Page 36 of False Start

Loud engines roared to life, and gravel crunched as the other teams sped out of the parking lot. Caught up in the adrenaline, I started driving. Where? I had no idea other than we’d end up in northern Florida by the end of the weekend. I followed an S-Cargo van painted to resemble a snail out of the parking lot and toward the highway.

“So, our first stop is…” I waited for Trent to fill in the blank.

He hunched over the handbook, eyes flitting between the book and his phone. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“That’s great.”

Rather than follow the S-Cargo, I pulled into a gas station. Trent jolted up, eyeing our surroundings. “What are you doing?”

“Pulling over until we figure out where we’re actually going.”

“I’ve got it covered.”

“Do you?” I swiped his phone from his hand. “Big Rocks Virginia? What the hell does that mean?”

He grabbed his phone back with a shrug. “Fuck if I know. This book is in code.”

Sure enough, the instructions weren’t great. The list of stops was vague at best, completely indecipherable at worst.

“Big sombrero!” I pointed to one. “I know where that is.”

“How about ‘Horse demon?’ Got any ideas for that one?” Trent shook his head. “No wonder the other team had the giant map. They probably spent the last week searching for weird shit online and hoping it ended up as a stop on this dumb race.”

I bristled. “What happened to ‘we’re going to win this thing?’”

“I thought we could win by being really fast, not knowing…whatever this is.”

I laughed. “Well, I’m glad you know your strengths. Speed, not smarts.”

“I’m plenty smart. Just not about where I can find my weight in corn.”

“It doesn’t say that.”

He pointed to an entry on day one scenic route. My eyes traveled down the list of stops, pausing at “Post a photo with your weight in corn.”

“I sort of feel like we need to take that route.” My back ached, and I rubbed the back of my neck, already overwhelmed. I’d barely slept, worrying over Derek the night before and waking up early. And now I was on a rally with a guy who drove me nuts. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for a good time.

Trent nodded. “Alright, corn route it is. I’m pretty sure the Jolene reference means we’re heading toward Tennessee. I can fill in the blanks. Unless you want me to drive.”

“Do you know how to replace a clutch?” I asked. He shook his head with a golden retriever grin. “Then, no, I don’t want you to drive.”

“Then trust that I’ll get us to the stops. We gotta do this, Team All Drive, No Clutch!”

At least that was a decent team name. Better than the lack of a name I came up with and a hell of a lot better than Kitten and Texas Hit the Road. “I hope we’re not foreshadowing a future breakdown, but it’s not bad.”

“You’ve got to love it because it’s officially our handle.” He flipped his phone toward me. I caught a quick glimpse of the profile photo of me glaring at Trent from the driver’s seat.

“Nice,” I deadpanned.

He turned the screen back toward him. “I like it. It definitely gives the vibe that we have going.”

“Exasperation?”

“Yeah but mixed with burgeoning respect and admiration.”

I snorted. “Is that what you think is happening? How many times have you been hit in the head?”

“Not as many times as you’d think.” He peered down at his phone and smiled. “Great news! I have decoded the three stops. You’ve got to get on the highway going west here.”

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