by Anna Todd
A black-haired, slender chick wearing a red T-shirt and gray pants appears in the rearview mirror, waving with both hands. How did you not notice her when you passed by her vehicle? Anyway, that doesn’t matter. You move the shift into reverse to return to that damsel in distress. With that wheel wrench she’s holding, it’s not hard to guess she needs your help. And you would never turn your back to helpless, cute girls. Especially ones who look like—
Crack!
“Stop! Stop! Stop! What the hell?” she screams.
Quite an impressive entrance—hitting the bumper of her car. “I’m terribly sorry!” You hurry outside the car to the furious chick.
“Where were you looking at? Dammit!” she yells.
“I’m so sorry. I was looking at . . .” Oh . . . my . . . God!
You clear your throat, trying to sound as confident as possible. “You’re Selena Gomez, right?” A celeb like her won’t be much impressed by a freaking-out fan. Gaping like an idiot at this pair of chocolate-brown eyes is not going to help. She’s just a girl. . . . Well, a sweet girl whose car you just hit.
“Yes, it’s me.” She glares. “Now that we’ve established that—look what you’ve done to my car!”
You bend over her bumper, which is a bit bent. “I’ll be glad to fix this. I know a whiz in my neighborhood who can make your bumper as good as new.” You give her one of your trademark smiles, which usually works.
“No, thanks. I have a guy who can do that,” she replies impassively. You see that hesitation on her face before she says, “But you may help me change this tire. The nuts are too tight to loosen.”
Hah! Sel is in a predicament, and you’re her only hope to get out of it. Time to show off the fruits of your workout. “Let me handle this for you.” You smile cockily. “This is not a job for your soft arms.”
She looks cute when she arches an eyebrow, handing you the wrench, which you take easily.
You look over your shoulder. “Did you put on the emergency brake?”
“Yes,” she says with an irked exhalation.
“Did you put the car in gear? You know, you must—”
“It’s an automatic. It’s in park. I know some basics.”
“Good,” you harrumph as you try to loosen the wheel nuts with the wrench, but the wrench barely moves. “You know what?” You manage a smile, looking at her, hoping you distract her from observing your progress. So far you’ve turned this metal piece of junk one inch. “You’re taller than I thought.”
She approaches. “Need help, tough guy?” You can’t mistake that mocking tone in her voice.
“No, no, I can handle this.” You press your lips together, your hands grasping that damned wrench with all the strength you’ve got. I can’t ruin this. It’s Selena!
“I may stop another car.”
“No!” you insist. You will never forgive yourself if you let that happen. “I’ve got this.” You stand on the wrench, pushing your whole weight down, and at last that rusty thing squeals. Now you squat down to give your arms one more try with the wrench, and yes! The nuts surrender. Victory.
“Told ya,” you gloat.
You raise the vehicle with the jack and remove the nuts and the tire. As you rise to bring the spare tire from the trunk, you notice the two huge suitcases on the ground she took out already to get at the spare.
And what a lucky day—the spare tire is flat as well.
“This tire is not going to work.” You point at it, doing your best to hide your grin. “When was the last time you used it?”
“Shit! I don’t remember,” she snaps, holding her head with both hands, her eyes fixed on the spare. “What am I going to do now?”
“Let me take you where you want to go,” you offer.
“I can’t believe this is really happening.” She smirks, looking down, shaking her head. “A dead phone, a flat tire, and a flat spare tire—all on the same day! What day is it today?”
You’re not sure whether she’s asking you or letting off some steam. You shrug. “Saturday?”
Selena looks awkward when she stares at you. “Saturday?” she echoes. “And now it’s you.”
“Yes . . . me.” Now you’re really confused. Is that a joke or a complaint?
“I’m not sure if I want to do this.” She presses her lips together, her arms folded. “I’ve seen enough of your driving skills.”
“You haven’t seen the worst yet.” You give her a one-sided smile. “Come on. You’re not staying here in the woods on your own.”
