Highway 90
A Novelette
by Heather Ross
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 Heather Ross
Cover Design Malice Bathory
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text please contact the author at heather@heatherross.net
Brooke has a problem, she's bored. Bored with the same way of life in a small border town. The way it can make a girl feel like she's on a carousel. One that never stops, never has anything new to offer and definitely never grows up. Her best friend Paige is her only sanity in a sea of adolescent angst still rearing its ugly head cruising the boulevard and getting drunk in the desert. To break up the monotony the friends plunge into the world of Mexican dance clubs. A decision that will change the way they view life, love and freedom.
~ **** ~
“Don't move!” Paige stands at the sink squinting into the basin. “I lost my contact.”
I bend and scan the ground around her feet unsure I'll see anything since the tile is blue. I look over the counter top, but don't expect to find much in the mess of make-up and hair products.
“Uh, Paige? I found it.” I can't imagine what she must have done to launch it this far, but here it is, it's light blue tinge giving it away against a wad of white paper someone forgot to flush.
“Damn it! That's my last one!” She squints over the toilet, but doesn't move to pluck it from it's position.
“Brooke?”
“No.”
“Please, Brooke. You know how I am. I'll totally owe you one. Please. I can't wear those bulky glasses. They're hideous. Please!” Her voice is desperate. I almost say no again just to force her to get over this prissy aversion to bodily fluids. What would she do if I weren't here?
I purse my lips and sigh moving past her. Reaching into the toilet I pinch my fingers around the edge of the lens, then hold it out for her to take.
“Ew! No, can you wash it for me? Just put it in your palm.” She grabs the bottle of cleaner.
“Give me a break. It's not like it was touching poop.” I follow her instructions and watch as she fills my hand with fluid.
“Now rub it around.” She makes circular motions with her finger. I'm getting irritated, but go along with it rubbing vigorously so as to speed things up.
“Now turn it over and do it again.”
“Paige, really?” She bulges her eyes to let me know she's serious.
“There.” I shove my hand in her face. She takes the lens and and moves back to the mirror pressing it onto her eye.
“C'mon we gotta go.” It's already late and we've got a long drive.
“How do I look?” Paige turns to me puckering her lips.
“Perfect, but you do realize we'll be in the dark, right?” I don't mean to burst her bubble, but we're going to a club and last I checked they were all pitch black inside. It's the main reason I'm not too concerned with my own make-up being perfect. Except for my eyes. I never left the house unless they were shadowed, lined, lashes painted, and eyebrows brushed. Okay, there were a few times I was bare faced, but I was either sick or too tired to care. Oh and that one time I was depressed about my break-up with Pax. Not that I should have cared, since he was the one who blew it. It seems all it takes for bad luck to hit is the use of the word 'never' as in, “That will never happen to me.”
Paige clicks her tongue and sighs, “Brooke, it's not like we're going to be fifty feet away from everyone, right? Besides, they've gotta have lights somewhere. How else will I see my drink?” She laughs. I try to join her, but a nervous chill runs down my spine. I shake it off. There isn't any reason to be worried. She's a good driver and it's not like we haven't driven into the city at night before. The only difference is tonight we're driving to a different city in another country, Mexico. It's funny to think of it like that since I never make the distinction being so close to the border, one we walk across every month to satisfy our prescription free facial product fix at their pharmacies.
“You have cash right?” I ask watching Paige fluff the back of her super short bob.
“Yeah, but I'm leaving some with Molly just in case.” She reaches for her lipstick. I stifle a chuckle at the mention of Molly, the car. Not sure why she picked that name or why she felt the need to choose one at all, since it isn't her car.
“Okay, I think I'm ready.” She's still standing in front of the mirror fluffing the mile high red bangs floating above her forehead. I can't imagine ever having short hair, but it looks good on her.
I pull her toward the door by the elbow until she gets the hint I'm not letting go until she starts moving.
“Just a sec. I need that.” She grabs her purse off the table, drapes it over her forearm and locks elbows with me.
“Bye mom, we'll be back late.” We wave into the family room where Paige's mom sits knitting, the T.V. blaring an episode of Northern Exposure. I hate that show. It just doesn't make any sense. Her mom smiles and waves then turns back to her knitting.
“Kinda cool how she doesn't ask twenty questions,” I say to Paige once we're outside.
“My parents aren't like that with us. Maybe 'cuz we're girls.” She smiles. Her older sisters are off at college or married, already having carved the path for Paige, the third child, or maybe her parents were too tired by the time it was her turn to test them.
“Are yours?” Her tone implies it would be odd.
“Kinda. They let me go, but not after a long talk about what not to do, what to do in an emergency, who else is going, you know, the usual stuff.” I reach for the car door. They also add their reverse psychology on me asking, “Do you think this is wise? Is this something you need to do now or can it wait? If you're going just so you can drink you know you can stay here and have a glass of wine.” The last one makes me roll my eyes. It might have to do with my brother's wild and crazy nights, but who wants to stay home and drink with their parents? Were they gonna drop the disco ball, turn on the smoke machine and make a bunch of hot guys appear too? Not a chance.
