yolo (5 page)

Tattoo Guy yelled, “Nobody move!” and Emily saw Trench Coat Lady begin to do wide sweeps of the restaurant with her gun pointed out in front of her. As the crazy-eyed lady with the spiky hair swung the pistol through the air and took a step forward, Emily flinched. It suddenly crossed her mind that she had never been in the same room as a gun—let alone witnessed a robbery, live and in progress. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and things seemed to slow down all around her, sort of like bobbing under water for a few moments and everything is muted and muffled.

As the waitress dumped wads of bills into the bag Tattoo Guy was holding, Trench Coat Lady was getting closer and
closer to their table. Emily looked at Ana, who had now frozen, both hands over her head, and didn't appear to be breathing.

Emily could smell the leather coat as it brushed by their booth and she held her breath, waiting for the moment to be over, but the woman paused right next to their table, her mouth set into a thin line.

Emily bit down on her tongue and continued to hold her breath, trying to figure out what they'd done to grab the woman's attention, and what they could do to make sure they didn't keep it. Then, just as Trench Coat Lady was turning to walk away, Ana's phone sprang to life—loud, obnoxious, jump-out-of-our-skin life.

Never before had Emily felt so much hate toward Ana's insistence on having the most current pop songs as a ringtone on her phone. And Trench Coat Lady apparently felt the same way. She whirled back to the table and brought the butt of her pistol down on Ana's iPhone like a sledgehammer, sending tiny splinters of glass ricocheting in all directions across the table.

For a moment, the entire restaurant froze.

Emily felt like she was underwater again, floating in an endless second that suddenly snapped back to life with a piercing shriek from Ana, who grabbed the woman's wrist and screamed, “You BITCH!” Faster than Emily had ever seen anyone move, Ana pulled the gun out of Trench Coat Lady's hand and slid it across the table toward Emily, who caught it as she watched Ana's body sail from the booth and tackle the woman with the pointy black hair.

Just for a second Emily felt like she was watching a television show about a plucky teenage Latina vigilante who'd just decided to take matters into her own hands. This moment was interrupted when Brandon leaped onto the table, sending glasses of Strawberry Tsunami crashing in all directions. He jumped from the table to tackle Tattoo Guy, who had been just a yard to two away from reaching the spot where Ana and Trench Coat Lady were wrestling on the floor.

Almost without realizing what she was doing, as Ana and Trench Coat Lady screeched at each other and Brandon tried to pull the gun from Tattoo Guy's fist, Emily found herself standing on the seat of the booth, which was now covered in Strawberry Tsunami. When she realized that she was standing on the seat, a few other things also became clear to her:

1. She was holding a handgun.

2. She and her friends could very well die if she didn't do something
right now
.

3. If they were all dead, there would be no way to get to the party.

With barely any hesitation Emily jumped off the booth seat, landed next to where Tattoo Guy and Brandon were grunting on the floor, and swiftly kicked the gun from Tattoo Guy's hand, sending it sliding across the floor as Tattoo Guy let out a screech of pain. She was on her way to grab the gun from the floor when the loud, explosive crack of a gunshot sounded in the air.

Emily whirled around, a gun in each hand, and watched
as plaster rained down from the ceiling at the far end of the restaurant. There, standing by the door that led to the kitchen, was a gigantic man who had two hams for forearms and another for a neck. He was bald as a cue ball, with thick eyebrows and a goatee, and Emily was fairly certain even without asking that he owned a Harley Davidson. He was wearing a white apron smeared with food and holding a double-barreled shotgun, which he leveled in her direction.

“Get your hooligan friends and get the hell out of my diner!”

Emily blinked hard and opened her mouth to protest, when she followed the man's eyes to her own hands and saw a gun in each one. It was time for the next horrible realization:

4. He thought
she
was the bandit.

Had she not been holding a pistol in each hand, Emily might have tried to explain. She might have protested, or smiled and assured the man with the shotgun that this was all a misunderstanding—a giant miscommunication. Instead she dropped both guns on the floor, turned to the door, and ran.

