I stayed on my feet, but I walked over to where Cami sat. It was pointless to sit down when any second Mrs. Holt would pull back into the parking lot. "And just think of all the great comebacks you'll have for Ashley the next time she bothers you—'Hey, Ashley, you may think my mother's ugly, but at least she's smart enough to tell when the car is half empty.'"
Cami didn't smile. " You're right. No one is that stupid. She left us on purpose."
"Mrs. Holt wouldn't leave us on purpose."
"You know, for someone who's in all honors classes, you don't get it, do you? She left us because she's Ashley's mom, and she wants Ashley to be chosen to play with Rebecca Lobo."
The idea made my chest constrict like I'd been hit. Still, I couldn't believe it. "Mrs. Holt is not going to show up in Chandler without us. I mean, it's not like Coach Melbourne won't notice we're missing."
Cami kicked at the pavement with one shoe. "The coach will notice, but by then it will be too late. It'll be an hour-and-a-half trip back here to pick us up and another hour and a half to get us to Chandler. We'll miss halftime."
"But Mrs. Holt will get in so much trouble."
"She'll have some good excuse. She wouldn't have left us without a good excuse planned out."
"There aren't any good excuses. She'll come back."
We waited for five minutes. A few cars pulled into the gas station, but no one we knew. "We should call someone," I said.
Cami glanced at her watch. "My family is already on their way to Chandler. Isn't yours?"
"Even Kevin? Isn't he at home?"
"He went skiing with a friend's family in Flagstaff this weekend."
I kept my gaze on the street. "What about your parent's mobile phone? Can't you call and have them pick us up?"
She shook her head. "They gave me the phone in case I needed to call before they left. It's in my duffel bag in the Holts' trunk."
I sunk down on the curb beside Cami. She didn't even bother to ask if my parents had a mobile phone. She knew they didn't. My mom thought they were too expensive, and my dad thought they were a nuisance.
"We've got to do something," I said. "We can't just sit here and let Ashley steal Rebecca Lobo."
"Steal her from you, you mean. You're the high scorer." Cami shook her head; her words came out sharp and biting. "Ashley probably didn't even mean to leave me behind. I just got unlucky because I was riding with you."
"Yeah, too bad you weren't riding with Madame Pet Psychic. She could have predicted the bathroom was empty, and then asked all the birds here at the gas station to help rescue you from your plight. Right now a flock of pigeons could be spelling out 'go back' on Coach Melbourne's windshield."
Cami tilted her chin down, her eyes angry slits. "And it's too bad you weren't riding with Frederick. He's so annoying, Ashley and Erica would have both willingly stranded themselves here at the gas station just so they didn't have to ride with him all the way to Chandler."
"You don't know anything about Frederick, so you should just be quiet."
"And you don't know anything about Caroline, so you should just be quiet."
We stared at each other, neither one of us turning away from the other's gaze. Seconds went by. My heart beat as fast as it did after running laps. "So do you want to just sit and yell at each other, or do you want to think of some way out of here?"
For a moment she hesitated, like she did just want to sit here and yell at me, but then said, "Let's think of a way out of here."
Thirteen
Cami
The gas station attendant, a man whose arm tattoos were probably older than Josie and I put together, let us use the phone at the counter after we'd brought back the bathroom key to him. His scraggly gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail, although this was probably not a fashion statement, but an indication the guy was too lazy to get a haircut. His shirt didn't look like it had been washed in weeks. While Josie dialed directory assistance to see if they could give her Coach Melbourne's mobile phone number—-they couldn't, mobile phone numbers aren't in the database—he watched us suspiciously, like he expected us to suddenly break into the hot dog machine.
I called my mobile phone, just in case someone could hear it over Ashley and Erica's conversation about Ted and Pete, but no one answered.
Then we took turns calling everyone we could think of back in Sanchez in an attempt to find someone who knew Coach Melbourne's number.
Hardly anyone was home. Either more people from San chez were heading up to Chandler than I'd imagined, or no one stayed at home on Saturday afternoons.