“I have no choice, then.” She gazes at both ends of the road, desperately looking for any coming vehicle. “I hope I’m not hindering you.”
“I don’t like being late, but I have no choice, then, either.”
“Can you just take me back to LA, and I’ll see what’s to be done with this car?”
“As you wish.” You return her luggage to the Ford’s trunk and grab the spare tire to get it fixed.
“Señorita, por favor.” You grin, motioning her toward your car. The right side of her mouth quirks upward as she opens the door and sits shotgun.
“Nice ride. This is your car?”
“What do you think? I stole it or something?” You chuckle. “Of course it’s mine.”
She shoots you a doubtful look as she buckles her seat belt. “You could have simply said yes.”
She’s right, you think. Now you have to be careful of what you say. For some freaking cosmic coincidence, a five-star celeb sits next to you in your car. If you’re still alive seventy years later, you’ll still be telling everybody about the day you cruised the legendary Selena Gomez. “She liked me, kids,” you’ll tell your cool grandchildren. “You know what, I got swagger more than you when I was your age.”
Right now, since you’re writing a story-of-a-lifetime ride, you should do something worth telling. That may sound crazy, but imagine the stunned looks on their faces when you enter Zack’s party with Sel holding your hand. Boom! That’s what you call an epic entrance. But how can you persuade her to do so? Think. Think. Think. Think.
“Excuse me,” Selena’s voice interrupts your thoughts, “but I think you’re going the wrong way.” She points backward with her thumb.
Only with her words do you realize you’ve been driving to the hills. “Oh! My bad!” You were on autopilot, but getting her to the party won’t be that easy. You have to play it nice.
You turn around, heading to LA. “I never thought that someone like you would be driving around here by herself.”
She looks back at the vacant seats. “I don’t see your friends cramming the car.”
“You got me!” You laugh. “Well, I have many friends waiting for me in Palm Hills. We’re having an awesome party tonight.”
“I hope you won’t miss any second of your awesome party because of me,” she says drily. “I would never forgive myself.”
“Miss what? That party can’t start without me. I’m the party, Selena. Didn’t I tell you? I’m an artist too, albeit a bit less famous than you.”
“No kidding.” She can’t help laughing, leaning to the door, looking at you.
“I’m a DJ, and I sing too. No me, no party tonight.”
“Be careful, Mr. Party,” she teases. “Arrogance can kill your artistic career.”
“You know what? You should come and watch my performance.”
“Watch your performance.” She slowly nods, turning her eyes to the road ahead. “Yeah, why not? One day.”
She doesn’t mean it, you know. Once she returns to Los Angeles, she’s gone. And just as you’re thinking that, you come upon an unfamiliar intersection. Why don’t you remember having seen it on your way up here?
“Why are we slowing down?” asks Selena.
Telling her the truth won’t be a good idea. You should take your chances and pick a road. Right or left? Right or left? Were you asleep while driving? All you remember is the sight of trees on both sides. And damn! The two roads look identical with those damned trees.
/> She studies your face. “You don’t know where we are now, do you?”
“I’m following my gut feeling,” you say.
“Your ‘gut feeling’? That doesn’t sound good. I believe we should rely on something . . . you know . . . reliable.” She pushes her hands in her pockets as if she’s looking for something before she closes her eyes, tilting her head back in frustration. “Dammit! Can this day get any worse?”
“What is it?”
“My phone!” she snaps. “I left everything in my car!”
“Just stay calm,” you reassure her. “We can return to your car if you want.”
“Can we? I thought we were lost.” Her lack of confidence in you really doesn’t help.
“It won’t be hard. We’ll just go back the way we came.”
You slow down before you make a U-turn. After a few minutes she excitedly exclaims, “You see that?” She points straight ahead. “A car!”
You gaze through the front windshield and, yes, she’s right; a car is coming toward you. A police car.
Her eyes narrow as you hear the siren and see the lights flash. The police car slows down in the middle of the narrow road, barely leaving a space for you to pass through. Obviously, the police want you to stop.
