[12]

Hotel Yorba

Rattling of dried beans coaxed Skipper to open her eyes. They were being shaken to the beat of some noisy tune sung by a muffled, whiny vocalist that made the girl cringe. Wade stood there grinning, maracas in hand.

"You like my remix?"

"Very...authentic." She rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him. "What're you doing in my room?"

"Ummmm last I checked I'm the one with the keys, so... I'm here to wake you up," he continued shaking the maracas in time with the music that she discovered was coming from his phone, tucked in a pocket of his cargo shorts. "I'm hungry and you were sleeping too long. No," he pointed one maraca accusingly at her face as she sat up. "You cannot call it jet lag. We didn't fly. We took the ferry."

"Fairies fly." She stuck her tongue out and stretched before getting off the bed. "Turn odd that racket, or whatever it is you're playing."

"HOW DARE YOU INSULT THE WHITE STRIPES LIKE THAT!? JACK WHITE IS A LEGEND!" 

"Keep it down! Sheesh! We're in a freaking resort for heaven's sake! Nobody wants to hear your proclamations of white supremacy!"

"Smooth, but also, OWW," Wade stated loudly, looking quite hurt. He gave the maracas one last exaggerated shake before reaching into his pocket and turning the music off. Silence fell over the hotel room and Skipper found the tune had already made its way to her head. 

Darn Wade and his obnoxious tunes, she thought bitterly.

"Let's get food. I'm starving. I haven't eaten since we left America."

"Quit being dramatic," she huffed, slowly walking to her suitcase and pulling out her special hoodie. "We'll get food in a minute."

"I have waited exactly two and a half hours," he informed her with raised eyebrows. "My stomach is hurting. I am depleted, in desperate need of sustenance."

"Oh, boohoo. Sucks to be you, doesn't it? I hurt all over. Top that." She grabbed a fresh pair of socks and some tennis shorts.

"I don't think you want me to," he muttered, eyebrows still raised as he turned to leave the room. Looking over his shoulder he called more audibly, "Fine, you can freshen up, but the minute you're done we're getting in the car and finding us some authentic Mexican cuisine because I am wasting away!"

"Join the club, dough boy!" She bickered, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it before changing into her fresh clothes. She was glad they'd agreed to stay in a hotel for their first few nights here in Mexico. Wade needed a break from driving and they both needed something more comfortable than car seats as a bed. Not only that, but Wade needed sleep. He wasn't getting enough. Much as he annoyed her, she knew she couldn't deprive him of that necessary function for so long; a sleepless driver inevitably becomes a dead driver, after all. Then she would be stuck with little chance of hiring another. 

She recalled how she'd been ridiculed online for posting that inquiry, when initially she'd anticipated people to have more heart than that. Some tried to shame her for giving up her academic advancement for world travel, saying it was a waste of life and time and money.

Money was material. Life wasn't. Neither was time. She knew this. That's why she was taking this trip, after all—to give up material things and just live until she literally had no tomorrow. True, she was still getting used to falling asleep not knowing if she'd get up in the morning. It was terrifying to think that, despite everything she'd been through, she still ended up taking it all for granted. There was still that part of her that couldn't accept the reality of the situation. That she wouldn't go on forever.

   Frowning, she tiredly pulled herself together and left her room. Wade was waiting outside the door. He had done away with his maracas for the time being, instead scrolling through his phone and looking a strange mix between bored and famished. He was also humming that annoying tune. Skipper rolled her eyes and gave him a light punch.

"Alright, enchilada boy. Let's get some food before you starve to death."