Free For The Least Of These by Jennifer Davis Page A

the ride?” I suggested.
    “No, no. That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
    “I really don’t mind, Alicia. In fact, I would have gotten back there from the beginning, but you insisted.”
    “I said I would be fine. Let me get back in.”
    Skylar had returned to the truck and was getting in, so I gave Alicia my hand and helped her back inside. I went to put the passenger seat back, but it wouldn’t lock into place. I sat on the seat and tried to force it, but it felt as if something was blocking the latch.
    “Alicia, see if there is something under the seat that is keeping it from locking,” I said.
    Alicia leaned over, but it was clear that she didn’t have enough room to see up under the seat. “I don’t see anything. Push it again.”
    “No, I don’t want to break something. Feel up under there with your hand.”
    Skylar leaned over from his seat and said, “Here, let me do it. Sometimes it just won’t catch.”
    He took a firm hold on the back of the seat and used all of his strength to snap it into place. Underneath me, I heard a sound that reminded me of opening a carbonated soda can. Then the loud hissing noise began.
    I jumped out of the seat and back into the parking lot. I had planned to jerk the seat up and find what was causing the noise, but that became completely unnecessary. Red paint was already spewing out the front and side of the seat – most of it splattering on my face, hair, and dress.
    Somehow I remained calm. After several tugs and a face full of paint, I finally got the latch on the seat to open, and I pulled the seat up. It was very difficult to see because my glasses were almost completely covered by the paint, but I saw enough to grab the punctured spray paint can and jerk it out of the truck. Alicia reached up and slammed the truck door – ostensibly to prevent any further damage to the truck’s interior. Now the paint hissed and spewed all over the outside of the truck as I desperately searched for a place to throw the violently secreting container. It was difficult for me to see, but I finally spotted a trashcan two parking spots away from me. I ran over and tossed the hissing can into it. The can only sputtered now as the last bit of paint found its way out.
    I turned towards the truck. The urgency of the situation had left me in shock, but my shock was starting to give way to anger. Through my coated glasses, I could barely make out the truck and the outline of Alicia standing beside it, but I barreled towards them at a heart pounding rate, and I began yelling. “Look at me! Oh, just look at me. I’m coated in paint, my new dress and – more importantly – my glasses are ruined. This night – no this whole weekend – has been one disaster after another. I should have just gone straight home after the concert. I’d be in my bedroom right now enjoying an old movie or reading a good book. But no, I had to for once be impetuous, and just look at me!” I wanted to cry, but I refused to do so in front of Skylar. It was really him I wanted to ream out, but I hesitated because I didn’t know him that well. I also knew that he hadn’t meant to puncture the paint can. He probably hadn’t even known it was there since the truck wasn’t his.
    Just then Skylar jumped out and started talking very nervously. “Fisher is going to kill me. This is his truck. He treats this thing like a baby. He just had a new paint job done on it and it has brand new upholstery. What am I going to do?”
    As I walked up to Alicia, she reached out, grabbed hold of my arms, and held me at arm’s length – possibly to prevent me from getting paint on her, but probably to keep me from killing her. “Listen, Brandy. I’ve got it all worked out. I know how to make this right. First of all, you don’t have very much paint on your dress. Most of it is on your face, neck, and shoulders. Good thing you got a low cut dress, right? Anyway, a friend of mine had this same thing happen. Well, maybe not exactly