But you don’t stop. . . .
And you don’t really know why. You bolt past the cop car, almost hitting its bumper.
“What the hell are you doing?” Selena cries.
“Nothing.” You shrug as if nothing has happened. “Just passing through.”
“Bullshit!” she snaps. “You should have stopped!”
The wheels of the police car squeal as it turns around and follows you. “But why? I did nothing wrong.”
“Well, you did now—pull over!” she yells.
Maybe you should listen to her. That policeman on your ass must be pissed off. No, that will be a bad idea; what are you going to do if he requests your license? You know, the one you don’t actually have?
“I said pull over!” Selena Gomez insists, but you accelerate. “I swear I’ll pull the emergency brake!”
You shake your head, chuckling. “You’re not doing that.”
“You think so?” She arches an eyebrow. “Watch me.”
Until the last second, you’re sure she’s bluffing. But sadly enough, she’s not. Selena pulls the emergency brake, and the car stops at once, your head jerking violently forward. Thanks to the seat belt, you avoid a deadly steering-wheel head butt. Two seconds later, you realize that the worst hasn’t happened . . . yet.
The police car crashes into you from behind. Selena screams.
“What have you done? Are you out of your mind?” you exclaim, forgetting you’re talking to the Selena Gomez. You’re just too mad with fury and adrenaline to consider it at the moment.
“It’s you who’s out of his mind!” she yells.
“Freeze!”
A gray-haired officer hurries out of his crashed vehicle, pointing a gun at both of you.
“Wow! Wow! Easy, Officer.” You wave to him.
“Step out of the vehicle! Let me see your hands over your heads!” he commands.
“All right, all right.” You raise your hands as he asks, getting out of the car. “There’s been a big misunderstanding, Officer.”
“You, too, señorita.” He motions her with his gun.
“Me? I did nothing wrong!”
“This is how you return the favor of me picking you up?” you simper.
“Enough of this bullshit.” The officer is still pointing his gun at you. “Your hands up. Come here next to your friend.”
She gnashes her teeth, glaring at you. “Thanks for the favor.” Getting out, she stands beside you, both of you facing the Dodge.
You decide to try your chances as he searches you. “Let me explain, Officer. It was all my fault. I was just confused when I saw your car.”
“Where are the drugs, boy?”
“Drugs?” you exclaim. “No, no, no, no, no! I don’t have drugs!”
“Then what were you doing on that road?”
“What? I was just lost!” you say.
“Do you think it’s my first time hearing that bullshit?” He is not listening, still keeping you facing the vehicle. “Is it yours?”
“The car?”
“No, the girl. Of course, the car, kid!”
“Yes . . . ?” You try not to sound nervous, but obviously, you do sound nervous.
You stand there in silence for a moment before you hear the officer get on his radio. “This is Ethan Samuel on US 395. I want to check a Dodge, 8BNI563.”
“Let me guess.” Selena looks at you, her lips curled. “This Dodge is not yours.”
Before you respond to her, you hear the radio buzz and a voice announces, “Stolen.”
Dang it! Jeff reported his car stolen. But of course he did—that’s the kind of guy he is.
Suddenly, Officer Ethan pulls your hands from above your head and puts them in cold steel behind your back. For the first time in your life, you test how handcuffs feel. And they feel bad, you must say.
“I assure you there’s been a terrible misunderstanding, Officer. This is my stepfather’s car. His name is Jeff Williams.”
“When I was your age, I had a stepfather who would kill me if I did what you did to his car. Anyway, save your words until we go to the police station. But now you have the right to remain silent, boy.” He addresses Selena: “What about you, señorita? Let’s see your immigration documents?”
“What the hell?” She’s infuriated. “I’m an American citizen. You might want to watch all that señorita stuff too.”
“Come on, Officer,” you say. “Can’t you recognize her? It’s Selena Gomez.”
