[2]

McDonald’s And Botched Makeup

"I hate the way you do your makeup."

"I hate the way you drive." Leaning forward, pulling her right eyelid down, Skipper studied her reflection in the visor mirror and attempted to apply eyeliner as the vehicle bumped along. Of course, Wade managed to hit a pothole. Eyeliner smeared across Skipper's face in a jagged wiggle, and her jaw dropped in horror. Limping, the vehicle pulled to the shoulder of the road. 

   "Flat tire," Wade explained, hopping out and slamming his door. 

   "Serves you right," Skipper muttered unhappily, reaching into her bag for some makeup removal wipes. To her horror, the package wasn't there. Seized with concern, she removed the bag's contents and rearranged them thrice. Nothing. She checked beneath her seat, checked the glove box. She even peeked into the backseat where Charles dozed lazily. Stupid anteater. Shoving the door open, she poked her head out and shouted at Wade, "Look what you did to me!"

"Nah, you just have really bad hand-eye coordination," he shrugged, continuing to jack the vehicle up so he could patch the tire. Wade knew a thing or two about vehicles and always kept a tire repair kit with him in case of such instances, as he hated having to use a spare and taking vehicles to be serviced. He didn't have the time nor the money for that. At least Skipper was helping to pay for fuel.

   "That wasn't punny." Hopping out of her seat, she walked over to him. He shook his head and pointed, directing her back inside the vehicle.

   "I don't care what you think. Get back in the car and fix your ugly face."

   "Oh, as it turns out, I have no makeup remover."

   "Sheesh, that sucks, cuz you sure could use some. You could use some hair dye remover, too. Or is that just a wig?"

   "Shut up, greaseball."

   Wade raised his eyebrows at her, willing himself not to show any trace of amusement. It was such fun to get her all fired up. He wasn't sure what her natural hair color was—though he assumed it was a rich espresso color—but he figured she'd make a pretty good redhead. Just so long as it wasn't stupid purple glow-in-the-dark. 

   "You know how you're gonna fix your face?"

   "I don't know, you tell me."

   He smirked. "Water, duh."

   "Thanks." Turning back to the vehicle, she climbed inside and grabbed his water bottle. She dampened some tissues with the water and grimaced at her reflection as she tried removing the mistake. All she got was a rash from the scratchy paper towel scraping her sensitive skin. The eyeliner was still there. She'd been using that good ol' waterproof eyeliner. The really expensive stuff that actually holds up to its purpose. 

   A fine morning, indeed.

   Sighing, she busied herself properly applying makeup to her left eye and attempting to correct it on the right, wishing she could ignore that bold, jagged smear. She would have to convince Wade to pull off at the next town so she could get some makeup remover. No way was she going to survive without it. He couldn't make her.

   Spitting into Wade's water, she closed the cap and shook it so the floaties danced around, setting it back in the cupholder with a smirk. There, now he'd have a nasty little surprise when he went to take a drink. Putting her feet up, Skipper leaned back and gazed out at the desert surrounding them. Well, it wasn't quite a desert. Just a broad stretch of flatland dressed with a sparse amount of brittle, dry grass. Every now and then a stray car or semi truck would rumble past, but other than that, it was quite desolate. Then again, it was only six in the morning.

   Wade crawled into the driver's seat ten minutes later, grease smudged on his loose-fitting white Cali tee. 

   "You owe me breakfast for this," Skipper stated airily, gesturing toward her right eye. 

"I do not owe you breakfast. You should know better than to apply makeup in a moving vehicle. Really, it's common sense." Scoffing, he turned the key and switched the car into gear, pulling out onto the highway again, pushing heavily on the gas. She stared at him, clearly awaiting a better reaction. He narrowed his eyes, smirked, and rolled the windows down. Skipper's long, loose purple coils whipped around in her face. Wade's brown-blond hair did nothing; it was lazy. Not really—he was just wearing a beanie, which protected it from various things; wind included. Skipper glared, and Wade smirked. He loved to get under her skin.

"If you didn't owe me breakfast before, you sure do now!" She shouted over the wind. He cocked an eyebrow as if indicating he didn't hear her, but when she moved to roll up her window, he locked it so she couldn't. Next thing he knew, her fist had collided with his left bicep. It hurt, but he wasn't going to give Skipper the satisfaction of knowing she'd caused him pain, so he simply clenched his jaw and focused on driving while she continued to glare at him. 

   Eventually she grew bored with being mad and turned to poke her head out the window. In the backseat, Charles stirred. The anteater's sleep had been disrupted by their elevated banter and the wind whipping through the windows. It sounded like a helicopter; Charles remembered riding one in his childhood. With a soft anteater snort, he pushed himself from the backseat and ambled to his window, sticking his snout through the opening and extending his tongue into the fresh air. Fighting the force of the gusts as they flew down the highway, Charles's tongue came in contact with something smooth and round.