Finally Josie got a hold of Frederick. She explained the situation to him, then paused, leaning up against the checkout counter. "Stop laughing, Frederick, it isn't funny. Can you call some teachers from school and see if somebody has Coach Melbourne's mobile phone number?"
Another pause. "I don't know who. I thought you were on a first-name basis with all the teachers. You probably have a few of them on your speed dial. One of them must have her mobile phone number." A pause in which Josie tapped her fingers against the countertop. "Just try to find it. Try anything."
Josie gave Frederick the phone number of the gas station, then hung up.
Next Josie called the police. I was hoping they'd volunteer to drive us to Chandler. After all, they were public servants, and we were the public and in need of serving, but the officer said all they could do was send someone over to Basha High and let Coach Melbourne know they'd left two students at the Gila Bend Chevron.
As if she wouldn't figure that out herself when we didn't climb out of Mrs. Holt's car. I suggested loudly that the police should arrest Mrs. Holt, since leaving people at a gas station when they should be playing with Rebecca Lobo is obviously a criminal offense, but Josie just glared at me, and I don't think the police took my suggestion to heart.
Then we stood staring at the phone, waiting for someone to call us back. Waiting for a better idea.
"We could hitchhike," Josie said.
"Yeah, and then we could be kidnapped and never seen again. We're not hitchhiking."
We went back to staring at the phone.
I turned toward the gas station guy. He was still watching us, but it might not have been just because he was creepy. We were probably the most interesting thing that had happened in this gas station in a long time. "Are there any taxicabs in Gila Bend?" I asked.
"There's Bert's Towing and Discount Cab. But it's a long drive to Chandler. You might have to pay him extra to go all the way out there."
"We don't have any money," Josie said.
I grabbed the phone book from the counter and flipped through the Bs until I found the number. "We can have our parents pay the cabdriver once we get to Chandler." My hands shook as I dialed the phone. I was so excited to have thought of the idea, and at the same time nervous it wouldn't work.
Bert himself answered the phone. I explained the situation to him and asked if he could pick us up right away.
"But you don't have any money?" he asked skeptically. "Do you realize what cab fare runs? It's a dollar fifty a mile, and you're talking about driving upward of seventy miles. That'll run you over a hundred dollars without the tip. What if I drive you all the way to Chandler and your parents don't want to pay?"
I knew already our parents wouldn't want to pay—especially Josie's—but they would. This was an emergency.
"They'll pay you," I said. "I'm their only daughter, and they love me."
"I'll tell you what," Bert drawled into the phone, "you get half the money up front, and I'll let your parents pay the other half when I take you to Chandler."
"But we don't have any money," I repeated.
"Then sell your Walkmans and Gameboys. You teenagers always have those."
"I don't—"
But he didn't let me finish. "I can't sit here and talk with you on the phone all day. I've got business to take care of. You call me if you get the money."
Then Bert hung up.
I slammed
the phone back down on the receiver, which earned me a dirty look from the creepy gas station guy. "Bert wants us to have half the fare—fifty dollars before he'll take us."
Josie's mouth hung open. "He's charging us a hundred dollars just to take us to Chandler? We could rent two cars for that price."
"Except neither of us is old enough to drive." I smiled over at the creepy gas station guy. "Could you lend us fifty dollars? Our parents will pay you when we drive back to Sanchez."
"Mrs. Holt will pay you back," Josie said. "She's the one who left us."
The creepy gas station guy just folded his arms and snorted, which I assumed meant, "No way."
Josie leaned up against the counter and lifted her hands in frustration. "Then we're stuck here waiting."
Which meant neither of us would play with Rebecca.
At least that prevented me from having to see Josie be the chosen one, once again. I could tell myself as I stood here waiting next to the boxes of Cheez-Its and snow globes of melted Arizona snowmen that Coach Melbourne would have chosen me. I could tell myself I wasn't number two.
I looked from Josie to the dirty floors and shelves of candy bars, to the rack of postcards showing cactus and jack-a-lopes.
