Read Going Nowhere Faster for Free Online Page A

was
there.
No one ever pressed him about it. In fact, the only thing he ever got mad about was when someone mentioned (I know, I know, why would they ever?) Courtney Love.
    Miles began to sing “and I pro-mise, I don’t have a gun, nooo, I don’t —”
    “You have a terrible voice,” I interrupted.
    “I have a
great
voice,” he said.
    I turned the volume off. “Don’t you have any Sinatra?”
    Miles laughed. The little car tore around the corners, faster than the high beams could catch up.
    “Slow down,” I said.
    “Shmo shmown,” he answered. The car glided beneath us. It was like he was impervious, and so, by extension, for once, was I.
    “So how’s the script coming, Kubrick?”
    “It’s coming,” I said.
    “What’s it called again?”
    “Going Nowhere Faster.”
    “Oh, yeah, right . . . what’s it about again?”
    “Robot ducks.”
    “Come again?”
    “Killer ducks. Made of metal. With laser eyes. They attack in waves. Quack. Zzzt. Quack. Zzzt.”
    “Sounds like a winner,” Miles said, and then made a
ring ring ring
sound before picking up a pretend telephone. “Hello? Yeah, he’s right here.” Miles held out the fake receiver. “It’s Brad Pitt’s agent. They’re interested.”
    “Ha-ha,” I said.
    “Ha-ha,” he said.
    Eventually, we began to pass lines of cars parked on the side of the road in both directions.
    “Is that Chad Chilton’s?” I asked, eyeing a jacked-up Chevelle. There were muscle cars naturally grouped together, hunkered down like wolverines. They all looked like something Chad Chilton would drive or own or crash on purpose and then stand on the side of the road with his arms crossed laughing maniacally. I tried to spot the one that had run me off the road, but they all seemed the same.
    Miles punched me in the shoulder, not too hard. “Relax already, okay?”
    “Seriously, though,” I said. “On the way home from work tonight? This car? It came flying down the road, and —”
    Miles sighed loudly. “Can we be positive from this point forward? Party? Fun? Girls?”
    I nodded. “Fine. I have but one life to give to my country.”
    “Ben Franklin, right?”
    “Actually . . .”
    “Good,” he said, then handed me my discarded can, which had rolled around under the seat and was covered with dirt and grease and God knows what else. The party was in full swing. Even a block away you could hear the music, or at least the bass line, turned way past distortion, some kind of hip-hop cranked into an excruciating mush, a frequency that no doubt was sterilizing every frog and lizard within a two-mile radius.
    Miles gave up looking for a spot and parked on the lawn, with a one-handed flourish, the car skidding to a stop. The house was set back in the woods, a brand-new mansion built for a brand-new millionaire, lit up like an enormous candle. People stood around in the front yard, yelling, slapping five, tackling each other. I stayed in my seat.
    “C’mon, Jane Austen,” Miles called, already halfway up the driveway. “Your destiny awaits.”

CHAPTER SIX
    THE very LOST and very lonely, and also fairly nauseated WEEKEND
    I woke up the next morning, late. My head hurt. Olivia was crying and my mother was trying to quiet her. I remembered I’d promised to take her to the lake hours ago. Ass. Then I belched and smelled Keith. Hole.
    FIVE THINGS I FELT LIKE:
    1. A dirty waffle
    2. A dirty slipper
    3. Dog butt
    4. Wet cardboard
    5. Dry cardboard
    I walked downstairs in just my shorts and drank half a carton of orange juice, standing in front of the solar refrigerator without noticing Prarash at the kitchen table.
    “Stanley, my friend.” He smiled, brownish Zen teeth hidden beneath scraggly growth. I jumped, looking at him unsteadily. He was wearing a purple muumuu. Or a tent for a tarot reader. Two books sat on the table, large bound volumes. One was called
When Your Inner You Is Nearly Perfect-ish.
The other was titled
Advanced Concepts in Humming.
“I didn’t