   Skipper's cheek. She screamed, Wade decided to start rolling up her window and nearly trapped her head between the glass and the frame, and Charles shrunk back in fear. 

   "You could have killed me! Gosh!" Picking up the nearest assault object—which happened to be one of her Crocs—she attacked Wade. He swerved slightly, shouting at her to stop unless she wanted them to get into an accident, because he certainly wasn't planning on dying anytime soon. She told him she'd be pleased to let him rot in hell.

   He knew she didn't mean it.

The highway soon was met by an uphill branch that served as an exit, leading to some sort of civilized area. Wade kept the windows down and turned up the radio. Skipper cocked an eyebrow, opened her mouth to complain, then immediately shut it. No words left her mouth. Instead, she decided to try the song before bashing it. Rock—or whatever this noise was—really wasn't her cup of juice.

"Is this a lady?" She scrunched up her face at the vocals. Wade's eyes flashed irritably.

"That’s Kellin Quinn. So, no. Not a lady." 

“As if I’d know.”

“Well, you should.”

Folding her arms, Skipper sat back and raised her eyebrows to show she wasn't impressed. "He sounds like a lady."

"Shut up. His vocal delivery is great. I love Sleeping With Sirens." He began to hum along. Turning to lean out the window once more, Skipper rolled her eyes. The sun was up, and it was hot outside; shimmers from the heat could be seen in the air. Now that they were off the highway and the road speeds were slower, the overwhelming warmth was beginning to get to her. Queasily, Skipper pulled herself in and poked at the window switch. It was still locked. 

   "Wade. Hey." She snapped her fingers, competing with the music for his attention. When he finally glanced at her, she motioned to the window and mimed it moving upward. Wade wanted to be difficult but then he remembered.

   "Sure. I'm sorry, I forgot." Rolling up all the windows, he turned on the AC instead. In the backseat, Charles stuck his nose to the floor. He was feeling quite hungry, and Wade's vehicle was too clean to house any ants. 

Cool air blew through the vents and kissed Skipper's face. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. She reopened them when the vehicle pulled to a stop. Sunlight blared through the windshield, and she quickly pulled the visor down. Didn't help much. 

Wade rolled his window down and began speaking. With a sly smirk, Skipper closed her eyes again and acted as though she didn't know where they were. Wade ordered himself an Egg McMuffin with hashbrowns and a coffee, then fell silent when he realized he had no clue what Skipper would want. For a split second he considered ordering for her, but concluded shortly thereafter that he'd never hear the end of it. Gently, he nudged Skipper's shoulder with his elbow. "What would you like?"

She opened her left eye and trained it on him. "I want a Happy Meal."

"You don't eat Happy Meals for breakfast!"

"You asked me what I wanted, I said I want a happy meal. Nuggets, no cheeseburger. Fries instead of apple slices. And I would like a vanilla frappé."

He relayed this to the kid taking their order, pulled forward to the next window. Skipper's expression was smug.

   "You're such a weirdo," he remarked as they waited for their food. Charles's tongue searched Skipper's ear, and Wade reached back to push the animal's head away. "Lay off, man. I know you're hungry. Just let us get our people food, alright?"

   Skipper folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "You talk to him like he understands English. And I'm the weirdo?"

   Wade waved her off, switching his attention to the food and drinks that were being handed through the window. He passed the paper bag off to Skipper, then pulled off to find a parking spot. Once the vehicle was stationary, they divided up their food. Said a little prayer of thanksgiving. Dug in. 

"Thank you for letting me have my chicken nuggets," she muttered through a mouthful of food.

"Eww. Don't talk with your mouth full."

"I'll do what I want," came the muffled response. Bits of nugget sprayed from her mouth and hit the dashboard. Wade sighed and looked away, not wanting his appetite to be ruined.

"You're welcome, fatso."

Skipper was almost happy, but then she saw her reflection in the mirror and was reintroduced to her makeup disaster from earlier that morning.

   "Why is your face doing that?" Wade inquired, setting his coffee in the cupholder and picking up a hashbrown. 

   "I need makeup remover. I have to fix this." She gestured to her eye. He raised his eyebrows sarcastically, earning a glare from her brown eyes. For such a soft color, they sure could look deadly when she wanted them to.

   "Fine. We'll find a store and you can run in to get some makeup remover."

   Reversing the SUV, he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main streets, seeking a store of some kind. When he finally found one, he chose a spot and parked there. "Get some dye remover while you're at it," he smirked as she grabbed her purse and began to get out.

   "Aren't you coming?" She asked. He shook his head, jerking his thumb in the general direction of the backseat.

   "I'm not paid to follow you around. Plus, I've gotta stay here and watch the anteater."

   "Oh. Yes. That stupid thing." Hopping out, she slammed the door and began walking. It was hot, and while Wade had parked relatively close to the door she wished he'd parked closer. She would just have to be quick if she wanted to avoid being cooked. 

   Not that Wade would mind.