Page 54 of Chasing Stardust

“Zoey.” The panic in Dash’s voice pulls my attention from the trailer. “We need to get out of here.”

“What? Why?”

“Have you seen Breaking Bad?” Dash pulls the passenger door handle, and it flies open. He jumps out and holds the seat forward so I can crawl out of the back.

My mind goes blank. “Is that the one with the Kardashians?”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t—” Dash’s whole body goes rigid as the shouting turns into a series of loud bangs. “Get out. Now!”

His terrified expression sends a jolt of panic rocketing through me. But instead of bolting from the car, I scramble over the gearshift into the driver’s seat. Dash isn’t the only one capable of being a superhero.

He leaps back into the passenger seat. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us out of here.” This is it, Zoey, your chance to show the world you’re a total badass.

My hands tremble and my pulse hammers in my ears as I grab the knob and put the car in drive. But instead of sliding in smoothly, the shifter fights me, and the gears rattle and grind. I yank my hand back and jerk my gaze to Dash.

“The clutch.” Dash motions toward the floorboards. “You have to press the clutch.”

I gape down at the three pedals between my feet. “Why are there—” As soon as the words pass my lips, dread washes over me. “I-I can’t drive a stick shift!” I recoil from the wheel and tuck my hands against my chest. Why didn’t I let Jeanie teach me when she offered?

“Yes, you can,” Dash takes my right hand, places it on the gearshift, and holds it in place with his. “Use your left foot and push the first pedal to the floor.” The moment the pedal touches the floor, he guides my hand, shifting the car into gear. “That’s it. Now slowly ease off the clutch and press the gas at the same time.”

The little car jerks forward, then just as quickly coughs and shudders before stalling.

“Damn it!”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs as if soothing a frightened puppy. “Try again.”

With Dash quietly encouraging me, I follow his instructions again, this time jumping away from the curb and straight into a massive pothole.

“No!” I slam the steering wheel with both hands. “Not again.”

With the front right tire buried deep in the hole, and at least one rear wheel spinning uselessly in the air, the little hatchback kicks up mud like confetti before stalling again.

“Let’s go,” Dash orders.

Vigorously nodding, I grab my tote and climb out. We barely clear the back bumper before Itchy comes flying out the front door with three members of the motorcycle gang on his heels.

“My car!” He clutches his head in both hands.

“You won’t need it where you’re going.” The leader’s thunderous voice freezes Itchy in place.

Rain soaks my hair and runs down my face as I flick my gaze between the biker and Itchy, too paralyzed with fear to flee.

Itchy raises his hands and turns. “Come on, John, cut a guy a break.”

“You knew what would happen if you got caught peddlin’ your shit in my town.” The leader, John, pulls out a set of zip ties. “On your knees. Hands behind your back.”

“Are you guys undercover cops?” The words fly past my lips before I can recall them. I slap both hands over my mouth.

The biker winks. “More like the neighborhood watch.”

“Oh!”

A large hand clamps over Itchy’s mouth, muffling his screams as two bikers drag him into the trailer.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Dash grabs my wrist, his eyes wild as he drags me behind the Chevy. “Do you have a death wish?”