Page 181 of Wild Like Us
“That’s a good idea.” I nod to my backpack at Banks’ feet. “A notebook and pen are in there.”
Banks looks at me like I’ve lost it. “Really?’
“Yeah, she should make this decision with a clear head.”
“This isn’t a spelling test, Akara,” Banks snaps, but he’s already unzipping the backpack. “There should be some emotion behind it.”
“I didn’t say there wasn’t. And it’s a spellingbee.”
He flicks me off.
“Hey,” Sulli puts a hand on our shoulders. “Remember, you two could just choose each other. That’s another option.”
Banks and I exchange a tense look. Yeah, that is an option, but in that scenario, Sulli loses the most. That hurts to think about, so I push the thought back.
Banks passes Sulli the notebook and pen. “Only if you want to.”
She flips open a page and slides back in the seat. Clicking the pen over and over.
“You can take your time, Sul,” I say. “Don’t stress about it.”
“No, I’ve got this.” She scrawls down on the notebook for three minutes, and I try to concentrate on the road.
What is she writing?
I have no idea how the matchup between me and Banks is faring. So I pry. “How’s it going?”
“Lots of pros on both columns. Zero cons.”
I smile.
Banks is smiling too.
I tell her, “Come on, Banks has a ton ofcons. He definitely farts in his sleep.”
Banks tells her, “And Akara’s feet smell like spoiled sour cream and chives.”
She laughs, “Fine, alright. I’ll put the sleep-farter and feet-smeller in your cons, but they’re just going to equal each other out.” She scribbles, then pauses, sniffing loudly. “Do you smell that?”
“My feet have no scent,” I defend.
“No, Kits…”
I already see it. Severity crashes against me as the front hood of the Jeep engulfs with a thick layer of smoke.
Shit.
44
BANKS MORETTI
The Jeep smokes and backfires.A rhythmic, repetitive popping sound that I recognize. And I’m thinking,too easy.I packed some tools and cleaner in case of any mechanical issues on the road trip. I’ll give the carburetor a clean and we’ll be good to go.
So we pull over on the side of the road in the dead of night. I pop the hood, and I’m inside her for fifteen minutes, finding problem after problem after fucking problem.
“Is it bad?” Sulli asks, shining a flashlight for me while I check the camshaft and remove the valve covers. Akara is further away, trying to locate a fucking morsel of cell service in a dead-zone.
“She’s running lean,” I explain to Sulli as I work, “which means too much air is flowing in the engine. The air intake boot has ripped, and it’s causing unmetered air in the engine. Plus, the main vacuum hose broke.” I remove another valve. “It’s the power brake booster feed line.Andthe spark plugs are worn out.” I did a routine check before we got on the road, and none of this shit lookedthisfucked.
