But even though the school and my dad seem fine with me leaving, I’m not one hundred percent. The thing is, I don’t want to miss school because I actually like it, and I know I have a big midterm in March that I need to start prepping for. So I’m bringing all my textbooks, fashion mags, and my iPad full of virtual subscriptions, plus a bag of fabrics and a mini sewing machine just in case. I’ll feel less guilty this way.
I dab some more concealer under my eyes, then add a dash of dark green eyeliner on my bottom lids before running some texturizer through my hair until it looks artfully undone, like a lion’s mane. I opted to wear jeggings and a light cashmere sweater with skulls on it, plus Chanel sneakers. Not quite dressed up, but comfortable enough for a road trip and flexible enough in case I have to fight any demons today.
I hope I don’t though. My hands are healed from where that punk-ass demon kid’s skin burned me, though it makes me wonder why that didn’t happen to me before in the haunted house. Maybe because the house was technically the Veil, whereas these demons straight-up walked out into our world.
“Ada!” my dad yells again.
“Coming!” I yell back, running down the stairs and grabbing my leather jacket from the back of a chair. I figured if we’re going south, I don’t need to dress for winter weather anymore. God, it’s going to feel so nice to feel warmth and sun on my skin.
My dad is waiting by the door with my big suitcase. He lifts it up and winces. “What on earth did you pack?”
“Hey, I need my outfits,” I tell him. “And my schoolwork.”
I take the bag, looking him over. “Are you sure you’re okay with me going?”
He smiles. Seems genuine enough. “Of course. I totally understand.”
“That I need to go to New Orleans…with Max…” I know I’m pushing my luck here but.
“Yes. We’ve already discussed this. It’s important that he gets his documents and his old stuff back.”
“From Rose…”
“Yes, from Rose. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
I stare at him for a moment, then wave my hand in front of his face. “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”
He frowns. “What? What droids?”
“Never mind,” I quickly tell him, then give him a hug. “Take care. Go out for dinner with Debbie or something while I’m gone.”
“We’ll see,” he says, opening the door for me. “Let me take your bag.”
“I’ve got it, Dad,” I tell him. “Been working out.”
I lift up the suitcase with ease, which impresses the both of us, then I carry it down the front steps, pausing in my tracks when I see the car waiting for me at the curb.
It’s a black vintage muscle car, exhaust rising from the back.
Holy shit. This is the car we’re road tripping in? It’s the coolest, sexiest car I’ve ever seen. Wonder where he stole it from?
I drag my suitcase down the path as he rolls down the window and grins at me. I have to admit, he suits this car extremely well.
“Get in, loser,” he says to me.
“So you finally saw Mean Girls,” I comment.
“Mean Girls?” He frowns and gets out of the car. “Let me.” He takes the suitcase from me like it weighs as much as a feather and opens the trunk, tossing it in.
“This car is amazing,” I tell him, running my hand over the roof.
“I know,” he says, then turns and raises his hand to my father who is still standing in the front door, watching us. “I’ll return her in one piece, Mr. Palomino. You trust me.”
“I trust you,” he says, nodding. He smiles at me. “Love you, Ada.”
Then he turns around and goes inside.
I shake my head, eyeing Max with awe. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to start calling you Ginger Jedi now.”
“That’s a nickname I can live with,” he says with a smirk. “Now come on, the open road is calling.”
He gets behind the wheel and I hurry over to the passenger side, sliding onto the soft black leather seats, tossing my jacket in the back where it lands on his leather jacket.
“You have a leather jacket now?” I ask. “We can’t wear them at the same time.”
“Why not?” he asks, revving the engine until the whole car shakes. “We’re a team.”
“A team of demon slayers. Not dorks.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Then he slams the gear, steps on the gas, and we go rocketing forward down the road, so fast that I’m pressed back into the seat, frantically trying to buckle my seatbelt.
“And you were giving me shit about driving!?” I yell at him as we reach the end of the cul-de-sac. He burns it around, doing a donut, and I’m holding onto the oh shit handle with all my might until we straighten out.