Emily exited the diner only three steps ahead of Brandon. Tattoo Guy had reached down to scoop up both of the guns Emily had dropped, and behind him Ana and Trench Coat Lady tumbled out the door in a tangle of arms and legs. Ana was screaming and trying to pull the ski mask off of the woman who, Emily realized, had a fist full of Ana's long black hair. Tattoo Guy was yelling through his ski mask and trying to pull Trench Coat Lady off Ana. Brandon was shouting at Ana to get in the freaking car, and Ana, who really might have gone insane at that moment, was still screaming about her broken iPhone.

Then there was the other sound Emily heard that rose over the fracas happening in front of her. With her heart pounding faster than ever, she held up her hands and screamed, “Everybody shut the hell up!”

Amazingly, even Ana and Trench Coat Lady stopped trying to claw each other, and they all turned and looked at Emily, breathing hard. Emily cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, watching as the recognition flooded each of their faces when the newfound silence allowed them to hear the growing wail of sirens.

“Shit,” Brandon and Tattoo Guy said at the same time, breaking the group's silence.

There was another moment's pause, and then they were all racing through the parking lot.

Emily reached the car and slid behind the steering wheel, then popped the locks and heard the doors open and close as she slammed her key into the ignition and started the car. As the doors slammed shut, she pressed her foot down on the gas pedal and pulled out of the parking lot at top speed. It was only then that she glanced in the rearview mirror and was shocked to see that it wasn't Brandon looking back at her.

“What the hell are they doing in my car?” Emily screamed, her eyes locked on the two bandits in her backseat. She was starting to pull over when Brandon yelled back.

“Keep going!” he shouted. “Do not stop!”

“I want these assholes out of my car,” Emily said. “Why did you even let them in here?”

“Um . . . guns?”

“We are going straight to an Apple store so this bitch can buy me a new iPhone,” Ana said from the passenger seat. She turned and shouted into the back, “You hear me? You're getting me a new phone!”

“You are gonna have to let that go,” Brandon said.

Emily spun the car around and was back on the highway in a second, figuring that should make it much more difficult for anyone to follow them, now that they were lost among the other cars speeding down the road.

“Fast thinking back there,” Tattoo Guy said as he patted her should.

“Yeah,” Trench Coat Lady chimed in. “You can drive my getaway car anytime.”

“Oh my God.” Emily couldn't believe her ears. “Is this really happening? All I wanted to do was get to this party, and now I'm
harboring criminals
.”

“Who . . . us?” Tattoo Guy pulled off his ski mask.

“No,” Emily said. “The serial killers in the trunk. YES, you!”

“Oh please.” Trench Coat Lady pulled of her ski mask too. “We're not criminals. And you don't have to harbor us, just drop us off at the next exit.” The woman had a deep red scratch across her cheek, and Emily was glad that Ana had managed to inflict at least a little bit of pain.

“What do you mean you're not criminals?” Ana said. “I'm pretty sure what you did to my phone counts as a serious crime!”

“Not to mention the armed robbery,” Brandon said.

“Look!” Tattoo Guy popped open the chamber of each of his guns. “We don't even have bullets in here.” He handed both over to Brandon.

“Huh,” Brandon said. “He's right. These are empty.”

“No police officer in the
world
cares whether those weapons were loaded or not,” Emily said. “You were still robbing the place.”

Trench Coat Lady sighed. “The point is that we weren't planning to
hurt
anyone.”

“Yeah,” said Tattoo Guy. “I'm real sorry about all this. It's kind of all a misunderstanding, right? Anyway, my name's Chestnut. This here's Liz.”

Emily glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Liz give a small wave. “We're really sorry we got started off on the wrong foot.”

“The wrong foot?” Emily was trying not to yell, but her heart was still racing and she was certain that a highway patrolman was going to come speeding up behind her at any moment, even after her apparently top-notch getaway tactics. “Calling someone the wrong name, or spilling a beverage on them as you shake hands is the ‘wrong foot.' Holding us at gunpoint is not the
wrong foot
. It's a
felony
.”

