Page 14
If Quade’s body is meant to be found, someone else will find it. You hurry outside and flag down the ice cream truck. You walk up to the window and try to talk to the driver but he can’t hear you over the abrasively whimsical ice cream truck music.
“Can you turn that down?” you shout, pointing to your ear and making a downward motion. The driver, an acne-ridden sixteen-year-old boy whose worn-down name tag either reads “Steve” or “Slave,” just shakes his head and shrugs.
“What can I get for you?” he asks at the top of his lungs.
It’s a question you weren’t ready to answer. A question you hadn’t even asked yourself. As you take a moment to look over your options, the jingle playing on the intercom comes to an end. In the second of silence before the next song starts you hear a muffled screeching coming from one of the coolers in the truck.
Steve/Slave’s eyes grow wide and he turns to look at you. For what seems like an eternity the two of you make unbroken eye contact to the twinkling sounds of summertime happiness. Steve/Slave slowly begins to back away towards the driver’s seat, but that little brat’s not going anywhere. Not until you get some answers.
You lunge forward and grab him by the collar of his shirt.
“The keys,” you demand.
“Y-y-yessir,” he stammers, pulling the keys out of the ignition and handing them to you. The music stops, and you hear more screeching and bumping. You loosen your grip.
“I want some answers. First, what’s your name?”
“Stove,” he grunts, pointing to the name tag. Ahhh. Now that you see it that way, you wonder how it could have ever looked like anything else.
“What’s in there?”
“None of your business!”
He’s playing hardball here. It’s time to use some of the interrogation techniques you picked up from Smut Court.
“I’m about to make it my business,” you snarl in your most Batman-like voice as you drag Stove through the window of the truck. He backs away from you 0n all fours.
“Fine,” he concedes. “See for yourself…if you think you can handle it.”
You’re no expert on the subject, but something tells you that shaking, screeching cooler isn’t full of Fudge Pops…
To open the cooler, turn to page 15.
To get the ice cream you came here for and leave, turn to page 16.
2 years ago • 0 notes