“Yeah, parents are funny. I know they care about us and all, but come on, they know we're gonna do it even if they say no, right? So they might as well say yes and everyone's safe.” I'm not sure I agree with her last statement, but nod my head anyway. She backs out of the drive, barely glancing over her shoulder before plunging Molly into the street.
It's late, but the boulevard is still crowded with cruisers. I feel sorry for the poor suckers. They really think this is fun. I shouldn't put them down since I used to be one of them. Driving down the street as slow as possible trying to see who's hanging out at the Sonic or in the next car hoping to learn about a party somewhere with free alcohol. It's the extracurricular activity of choice for the kids in this town and given the size, I understand why. Less than forty thousand people, three churches and one high school means everyone knows your business. If you think graduating into college might get you away from all the jerks in high school you better consider moving to another city since there's only one option for higher education in town. If it weren't for the university this would be a retirement community with less than half the population.
I hear someone yell my name as Paige turns the car onto highway ninety west, but don't recognize any faces in the sea of cars floating along.
“I'm so glad to get out of there.” Paige is looking in the rear view mirror as if bidding the town good-bye, but then runs a fingertip over the edge of her bottom lip and fluffs her hair. “This town is killing me. I hate my dad for moving us here.” She breathes a heavy sigh and tightens her grip on the steering wheel. Paige isn't used to small towns at least nothing smaller than the million in D.C. where her dad taught at Georgetown.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” I can't imagine why her dad would accept a job offer here, the desert, the heat, the boring. I hate it and I've lived here more than half my life. The rest was spent 'chasing life,' as my mom called it, never in the same place longer than six months, sometimes shorter if my dad finished his photojournalism assignment sooner. I can only think of one reason small towns are great - celebrity appeal. Less people means you're more likely to stand out in the crowd and when your dad starts a local magazine you're revered as if your last name is Hearst. Can't say it bothers me. Its gotten me out of more than a few speeding tickets. At the same time it raised the expectations bar. I swear if I hear, “We have an image to uphold,” one more time I'm gonna punch someone.
~ **** ~
The sky is pitch black as we hum down the two-lane highway, the only car on the road for long stretches as we make our way through the desert. I'm nervous, but comforted at the same time. More cars means a better chance of someone finding us if we break down and in Molly that possibility is greater than seventy percent. On the other hand, less cars reduces the chance we'll be hit by drunk drivers headed east. It's too easy, too accessible. Forty minutes to the west, no I.D. required and no one to squeal to your parents. Sounds strange, but we're getting used to a funeral every month.
“Hey, can you grab that CD for me?” Paige's thumb is pointed over her shoulder.
“You're not seriously gonna turn off one of my favorite songs are you?” It's Soundgarden for God's sake.
“Brooke, you know this song is so blasphemous.” Her look reminds me of my Sunday School teacher from third grade, lips pursed, face twisted like I've committed the ultimate sin.
“Jesus Christ Pose is blasphemous? Have you even watched the video?” I knew better than to ask. If it didn't have 90210 in the title, she wasn't watching.
“Headbangers' Ball isn't exactly award winning TV.” She's such a smart-ass. I think that's why we get along so well. In every situation she has a comment that smacks of cynicism and, if not, I do.
“Oh my God.” I can't believe she knows the name of the show.
“Besides, my church did a whole exposé on rock music and this one definitely goes against what the Bible says about impersonating Jesus. Did you know there are eighty-six rock songs that talk about hating Jesus? You should be careful, you might start to believe it too.” She's channeling The Church Lady. I imagine any minute now she's going to mention Satan. I break into hysterical laughter expecting her to join me, but her face is solemn. I wonder how many 'Hail Mary's' she'll do just for hearing a piece of this song, a ritual I still don't understand, but somehow makes her feel squared away with God.
“Seriously, your sermon couldn't wait until the song was over?” Fine if she doesn't like the song, but she has to appreciate the fact that Chris Cornell's voice is hot, which compliments his sexy face. Turning it off would be a sin, but talking over it, cruel.
“Brooke, c'mon.” Clearly she's not in the mood for my musical taste tonight and I'm not in the mood for another lecture on how her priest views my life choices.
I reach my arm back, but my fingertips don't even graze the seat. Dang station wagons. I unbuckle myself and lean through the middle. It looks like someone dumped the contents of a locker complete with a blanket waded up on the floor. I grab the only CD and push myself back to the front before falling over the console.
“Here.” I hand the case to Paige. She pops it open and slides the disc into the radio then jacks up the volume. R.E.M.'s Out of Time blares through the speakers. Her ex-boyfriend gave her a copy before breaking up with her this summer. Like a CD was going to make the pain any easier to digest. It wouldn't have been so intense if he hadn't been her first, real boyfriend. One she thought cared, but ended up not so much. I didn't think a long distance relationship was a good idea even if it was for a year until she graduated, but a girl gets a little screwed up watching movies that say otherwise. At least he came all the way here to break it off, which I found admirable and pompous at the same time. She said it was mutual, but I didn't believe her. Not after hearing all of the plans they'd made together since ninth grade when they started dating. Plus, her face was red and puffy for months after he left. Allergies don't last that long, that is, if you have them.