“I understand how you feel,” Chestnut said solemnly.

“No. No, I don't think you do,” said Ana. “My iPhone is dead.” She waved the shattered screen in his direction. “It won't even turn on!”

“At least you thought to pick it up,” Brandon said. “Thank God the cops don't have your phone.”

“Even so,” Emily said. “Exactly how long do you think it will take before the police go over the security footage from the cameras that place must have had and run my license plate? Or just plaster our faces all over the news. I'm not even out of high school yet and I'm going to be tried as an adult for aiding and abetting!”

“Nah,” snorted Chestnut, shaking his head. “Besides, Liz and I ain't horrible folks. We're high school sweethearts, ya know. Good people.”

“No, I didn't know,” said Emily. “And somehow, I think that under cross-examination, that little tidbit will be ruled irrelevant.”

“High school sweethearts?
Aw
 . . .”

Emily glanced at Ana, who was now on her knees in the front seat with her chin on the headrest, staring at Liz with what could only be described as googly eyes.

“It's true,” brayed Liz. “He asked me to prom fifteen years ago and the rest is history.”

“Did you start robbing banks and restaurants right after the dance, or did you have special training in college first?” Emily couldn't help herself. Now that she knew there was no ammo in the guns, they didn't seem nearly as dangerous, and she decided to take a few shots of her own.

“Now see? Right there. You've got us all wrong, little missy.” Chestnut turned to Brandon. “She always like this?”

“Snippy?” Brandon asked him. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Oh my God, Brandon. Whose side are you on?”

“We have never robbed a bank,” said Liz. “And never would.”

“Like to keep our hits smaller than that,” Chestnut explained. “Don't wanna get caught being too greedy. Like to hit little spots where there's less money and less security, too. Just to make a nice life.”

“You're like Bonnie and Clyde,” squealed Ana.

“It
is
sorta romantic, Em,” Brandon said sheepishly.

Emily rolled her eyes, “It is not. There's nothing romantic about this. And don't call me ‘Em.' ”

“Look,” said Chestnut, “all we want is to have a little fun, make a little dough, and take care of our boy.”

“Your boy?” Emily asked. “Oh my God, you're
parents
?” She was horrified.

“Oh, don't act so high and mighty,” said Liz. “We love Artie just as much as your parents love you.”

“How old is he?” asked Brandon.

“Five,” said Chestnut.

“Wanna see a picture?”

Before Emily knew what was happening, Liz was passing her phone around the car, showing off pictures of Artie. Ana and Brandon were saying how cute he was and Emily realized she was alone in her understanding of just how far off the rails this day had actually gone. There was one thing and one thing only that she wanted at this point: these nut jobs out of the car.

“Okay, everyone. I hate to interrupt the offspring love fest, but, Liz? Chestnut? Where are you getting out, because I want to get you there fast.”

“Well, our next stop was gonna be the Little-J Mart at the next exit up,” Chestnut said with a shrug. “Don't s'pose you could drop us off there, could you?”

“Sure we could,” Brandon said.

Before she could protest, Ana had held up a hand at Brandon. “Uh-uh,” she said. “Not so fast, Speedy Gonzales.” She turned to Liz and smiled sweetly. “Miss O'Brien's Criminal Cab Service will be happy to deliver you to your next hold-up location, but it'll cost you.”

Chestnut squinted across the back seat at Ana. “How much,” he asked.

“The amount of one new iPhone,” Ana said smugly.

Liz looked at Chestnut, who stared back at her and then shrugged. Liz reached into the bag the waitress had filled with cash from the register and counted out a fistful of twenties to Ana, who smiled like she'd won an Olympic medal.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Ana said, then turned to Emily. “Tell the chick behind the steering wheel where we're going.”

Emily couldn't believe she was letting herself be talked into this. All she wanted was to be back on the road headed toward the party. “Where the hell is this Little-J Mart?”

“Also,
what
the hell is a Little-J Mart?” Ana asked.

“Is it like a K-Mart's kid brother?”