to the parking garage, weaving my way through until I made it to my car.
Baby was my dream car, a 1969 Volkswagen Beetle, baby blue with original chrome trim. My grandpa had bought off an air force base before my dad was born, but he stopped driving it in the 90s, mainly because he could never drive a stick very well. Once I got a job in high school, half my paychecks went into new parts for the old girl, and by senior year I had her running beautifully. I’d driven her ever since, fixing her up more and more whenever I could. She was now sporting whitewall tires, a completely rebuilt engine with twice the horsepower of the original, a new paintjob, and custom upholstery. I couldn’t remember when I’d started calling her baby. It was probably around the time I finally started driving her. I was the stereotypical new car owner and referred to her as my baby, and the name kinda stuck. My friends had all made fun of me at first for driving such a “dorky” car, but once they took a ride in it, they all fell in love with it just like I did. I joked that if my engineering degree ever fell through I could always fall back on mechanics. As many hours as I’d spent fixing up Baby, it really wasn’t too far from the truth.
I took a deep, heavy breath as I turned the engine over, struggling to keep my eyes open as I pulled out onto the road. I made the executive decision to be late to Charlie’s for the sake of coffee. And booze. After seeing the pathetic selection in my fridge, I decided to take those matters into my own hands. I pulled into Grit Coffee Bar, a popular streetside café I frequented throughout the week to fuel my unhealthy reliance on espresso. Parking was no problem, being as early as it was on a Sunday morning. I managed to get a spot in the right in front of the coffeeshop. It was 7:45 when I pulled in, and I remembered that they didn’t open until 8:00 on Sundays. I killed the engine and pulled out my phone to text Charlie.
ME: Hey, gonna be late. Needed coffee and booze.
I waited for a reply, but it didn’t come for a while. I plugged in my earbuds and opened Spotify, not looking for anything in particular. I was halfway through “Lazaretto” by Jack White when my phone pinged with Charlie’s response.
CHARLIE: Ah shit I just woke up.
ME: Why am I not surprised?
CHARLIE: Oh get off my case.
CHARLIE: You’re the one buying booze at 8 AM.
ME: Well it’s either I buy it now or you get stuck with Bud Light for a week.
CHARLIE: Oh, nvm good call man.
I checked the time again. It was 8:05. The doors were just opening. I locked the car behind me and headed in to grab a coffee to kickstart the long day of driving ahead of me. Gus, a good friend of mine, was working the morning shift today.
“Should’ve known you’d be in here this early,” he joked. “You’ve gotta be the only guy on campus crazy enough to be up right now.”
“Thanks, Gus,” I feigned sarcasm, slapping a five on the counter. He didn’t even have to ask what I wanted. I came in so often that almost every employee knew I always got a medium caramel latte with two shots espresso and whipped cream. Gus was already grinding the beans as I walked up to the counter.
“I’m serious, you know,” he said, pouring the coffee into the cup. “I didn’t pass a single car on my way to work today. Why are you even up so early? All your roommates were at the big party at Trinity last night.”
“I’m going on a big road trip,” I said, grabbing my coffee and change off the counter.
“Really now?” Gus asked as he turned to clean out the espresso machine.
“Yup. I’m taking Charlie to Gulf Shores for Hangout.”
“Oh, you’re kidding! I’m so jealous, dude. That’s gonna be awesome.”
“Yeah, I really hope so. We’re gonna try to make it to Atlanta tonight.”
“Well, have fun. But be safe! Can’t have our number one customer up and leaving us.” Gus grinned and waved as I walked out, coffee in hand. I took a deep breath as I got in the car and cranked it up. This was without a doubt the craziest thing I had ever done. I shook off my nerves and broke into a grin as I pulled out of the parking lot. I turned on the radio just as my lucky song came on. Elton John was singing “Rocket Man” on the FM, and I couldn’t help but join him as my adventure started.
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