Amber by Dan-Dwayne Spencer (e book reader .TXT) 📕

Before he could finish his statement, I retorted, “The sign says I have to have a shirt on. It doesn’t say how I have to wear it.”

He frowned and shook his head. “Okay, just make it quick and get out.”

I defiantly swaggered right by the register’s counter on my way to the junk food aisle.

He glanced at me and then glanced again. He yelled louder than necessary, “Hey kid, what’s wrong with your eyes? You wearing contacts or something?”

I huffed in his direction and didn’t answer him.

After perusing the shelves full of junk food, we bought hot dogs, chips, a US map, and a case of bottled Cokes. We hadn’t mentioned food since we left, and all three of us were hungry. The cashier rang up our purchases and remarked to Jimmy, “How d’you get stuck babysitting?”

We glared at the clerk. Jimmy casually remarked, “Somebody’s gotta do it,” and we headed to the car.

I fumed, “What an asshole.” As I talked, my stride transformed into stomping.

“He’s a shithead,” Roger exclaimed. “Ignore him.”

“Don’t get mad at him. It’s my fault he said that,” Jimmy exclaimed.

Roger put his hand out and stopped Jimmy in his tracks. “What do you mean, it’s your fault?” He turned and waved his middle finger at the store windows. “The guy is a jerk and none of it’s your fault.”

“No,” Jimmy shook his head and focused on his shoelaces. “It’s because I look like this. I didn’t choose to look like a grown-up at thirteen. You have no idea what kind of problems it causes.”

“Man, if I could look like you, my life would be so much better.” My hidden jealousy finally revealed.

“No, it wouldn’t.” Jimmy bit his lower lip before continuing. “People expect me to be smarter because I look older,” he sighed. “I get told all the time, I should know better, about things I don’t understand. Even my old man does it to me.”

Words stuck in my throat, not knowing what to say. All I could think of to reply to his self-effacing outburst was, “I never thought about it, but I can see how it would be a problem.”

I actually didn’t understand what he was talking about, but it obviously had been an ongoing difficulty he dealt with, so I agreed with him and went on. I tied the shirt to the radio antenna in hopes it would air-out some of the odor. We sat on the car gulping down the dogs and chips in the parking lot where Jimmy’s Mustang and a 1963 Impala shared company. When Jimmy and I were ready to go, we couldn’t find Roger.

“You don’t think he got homesick and is running back home to mama do ya?” Jimmy asked.

“He seemed to be all gung-ho to get to Woodstock. I have no clue where he went.”

Without warning, Roger’s voice startled us from behind, “What the hell are you guys waiting for? Get in the car.” He was holding something under his shirt and running from the direction of the Impala.

We looked puzzled but didn’t question Roger’s orders. We hopped in the car and again took Route 66, heading northeast. Jimmy drove, and I navigated. Twisting in my seat, I faced Roger, who reached under his shirt and pulled out a set of Oklahoma license plates.

“You stole the plates off of shithead’s car,” I barked. “How?”

Roger held up his multi-bladed Boy Scout knife. “Never be unprepared,” he tapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “Pull over and let’s get these on the Mustang.”

“Why?” Jimmy sounded less than thrilled about putting stolen plates on his car.

“If our parents send the cops after us, they’ll be looking for a Mustang with your plates.”

Jimmy looked over at me for approval. “It’s true, they will.” I agreed.

“Okay, but hurry,” Jimmy grumbled. “We’re wasting daylight.”

Switching out the plates was no problem for Roger. Stealing them with only a multi-bladed pocketknife showed a slick and speedy dexterity I didn’t know he possessed. With Oklahoma license plates installed, we pushed on toward Tulsa.

Navigating was easy as long as we stayed on Route 66, but sometime around 5:00 pm, Dugan snatched the map from me and gave it to Roger.

“You better get some sleep,” Jimmy told me. “You have to drive after dark. I don’t want to wreck into a tree because you fell asleep at the wheel.”

I shivered. I wasn’t sure I could fake this one, but our chances of survival would be far better if I did what I was told. Without complaint, I laid the bucket seat as far back as it would go and tried to rest. I managed about an hour of sleep until—I had to pee. Jimmy drove on relentlessly, not stopping when I begged him to. He said if he stopped at every town and every fence post, we wouldn’t get there in time. When I told him I was going to pee on the floorboard, he handed me a coke bottle. I was desperate. So, without hesitation, I filled it and flung it out of the window beyond the gravel shoulder beside the road.

“Hey, you have a good arm.” Jimmy’s compliment sounded sincere. “You need to try out for the football team. I bet you could qualify for one of the quarterbacks.”

I grinned, and for the first time in my life, I seriously considered signing up for competitive athletics. “Maybe.” Smugness tinged my curled lip. “Maybe I will.”

In a whiny voice from the backseat, Roger spoke up. “I suppose it’s useless to ask you to stop.”

Jimmy gave him his infamous JD glare and handed him an empty bottle.

“Okay, I did it.” Roger grimaced and shoved the yellow tinted bottle at me.

“I’m not touching your damned bottle,” I declared. “You’ll have to throw it out yourself.”

“I can’t reach that far.” Roger complained, “You