“And I’m Clint Eastwood.” He smirks.
“Look well, man! It’s her!”
“Be careful, señorita,” Ethan—aka Clint Eastwood—warns. “These are too many charges to handle.”
“Too many charges?” she echoes in disapproval. “What do you mean?”
“Stealing a car, illegal immigration, and now misrepresenting your identity to a police officer.”
“This is insane,” she mutters, closing her eyes, taking her head in her hands and shaking it. “Somebody tell me, please, that this is nothing but a silly prank.” Selena’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown, you can see it. “Of course it is.” She lowers her hands, turning to face Officer Eastwood, smiling nervously. “For one day, this bullshit is too much to be true, right?”
Looking over your shoulder, you see Ethan staring at her coldly.
“No?” Selena looks frustrated. “Not a prank?”
“Are you all right, kid?” Ethan narrows his eyes.
“Of course I’m not!” Selena blusters. “My vacation is ruined because of a stupid flat tire. And now I’m trapped with a maniac who stole someone’s car and tried to run away from police.”
“I didn’t steal anything,” you protest. Because being a maniac won’t jail you, right?
“My white Ford Escape is on the highway.” She ignores you, addressing the officer. “You’ll find all my stuff there.”
“Very well.” Ethan unlocks your cuff.
Which astonishes you. “So you believe us at last?”
“You should have let me do the talking from the beginning,” Selena scolds.
But Ethan is not letting you go as you think. Actually, he only released your right hand to cuff you and Selena together.
“What the hell?” Selena says.
“This is the only pair of handcuffs I have at the moment.” He holds your arm. “Let’s go.”
THROUGH THE SIDE WINDOW, you spend the next forty minutes gazing at trees and cars. Selena’s doing the same, perhaps to avoid looking at you. Today you’ve succeeded in becoming the person in the world she hates the most.
Ethan’s radio doesn’t stop buzzing until you arrive at the police station. Escorting both of you inside, he enters the place as a conqueror.
&nb
sp; “Hey, Ethan!” another officer calls out. “Take Miss Selena and the suspect to the commissioner’s office.”
“That’s not fair,” you protest. “Either we’re both suspects, or he calls me by my name.”
Selena doesn’t say a word, but her face looks a bit relieved. As if she’s telling herself, They know me. They know me at last.
As you enter the commissioner’s office with Ethan, the top cop gives the officer a dismissive gesture. “Leave us now, Ethan. Good job by the way.”
Yeah, good job, asshole. As you stand cuffed with Selena in front of the desk, the bald commissioner gives you a warm smile. “We’ve found your car, Miss Gomez.”
Now you realize that you’re invisible. His warm smile is only for her.
“So, you’re sure now that I’m not an illegal immigrant, or some fraud who impersonates someone else?” she asks cautiously.
“No, no.” The commissioner laughs. “Ethan has gone too far, but you should know he was doing his duty.”
At last, you see light at the end of that dark tunnel. “What about me?”
“Your stepfather has vouched for you. When he comes in and signs some papers rescinding the order, you’ll be free to go. It’s only a matter of time before this nightmare is over.”
“Yeah, a nightmare indeed,” she mutters.
“You can wait in my office until the arrival of your stepfather,” the commissioner says, leaving you and Selena cuffed together. As he shuts the door behind him, an awkward silence reigns over the place.
“I believe I owe you an apology,” you start. “I involved you in so much trouble today.”
“It’s okay.” She looks down, and silence fills the space again.
She scans the desk with her eyes before she picks up with her free left hand a small piece of paper and a pen. “My left handwriting is horrible, but it’s readable, anyway.”
You can’t see what she’s writing. “What?”
“My number.” She hands you the paper. “Let me know when you have one of your cool parties. If I’m available, I may come to watch you onstage.”
You don’t believe what you’ve just heard. “Are you serious?”
She smiles. “Well, you did show me a night to remember. I’ll be interested in seeing what happens when you actually try to do it on purpose.”