Hysteria creeps through my veins and I scream again, louder this time. “WHERE AM I?”
The stranger startles awake.
“Huh?” he croaks, staring at me like I’m crazy. He blinks his eyes a couple of times, and then shakes his head like he’s waking from a bad dream.
“What is going—” He sits up and looks out the window. “No!” he shouts. “Oh, no! This is baaaaaaaad. It’s light out!”
Obviously, I think but don’t vocalize. I don’t want to poke the bear.
“What time is it?” he asks under his breath. He is furiously trying to untangle himself from his half of the blanket I’m holding, so I let it go. He succeeds, and pushes a button to open the sliding door next to him. He hops out of the van, closes the sliding door, and throws himself into the driver’s seat. In moments, the van roars to life.
“We gotta go,” he says, adjusting the rearview mirror. “Are you riding back there?” he asks.
I consider that it might be easier to jump from the passenger seat if need be, so I move to the front of the van. I keep my hand firmly wrapped around the door handle as mystery boy backs away from a barbed-wire fence and toward a dirt road.
“London, are you okay?” he asks, once we’ve turned onto a paved residential road. At least he knows my name. And he looks to be my age. It’s possible that I managed to willingly get myself into this situation, and then forgot to write a note.
“London?” he asks, looking at me with eyes I didn’t know anyone other than movie stars possessed. His voice sounds almost fearful. This calms me slightly, which is good, because I think I’m approaching a major panic attack.
“I’m fine,” I answer, before looking away from him and out the window.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. When I don’t respond, he adds, “Your mom must be really strict, huh? I hope you aren’t in serious trouble.”
We’re silent as we ride, and then we’re turning off the highway toward my housing development. My shoulders begin to relax with the realization that this stranger is at least driving me home. The terror has subsided. I must know this person; I just need to get home and ask my mom who he is or look in my spiral notebooks to figure it out.
And then, new terror sets in when I consider that sleeping in the middle of nowhere in vans with strange boys isn’t something my mother will condone. Nor is coming home at—what time is it, anyway?—7:14 in the morning. As the boy rounds the street corner to my house, I can almost see it breathing with motherly rage.
We’re barely into the driveway before the front door flings open and my mom is rushing to meet me. The car hasn’t stopped before she begins tugging at the door handle.
“Oh, man,” the boy whispers as he struggles to put the van in park so that the automatic locks will release. “I’m so sorry, London,” he says once again, and I feel bad for him this time.
“Both of you, in the house!” my mom barks at me and the stranger. He tentatively turns off the engine and unbuckles his seat belt. I mimic his movements and follow him and my mom inside. My mom storms through the front entryway to the living room and stops abruptly in the center of the room.
“Sit!” she orders when we hover on the fringe. I take a seat on the far edge of the chocolate leather couch, and the boy sits in the middle. He leaves a decent amount of space between us but doesn’t wimp out by sitting at the opposite end. The guy has guts.
“First of all, let me just state the obvious,” my mom begins, with measured restraint. “You’re both grounded.” I wonder how my mom has the authority to ground Mr. Mystery, but she continues. “I’ve been on the phone all night with your mother and father, Luke.”
Luke? Nice name.
Mom goes on. “It’s unfortunate that I had to meet new members of our community under these circumstances. But I think that you’ll find your father’s current state even more unfortunate. He was out looking for the two of you all night. He is not happy.”
Luke groans next to me and hangs his head.
The berating continues. “I’ll call them on your way home so they know you’re safe. But first, will one of you please tell me where on earth you were this whole night? I tried to call and text a million times.”
I take out my cell and find five texts and eight missed calls. “I turned it off,” I mutter, looking down. As I replace the phone in my pocket, Mom folds her arms across her chest and the room grows silent. I look at Luke. He raises his eyebrows expectantly, as if he thinks I’m going to explain the situation to my mother. As if I can explain the situation to my mother. He has no idea.
I am mute.
“Seriously?” he whispers at me harshly before turning to face my mom.
“We were out past Old Fox Road, just north of town,” he says. “I planned this whole dinner-and-a-movie thing. My minivan has a DVD player and we ate pizza and looked at the stars. It was no big deal… until I guess we fell asleep. I’m really sorry, Mrs. Lane.
“What?” he hisses at me when he glances my way and sees my openmouthed stare.
I can’t believe I missed what might have been my best date ever.