Catherine and I were in the back of a strange car, strapped into booster seats that barely fit us. We were close to an hour outside of town. None of my Amazon co-workers, not Beouf, not Janet, not Zoge, knew where we were. None of our neighbors knew where we were, either (not that they’d care). We couldn’t even reach each other, couldn’t hold hands. Our seats were on opposite sides of the car.
Every now and then, we’d steal glances at each other while the driver rambled on and on about what a fun time we were going to have. The rest of the time, I’d look out the window, dreading what was to come for myself if not for Catherine.
Catherine just looked at her phone and texted her friends. “Be there soon,” she said.
This wasn’t every sane Little’s worst nightmare: We weren’t captured. Neither of us were diapered or gagged with special pacifiers. The booster seats were Tweener sized and were the only way we could manage to get the seatbelts on properly. The belt buckles had been modified so that even a Little could press down and unlatch themselves. The only dread I was feeling was having to stay with my in-laws for a few days. Welcome to the start of our Spring Break.
The aforementioned driver was Tarnia, of course. After ‘the bus incident’, both Catherine and I were a little gun shy about traveling among strangers; doubly so after the close shave in my classroom. But we couldn’t make the trip all the way on my scooter- not with our suitcases- and Little sized luggage stood out and could be tampered with. So, I asked Tarnia for a favor and offered to pay her for the gas money. Tarnia refused the gas money.