Page 93 of Victorious: Part I

PHOENIX

The highway stretches ahead of us, endless and shimmering in the afternoon heat as Clover fiddles with her phone, scrolling through the photographs she’s taken so far. We’ve been driving for about an hour since leaving Calico, and she’s barely said a word, which is fucking unnerving given how chatty she usually is.

“Everything okay?” I finally ask, glancing her way.

She startles slightly, as if I’ve interrupted some deep thought. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just going through the shots.” She holds up her phone to show me a picture of the ghost town. “This lighting came out so good. Moody and intense. A bit like you.” She smirks at her own joke.

I side-eye her, my lips turning up slightly at her diss. “How much farther to the next stop?” I ask, desperate for something normal to talk about.

She taps her cell a few times, checking the map. “About twenty minutes. It’s this place called Roy’s Motel and Café in Amboy. It’s an old-school Route 66 landmark.”

“Another aesthetic spot for your campaign?”

She smiles, and something about it makes my chest tighten. “Classic Americana. The sign alone is worth the trip. It’s a massive neon thing. And the light should be perfect when we get there.”

The truck feels too small suddenly. Too confined. Too intimate. I roll down my window a crack, letting the hot desert air rush in.

It doesn’t help as much as I’d hoped.

“So, who’s Roy?” I ask, just to fill the silence.

She snorts out a laugh. “No freaking idea. Probably some guy who built a motel in the middle of nowhere and got lucky when they put a highway through.”

“Smart guy,” I mutter.

Clover turns up the music. Some chill indie song I don’t recognize plays from the playlist. She starts singing softly along, and I find myself listening to her voice more than the actual song.

We round the bend, and suddenly, there it is—Roy’s Motel and Café, standing alone in the vast emptiness of the Mojave like something out of a movie. The sign towers above the small collection of buildings, promising gas, food, and lodging to weary travelers.

“Holy shit,” Clover breathes, sitting up straighter. “This is totally like something you would see in the movies, right?”

The sun hangs low in the western sky, not quite ready to call it a day, but getting there. Long shadows stretch across the desert, reaching for us like they don’t want to let go. The light starts shifting, less harsh now, softer, warmer as the sky bleeds into gold, then fire. Yellows melt into oranges and reds curling along the horizon—we’re running out of daylight.

I pull into the lot and park, and Clover is already unbuckling her seat belt before I’ve even turned off the engine.

“I swear we timed this so right. The sun setting behind this is social media gold,” she chimes, excitement lighting up her face as she grabs her camera. “The light, the isolation, everything. We need to hurry before it changes!” She jumps out, rushing about like a frantic little mouse.

The cutest fucking mouse I’ve ever seen.

I chuckle, watching her as she moves with quick precision, setting up her tripod and framing shots of the iconic sign. She’s in her element, confident and focused, and I can’t help but admire how sure she is of what she’s doing.

“Okay,” she says after a few minutes, beckoning me over. “I need you in this one.”

I shake my head immediately. “Nope. I’m just the glorified chauffeur, remember?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Phoenix. These shots need a human element for scale, and you’re the only human I’ve got.”

“There’s gotta be someone else around—”

“There isn’t. And even if there was, I’d still want you.” She freezes for a second like she’s realized what she just said. “For the photos, I mean. You… you fit the vibe,obviously.”

Something about the way she stumbles over her words makes me feel both uncomfortable and weirdly satisfied. I run a hand through my hair, stalling. “Fine, but not my face.” She rolls her eyes at me but nods in agreement. “All right. Where do you want me?”

Her face brightens. “Just stand over there by the sign. Look natural.”

“The fuck does that mean? I’m a biker, not a damn model.”

She giggles, adjusting her camera. “Just be yourself. Pretend I’m not even here.”

---