As Cool As I Am by Pete Fromm

Author:Pete Fromm
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Picador

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Justin’s car, it turned out, went a hell of a lot faster. He shot out toward the base, then hooked south for the highway to Belt. On the four-lane stretch, it wasn’t that scary: there was room to pass, and the cone of the headlights seemed to give us time to dodge around the other cars. Tim pushed a clear bottle up from the backseat, his wrist resting on my shoulder, the bottle wagging in my face. I tried to study it in the shaky glow from the headlights. For some reason, there were no dashboard lights—no way to see how fast, exactly, we were going.

I took the bottle. “What is this? More of your toothpaste stuff?”

“Mouthwash,” Tim said. “Guaranteed to turn you into the world’s best kisser.”

I took a swallow. “What if I already am?”

“Am what?”

“The world’s best.”

Justin did his cowboy yell again and pulled the bottle from my hand. “We got us a live one, Shaughnessy!”

We shot through the railroad underpass, and the four lanes cut down to two, the reflectors the only thing showing the road, and those just tiny, blurry dots flashing past. With the bottle up to his lips, Justin swerved around a cattle truck, the two yellow lines curving sharp with us, the truck’s horn blaring. Justin launched us back into our lane in front of the truck, the body of the car lurching right, then left, the tires clinging to the pavement. There was nobody coming at us, he was just showing off. I rocked with it, and Justin, wiping his chin with his sleeve, held the bottle back to me. I took a swig and passed it back to Tim.

“Where the hell is this party?” I asked. “Lewistown?”

“We’re the party! Right, Tim? Wherever we go.” Justin was going so fast he couldn’t take his eyes off the road for more than a blink, but he did then, his smile glinting in what light there was. He reached his arm out and rubbed my bristly head.

I knocked it away. “Don’t do that!”

They both went quiet.

“It’s something my dad does,” I said, not wanting anything to slow down. “Rubs my head for luck. I can’t stand it.”

Eyes back on the road, Justin said, “Definitely don’t want anybody thinking about their dad here, do we, Tim?”

Tim didn’t answer, just held his hand out with the bottle.

We didn’t get even close to Lewistown. At the Belt turnoff, Justin stood on the brakes, about putting me through the windshield. Even in the cold, with the windows all rolled up, the car filled with the sharp reek of burned rubber. Then Justin swung down the cut leading into town, slapping me up against the side window. The tires did all they could, but we slid on the tight curves, more squealing.

“Justin,” I said, and we shot underneath the one-lane stone railroad bridge, no way of knowing if anybody was coming at us or not.

Then down the main street, one block long, slinging through the turn, over the Belt Creek bridge and out, back to the highway.

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