Drummer Girl by Ginger Scott

Author:Ginger Scott [Scott, Ginger]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi

Chapter Fifteen

Jesse got the van. He also napped the rest of the school day away. I’m pretty sure he never saw his doctor this morning, but maybe his mom had to reschedule. I have bigger concerns right now, and number-one is the fact that I’m barreling up the 101 with thirty-seven dollars in my pocket to meet some guy named Biddy.

Jesse’s calmer than he was earlier, but he’s still excited. I’m trying to hold on to the idea that this is all going to work out. I feel a sense of doom, though. That’s how I roll—doom around every corner. Maybe that’s why I still have to take the blue pill.

“I feel like a fake ID should cost more than thirty-seven bucks,” I say, rechecking the amount in my wallet. It’s still the same. I’ve saved birthday money from the summer. I can’t touch the cash my parents put in the bank for my work at the store. That’s “for college,” though I have no idea what college I can afford with the eleven hundred dollars I have saved in there. Maybe the fake ID guy can make me some fake scholarship cash too.

“He’s a friend. He owes me, and basically the money is just like…good faith, ya know?” Jesse glances my way. It’s weird being in the passenger seat with him in a mom-van. His little brother’s booster seat is in the back, and old Cheerios are stuck on the floor mats.

His brother and sister spend the afternoons at after-camp until six most days. I feel for AmberLynn because I remember being a pre-teen at after-camp. It sucks—too old to color, but too young to just be hired on as a counselor to work there. So, older girls basically walk around in cliques with other girls whose parents don’t trust them to be home alone.

“Maybe we should just bail and go pick up your brother and sister. You could get by with a sub for me…or maybe call Chris…or Logan can run a drum kit, or…”

“It’s going to be fine,” Jesse says, chuckling at my nerves.

I am nervous. I’m actually a little terrified. We’ve made it from the highway onto some back roads through a neighborhood of mostly mobile homes. Jesse slows the van in front of a doublewide, and he idles out front for a few seconds until someone flips open a drape in the front window.

“All right, we’re good,” he says, backing up and pulling into the carport attached to the trailer. A back door opens near the rear of the home, and Jesse kills the engine, checking his rearview mirror. I pull my gray hoodie up over my head in an effort to be discreet. This isn’t a place I want to be seen; I feel it.

“Where are we?” I stop him just as he’s getting out of the van. His pause is brief but full of so many clues.

“It’s a guy I know. It’s fine,” he brushes my worry off.

I’m sweating because of my anxiety,

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