“Hurry up!” I yelled at Shayla, who was in the bathroom.
“These walls are paper thin!” she howled. “You guys have to talk or something. I can’t go if people are listening!”
We all covered our mouths to keep from laughing.
None of us started talking. It was more fun to torture Shayla.
I don’t know why drinking makes you kinda mean toward your friends, but I like to think you only abuse the ones you love.
While we were huddled there in the kitchenette, one of the cabinets began emitting an odd noise.
“The trailer is haunted!” I squealed.
Mitchell and Chantalle screamed, and we all pushed and shoved each other to get out the door. We ran down the steps and to the ground outside.
“Totally haunted,” Mitchell said in agreement.
“I’m never going in there again,” I said.
A few minutes later, Shayla came out with some papers in her hand. “That noise was a fax machine, you dummies.”
“It must be a time-traveling Airstream,” Mitchell said, his eyes wide. “How else would you explain having a fax machine?”
“Probably architectural drawings or some shit for the cabin,” I said.
Shayla gasped and ran to the car with the papers, where she sat on the passenger side. She left the door open and the interior light on. “MOTHERSHITTING MAMA-BEAR!”
Chantalle slid into the driver’s side and grabbed the papers from Shayla. “What’s the big deal? Looks like these are different wording options for a screenplay. This fax is from the office of some writer dude. That makes sense, since Dalton is an actor. Except…”
Mitchell shot me a grave look then asked, “Is the content anything Peaches should be concerned about?”
Chantalle laughed. “That’s a funny coincidence. It’s actually wedding vows for something. Hmm. That’s odd. It says Peaches Monroe in this script.”
Mitchell ran around to the driver’s side of the car, grabbed the papers, and ran back to the Airstream yelling, “No good can come of this! We were never here. This did not happen!”
I slid into the back seat of the car and pried the vodka from Shayla’s hands. The booze had smelled of vanilla and other herbs when we started, but now it went down as easy as water.
It crushed me to learn that Dalton had someone writing his vows. If he actually loved me, why would he hire someone else to say it?
Chantalle was confused and upset. “I don’t understand what’s happening, you guys. What the fuck is up with everyone this summer? Golden is dating Adrian and Carter, and Carter is dating Golden and Tiny-Shirt Trisha, and I can’t keep track of who else Trisha is dating, but I think Lester’s in there, and Kirsten. Has everyone lost their minds? And why is everyone acting like I ate a box of kittens? What’s the deal with the script?”
Mitchell slid into the back seat next to me and wrestled the bottle from my hands. “The fax has been returned,” he said. “We’ll just pretend we were never here.”
Chantalle turned around and asked again, “What’s happening?”
“Peaches has trust issues,” Shayla explained to Chantalle. “Back when they first met, Dalton used a bunch of scripted lines to get into her panties.”
I snorted. “And he also used his eyebrows. His sexy vampire eyebrows.” I grabbed back the bottle. “But mostly I’m upset because you can’t ever trust an actor. He’s always acting!”
Mitchell gave me the saddest look. “Oh, Peaches. He might be corny, but he does love you.”
“Does he? Then why hasn’t he said it?”
The two girls in the front seats turned around so fast, they bumped heads with a crack.
Rubbing her head, Chantalle said, “What the fuck is going on? Why would you marry a guy who hasn’t said he loves you?”
Shayla gasped. “You’re pregnant again? Gimme that. You can’t drink.”
I gave her my steeliest shut-up look. “I’m not pregnant, nor have I ever been, Shayla. You should know, as my best friend.”
Still rubbing her head, and looking like she really regretted agreeing to be our driver, Chantalle asked me again, “Why are you getting married? For money?”
I began to laugh, rolling back in the seat and slapping my hands on my knees. “Got ya! I totally pranked ya!”
“You’re joking?” Chantalle asked.
Mitchell gave me a skeptical look.
“Totally joking,” I said. “I know all about the scriptwriter thing. Dalton’s really into me. He totally loves me. He just isn’t so great with his own words.”
“That makes sense,” Chantalle said, nodding in agreement.