Track one was our favorite. Kind of an ode to her break-up and songs that reminded us of certain people. All you can do when they come on the radio is change the station.
We sing together as loud as possible. Our bond was made stronger by their split. I guess because she isn't dividing her time between me and writing, calling or swooning over him anymore. Not that I demand a lot of her time, but after Pax made me look like a fool I needed to hear something other than, “I hope he calls tonight, I hope I got a letter, I can't wait 'til we get back together!”
“By the way, what's the blanket for?” I'm unsure if I want to hear the answer.
“I use it to change.” She glances at me, my eyebrows bent in confusion. “You know, change clothes, like between work and classes.” Her explanation doesn't make sense.
“Why don't you change at work?” It isn't the classiest, but I know the bar and grill has a bathroom.
“Holes, that's why.” Her expression is serious as she stares at the road.
“Holes? You mean those tiny things in the wall that look like something's been ripped off?”
“Yeah, holes in the walls.” I look at her, waiting. She must think I'm thick.
“You know, holes they use to look at you from another room?” Our eyes meet. I can tell she's not kidding. I feel sick. I've been in that bathroom more than a dozen times and never noticed any holes. Not that I was looking. I mean, who does? When you gotta go, you just go, right?
She must have noticed my face fall and the color disappear. “Don't worry about it. I'm sure they didn't see much. At least you weren't fully naked.” She shot me a reassuring smile. I'm stuck on the word 'much.' I look out the window trying to remember exactly how much I had exposed, but more than that, who would have seen me? I remember a few creepy guys hanging around the bar once or twice, but wrote it off as too many drinks.
“Why didn't you ever say anything?” This information would have been good to know a long time ago like before I used the toilet.
“Sorry, I thought you knew. It's kinda common in a lot of places especially bars.” Her answer makes me feel stupid. Like a country hick none the wiser to the ways of the big city. Except this isn't the big city. It's a stupid little town in the middle of nowhere Texas. A town unlike the big city in many ways including the lack of a mall. That's why people move here. To get away from all of the big city crap although I read a Wal-Mart is set to open in a few months. Now I find out, of all of the big city influences, the hole in the bathroom wall has made it's arrival.
“Well, why don't you go home then?” I snap out of my self pity long enough to ask another question, one I already know the answer to.
“Girl, you know how far my house is from the rest of the world. It's a waste of gas.” She punches fast forward on the CD player skipping three tracks until the last one. I'm glad. I don't like the slow songs, not tonight. We bob our heads and sing along. I don't know why, but this song makes me wish I was standing in the back of a truck going fifty miles an hour. So, I do the next best thing, stick my head out the window. The warm air blows my long curls away from my face. I close my eyes and breathe in the smell of the desert. For a few minutes I dream I'm somewhere else, someone else, a person who matters.
“You're gonna fall out the window!” Paige pulls the edge of my dress so hard I think it might rip. I fall back on my seat smiling.
“I swear, you're so careless sometimes. You're gonna give me a heart attack.” She scolds me as if I'm her irresponsible teenager. Funny since she was the one busted last year for standing through the sun roof of our limo as it sailed down the main drag. It was probably more what she was doing instead of the fact she was standing.
In her rage about being dumped by said D.C. boyfart, as I call him, and going to prom alone, she pulled down her spaghetti straps and flashed every guy on the boulevard while yelling, “Would you give these up!” No amount of coaxing could get her back in the limo and the one time I pulled her down she slapped me so hard tears stung my eyes. I couldn't blame her, hopped up on Jolt since she hardly slept, writing letter after letter hoping to strike some sense into boyfart. He never answered even one.
It wasn't long after that I found out about Pax, the quiet, smart, all American wrestler. Perfect everything - teeth, hair, clothes, parents - all of the time. I thought he was cute and liked how he wasn't on a pedestal like my jock boyfriend before him. Maybe not being the popular jock, teacher's pet and all around high school celebrity would be a good change of pace for me or at least safe. From what I wasn't sure. Maybe the constant harem that followed jock boy like entranced zombies or the rumors that jock boy was cheating, which is one reason we broke up, but never proven. I couldn't take the stress always having to look and act perfect like a wind up toy repeating the same words, same tone, same gestures. I began to feel as if I were losing myself, the thoughts I had were someone else's, the person I really wanted to be, envisioned myself being, was becoming a dream. So, instead of become a product of my peers, I got out. Like Julia Roberts in 'Sleeping With The Enemy' I decided to leave it all behind while I still had some sense and an ounce of dignity.
It wasn't hard to slip out of the jock spotlight. I quit the cheer team, which conveniently got me dropped from the circle of airheads I once called my friends. Then I made sure I wasn't involved with any activities which put me in close contact with them for long periods of time like decorating floats for homecoming, Prom planning committee or eating off campus at Pizza Palace or Deli Delight.