Page 25 of Famous for a Living

I exhale loudly, then faster than the speed of a bullet—and certainly faster than the speed of this car—I begin typing responses, doing damage control.

I respond only to the kind ones, of course, carefully ignoring the haters while trying to inspire the positive people to come to my defense. To raise a war cry against the keyboard warriors.

It’s only when I start seeing a few responses in my favor, a few banners rising, that I sigh and put down the phone.

Good enough.

I did what I needed to do.

We turn off Main Street.

Twenty minutes past the last streetlight, building, and stop sign, my nose practically touches the wheel. Every muscle in my body is taut as I hold my foot to the gas pedal. I gape at the small bit of road spotlit by my headlights, then up to the looming mountain ahead.

Its enormous body stretches to the sky, towering above with razor-sharp peaks that seem to glitter as they break through the clouds.

It looks otherworldly.

Beautiful.

Terrifying.

Not a soul in sight on this winding, tiny black strip of road rising higher and higher for miles.

I squeak through gritted teeth as the tires slip, yet again.

Forget the shaking plane. I’ll take the shaking plane and nine hours beside the peanut-hoarding squirrel of a man over this.

Zaiah creeps along, but even so, I feel my little car losing its grip as the road ascends toward the great mountain.

I should stop.

I should stop now.

And then, suddenly, my worst fears manifest, and I feel the tires slipping out of my control.

My squeak grows into a scream as I hit the brakes and, for the second time today, squeeze my eyes shut.

Seconds tick by as I hug the wheel, waiting to feel myself slipping over the cliff and dropping hundreds of feet to the rocky depths below.

It’ll be swift, at least.

Oh, I don’t want to die!

And there it is.

BUMP.

I scream as the car bounces on something, then quakes.

Then . . . silence.

My heart thumps like the wings of a hummingbird. Maybe I’m hanging over the edge, teetering on the precipice before the weight of the car tips me forward and I plummet.

I will not look.

I cannot look.

If I’m really over the edge, I’d rather never know. Just kill me now.