“They don’t put straight A students with full scholarships to Princeton in jail, my friend. You’re safe.”
“I don’t want you to go to jail either,” he said.
I glanced over at him. His face was white as a sheet and he had both hands braced against the dash board, but he was doing it. He was here. I sighed. Damn it.
“What are you doing?” he asked as I tapped the brakes and slid the car into drive at the bottom of the driveway. “Lola? What’s going on?”
“We drove a stolen car, didn’t we?” I said, beyond disgruntled. “Now we’re putting it back. Safe and sound. You can add it to your -”
A huge crash from inside the house cut me off mid sentence. Heart pounding, I pulled the car back up to exactly where it was before and killed the engine. Travis and I hunched low in our seats. I saw the whites of his eyes flash as he turned his head to look at me.
“What was that?” he hissed.
“Why are you asking me?”
“We have to get out of here. We have to run. We have to run away and never say a word about this to anyone.”
I sucked on the inside of my cheek, considering our options before I said, “We can’t go yet.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because, dummy, if we open up the doors the little lights will go on and he’ll know we’re out here.” It wasn’t something I had thought about until just this minute. I guess part of me always imagined that Mr. Livingston of 233 Turner Street wouldn’t be home when we tried to steal his car. A stupid presumption, since if he was gone chances were he would have taken his car with him.
I sat up just enough to see the front of the house. None of the lights were on, which was weird, because I knew I had heard something fall over inside. Maybe he had a dog. Or a giant cat. Maybe he wasn’t even home.
“What are you waiting for? Just turn the lights off,” said Travis.
I drew in a deep breath. I had really been hoping to avoid this part. “I kind of… uh… don’t know how.”
“Lola,” he said in an oddly strained voice. “What are you talking about?”
Oh boy. “I’ve never exactly driven a car before and I don’t know where the switch is,” I admitted. Honestly, it was a miracle I had gotten it down the driveway without hitting something. Travis should have been happy.
Silence. And then…
“WHAT?”
“Shut up!” In the darkness I found his mouth and slapped my hand over it. It was a good thing it was dark inside the car so Travis couldn’t see my face was the approximate color of a tomato. “I wasn’t planning on actually driving it anywhere,” I said. “Are you going to be quiet now?”
He shook his head, which I took to mean ‘yes’, and I slowly withdrew my hand.
“You’re insane,” he said the second his mouth was uncovered. “Absolutely nuts. You told me you got your driver’s license six months ago.”
“I lied. I don’t even have my permit.”
“Don’t even… No permit… Crazy…” He continued to sputter out random words while I snuck another look at the house. Still no lights. That decided it. Mr. Livingston was either asleep or not home. A pet must have knocked something over which explained the loud noise. We were in the clear.
“Let’s go,” I said. I opened up the door and shut it silently behind me, holding extra long to the handle so there wasn’t even a click as it went back into place. The lights inside the car popped on, just like I thought they would. I glared at Travis through the window and tapped my wrist, a clear signal that time was ticking away.
Travis, being Travis, scrambled across the center console and spilled out of the driver’s side door. He landed hard on his hands and knees. Grabbing his elbow, I hauled him up to his feet. He dusted himself off and straightened up, still angry, but at least capable of talking coherently again.
“I hate you,” he said succinctly.
“Where is your backpack?” I asked, ignoring him.
His head swiveled around as he tried to look over his shoulder.
I sighed. “You left it in the car, didn’t you?”
“Shut up,” he mumbled.
“Go grab it. I’ll keep a look out. Then we are – did you hear that?” I broke off with a frown. I tilted my head to the side and closed my eyes, trying to pin point the direction of the sound.
“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
“It sounded like… A cry for help,” I decided. My eyes opened. I frowned at Travis. “You really didn’t hear that?”
“I told you I didn’t hear -”
But Travis never got finish what he going to say as a blood curdling scream the likes of which I had never heard outside of a horror movie tore through the night.
CHAPTER TWO
“Did you hear that?” I asked Travis.
“We have to c-call the police,” he stuttered, looking physically ill. I didn’t blame him. I was feeling a little queasy myself. A human being doesn’t make a noise like that unless they’re in some serious pain.
“And tell them what? We were about to steal some guy’s car when we heard him scream? No way,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s dumb.”
Travis staggered over to the side of the driveway and sank down on his haunches. “Bad idea,” he said to himself. “I knew this was a bad, bad idea. Lame, man. Really lame.”
“What if we call your mom?” I suggested.
Genuine terror filled Travis’s eyes. “No way. Absolutely not. I would rather go in the house myself.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it. Let’s go. I’ll knock on the front door and you go around back and look in the windows. We can’t just leave without doing anything.”
Travis might have been a chicken, but he was a chicken who knew right from wrong. “I would rather steal the car,” he said glumly.
“Saving a guy’s life from a psycho axe murderer is so much cooler than stealing a car. We’ll be famous. Mr. Livingston will probably give us a reward or something.” With one hundred dollar bills dancing in from of my eyes I started walking towards the front door. It wasn’t far from the driveway and the stone walkway was illuminated with ground lights, making it easy navigate. I heard a loud sigh and then the noisy shuffle of Travis’s sneakers as he caught up to me.
“This is such a bad idea,” he said. “What if there really is an axe murderer or you know, a robber or something?”
“Then I’ll use my cell phone and call the police.”
“Why not call the police now?”
“Because we’re right here.” And we were. The front door loomed in front of me, a silent taunt to go ahead and prove my mettle. I raised my fist to knock. Hesitated. Glanced at Travis. “Go around back and see if you can see anything.”
He looked at me like I was nuts. “Don’t you know the first rule of not getting killed by a crazy axe murderer? You never split up.”
Since Travis was the horror movie guru, I decided to take his word for it. “If someone opens this door,” I said out of the corner of my mouth, “and pulls me inside you better have my back. Got it?”
“Got it.”
I felt his hand press reassuringly against my shoulder and I took a deep breath.
Why are you knocking on a stranger’s door after you just heard screaming coming from inside, Lola? asked the rational side of my brain.
Because I can, said the reckless part.
I knocked on the door.
CHAPTER THREE
The door swung silently open under the weight of my fist. I jumped back like a scalded cat and bumped into Travis who went flying into a flowerbed. He must have landed on one of the creepy garden gnomes because he released a totally embarrassing high pitched squeal before he got to his feet and staggered back over to me. From the dim overhead light I could see dirt smeared his left cheek and pieces of grass clung to his hair. Reaching out I plucked half a petunia from behind his ear and rolled my eyes.