We couldn't stand here for hours. Not while Rebecca Lobo was waiting for us. I was too close to my dream to have it taken away from me now.
I picked up a pen from the counter, took Josie's arm, and pulled her toward the door. "Come on. We're not waiting." Just before I pushed the front door open, I called back to the creepy gas station guy, "We're going out in the parking lot for a few minutes. If any calls come in for us, please let us know, all right?"
He grunted, which I assumed meant, "I don't get paid to be your receptionist," but I hoped he'd tell us anyway.
We went outside and stopped in front of the garbage can. I gingerly sifted through paper towels, candy bar wrappers, and used cups.
At last I pulled out an empty granola bar box. Josie watched me with eyebrows raised. "So what's your idea, and why does it involve trash?"
I ripped the box and turned it over so I had a blank piece of cardboard. "We'll make a sign, explaining that we're stranded and need cab fare, then we'll go stand by the parking lot entrance so people can give us money as they drive by."
"Sort of like those WILL WORK FOR FOOD signs?" Josie asked.
"Right."
"Except we're not offering to do jobs, we just want people to give us money for nothing?"
"Right."
"I don't think that will work."
I swatted her arm with the cardboard. "I know it's degrading to beg, but I'm trying to get us to Chandler. Do you have any better ideas?"
She sighed, took a deep breath, then prodded through the garbage can. She pulled out a used Slurpee cup and shook the last of its contents back into the trash. With the cup outstretched in her hand, she turned to me. "We'll sing."
"Sing?"
"A lot of beginning performers get their start that way. They sing on street corners and in restaurants, and people drop money in their cups."
I glanced at the people at the pumps. A haggard mother wiped off her windshield while two children inside the car made faces at each other. At another pump, a man in a cowboy hat and frayed jeans filled up his truck while he took chewing tobacco from his pocket. At the next pump a balding man of about seventy fiddled with his gas cap. "Yeah, but this is a gas station, neither one of us can sing, and no one will want to touch that used Slurpee cup, let alone put money in it."
"If we're singing, we can walk up to people. It'll be faster than just hoping people feel charitable as they drive by us." Josie stepped off the curb and walked toward the pumps. "How about one of Celine Dion's songs? People love those."
I followed her, taking halting half steps and wondering if it was legal to pester people for money while they filled up their cars. Standing by the side of the road holding a sign and looking forlorn would have been so much less pushy. "Josie, we've lost our rides, and we've lost a lot of time, do we need to lose all our dignity too?"
She ignored me and walked up to the older man. He'd just inserted the gas nozzle into his car. "Hello, sir, would you care for some music while you're filling up? We're trying to earn money for cab fare." She cleared her throat and belted out—off key—the beginning of "My Heart Will Go On." "Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feel you . . ."
Her singing didn't improve as she went along.
I put my hand over my face but could still see the man looking at us, then behind him, then to either side, to see if Josie was actually singing to him. She increased her volume and held out the Slurpee cup to him. "You have come to sho-ow you go oo-on!"
He took a step closer to the pump and put his hand back on the nozzle, as though to hurry it along.
"Join me for the chorus, Cami!" she sung out.
My own voice was quieter, wavering, and no more on key than Josie's. "Near far, wherever we are—I mean, you are. Oh, it doesn't matter. It's something about the heart, and the heart must go oo-on."
I gave up on the words then and started humming. Josie stepped toward the man, still holding out the Slurpee cup. "You'll always be in our hearts, sir, if you help us get cab fare."
His eyes took on a trapped expression, as though next we'd be asking for his car keys. He thrust his hand in his pockets and emptied its contents into the Slurpee cup. Then he chucked the gas nozzle back on the pump, climbed into his car, and peeled out of the parking lot while Josie waved and called, "God bless you!" after him.
I took the cup from her and dumped the contents into my hand.
Josie leaned over me to see our stash. "What did he give us?
"Two quarters, two dimes, three pennies, nail clippers, and half a roll of Certs. He probably didn't mean to give us those last two things." I dropped the nail clippers back into the cup because it was gross touching some old guy's nail clippers.
Josie put her hands on her hips. "Seventy-three cents? Do you realize how long it will take us to get cab fare at this rate?"
I poured the money back into the cup. "Well, I'll tell you one thing. The only tip Bert is getting from us is the nail clippers and the Certs."
Josie held out her hand. "Nope, I'm starving. I want the Certs. Bert just gets the nail clippers."
I handed her the Certs and broke out laughing. I couldn't help myself. Suddenly it all seemed so funny—the two of us chasing away gas station customers with Celine Dion songs. Josie unrolled the Certs wrapper, the smile growing on her face until she was laughing too. "This is the worst day of my life since I fell down the up escalator at the mall."
"And the day is only half over," I said. "We still have forty-nine dollars and twenty-seven cents left to earn." I leaned up against the gas pump, and Josie laughed so hard she nearly spit out her Certs.
"Maybe if one of us pretends to have a seizure, an ambulance will take us into a hospital in Chandler," she said.
"Yeah, I bet cab fare from there would be cheaper."
And then I wanted to cry, because joking around with Josie felt just like it had in old times, only it wasn't. We weren't friends anymore. We had ruined everything over some stupid guy.
The Slurpee cup felt grimy, and I switched it from one hand to the other. "Look, Josie, I'm really sorry about our fight. I'm sorry about Ethan."
The smile dropped from her face, and she looked down. Her voice was only a little more than a whisper. "And I'm sorry I wrecked your chances with him."
"You didn't wreck them. He was only interested in me to make Ashley jealous."
Her gaze shot back up to me. "You're kidding? What a jerk."
"Yeah."
"We can do better," Josie said.
I nodded. "Right."
"Ted and Pete sounded nice. Too bad they don't really exist."
Which set me off laughing again. I stood there by the gas pump, time slipping away while Rebecca Lobo waited in an auditorium an hour and a half away, and I laughed.
&nb
sp; Josie
After fifteen minutes of serenading gas station patrons, I was amazed anybody ever made a living as a singer. We went through four Celine Dion songs, a Smashmouth song—that was our biggest moneymaker because one lady said she'd give us five dollars if we stopped singing it—and a rap song that I made up as I went along, entitled, "Yo Man, I'm Stuck at a Gas Station." We jingled our Slurpee cup at anyone who came near the pumps and made a total of eleven dollars.
A young guy in a red Hyundai drove up to us, and I waited for him to get out of the car so I could start a second verse of our rap song, but instead he rolled down the window. "Are you Josie and Cami?"
"Yes." I had never seen him before, and I would have remembered. He didn't look much older than me, although he must have been at least sixteen to be driving a car. He had warm brown eyes, shaggy blond hair, and a tan that belonged on a surfer boy.
"I'm Daniel Dixon. Your friend Frederick called me, told me you were stuck here, and asked if I could give you a ride to Chandler."
I took a step closer to the car. "How do you know Frederick?" I asked. "And how did you get here so fast?"
"I live in Gila Bend. Frederick and I are in the same chess division. We play in tournaments together."
And then the name suddenly made sense. "Oh, you're Daniel the Knight Slayer."
He laughed and shook his head. "Um, right. Some people call me that." He looked from me to Cami. "Well, are you going to get in? Frederick said you were in a hurry."
I put my hand on the door handle, but Cami grabbed my arm away and eyed Daniel suspiciously. "How do we know Frederick really called you? Maybe that creepy gas station guy just overheard us talking to Frederick and told you about it, and you're planning to drive us out to the desert and hold us for ransom."
Daniel shrugged as though the accusation didn't bother him, then smiled at me. "Frederick told me when he sees you next, he has some really good jockette jokes to tell you."
I opened the front door of the Hyundai and slid in. "Frederick called him."
Cami handed me the Slurpee cup full of change. "I'll tell the gas station guy where we're going in case someone comes back for us and worries because we're not here."
Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Free Throws Page 12
