The World's Greatest Road Trip

"IIIIIIIIII LOOOOOOOOOOOVE ROCK AND ROLL! SO PUT ANOTHER DIME IN THE JUKEBOX, BABY! IIIIIIIIIII LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE ROCK AND ROOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLL, SO MERF MERF BLAHDIBLACH DANCE BLAH ME!" Seth screeched, slapping the steering wheel and headbanging. Seeing as those are the only words to the song that Seth actually knows, you'd think he'd shut up after that bit or sing something that he actually knew. Unfortunately, Seth is not that kind of person, and he's been repeating the chorus for the past hour now and he's slowly driving me insane.

I'd tell him the words but I'm not talking to him. I am extremely unimpressed with the situation that I'm in. I don't even know where we are or where we're going. I just know we're out of Illinois and I'm not happy about that. I like it there. Kyle is there. Kyle isn't anywhere else so I don't want to be either. OHHHH, KYLE.

"Sylvie, say something," Seth pleaded, his singing hour finally over. "Please, it's going to be fun! We'll have a good time on vacation!"

"This. Is not. A vacation."

"I'm not loving your sulkiness."

I ignored him. He ignored me. I ignored him harded.

"Sylvie, please!"

Ha, I win. I looked Seth over. It hits me sometimes how completely different we look. He has long floppy black hair and green eyes. He's roughly six foot, maybe a bit taller, and extremely skinny. I'm not sure how because all he ever does is eat. He's wearing a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a black t-shirt of some crappy 'screamo' band he likes and he's got a pair of old black lace-up Vans on his feet. Despite his generally scruffy appearance, Seth's actually got a really nice face. He's got his lip pierced, though, and he tugs it up into his mouth when he's thinking, which I find really frigging irritating. Half his lower lip disappears and his face looks weird. Like now. He's doing it right now. Oh my God.

"STOP DOING THAT."

He grinned at me. "I know how much you love it though! Come on, Sylvie, please be my friend again and stop being sad," he said, poking my tummy, but still managing to keep his eyes on the road. "I'll help you get over Kyle. No, don't pull that face. Yes, that one. Stop it. Seriously, it's not attractive."

Maybe that's why Kyle broke up with me. Maybe I'm not attractive enough for him. I mean, I know I'm not ugly, but I'm not pretty either. Also, I dress kinda dumb sometimes. I've got long, naturally wavy blonde hair which I just usually put up 'cos it's easy to do. I have brown eyes, I'm five foot nine and just of average weight, really. Nothing wrong with me but nothing entirely special. Merrrrf. Merrrrrrrrrrrf. MERRRRRRRRRRRRRRF.

"MERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRF!" I pouted at Seth. "Where are we?"

"Missouri," he replied.

"That's funny."

"Why?"

"Because it sounds like 'misery' and that's exactly what I'm feeling."

"I hate you."

"I hate you too."

Sulk sulk sulk. Sulk sulk sulk. SULK SULK SULK. Nothing to do but sulk, merrf. Don't like life when Seth's mad at me. It's funny to imagine Seth being mad, because he used to wet the bed until he was nine. I still find that funny. I like to bring it up when we're out at bars and he's trying to chat up the 'laydeez'.

"Hey, Seth, remember how you used to pee the bed until you were nine?" I asked, giggling slightly.

"Sylvie. You promised me. That you would never. Ever. Ever. Mention that. In conversation. Again," Seth reminded me through gritted teeth, looking somewhat mortified.

"You promised me you'd stop singing Britney Spears songs but you haven't," I replied. I made him promise me months ago that he'd stop but he just won't. He feels as though she's some kind of Goddess, sent from heaven to teach us morals and kindness. Yes, I know, it doesn't add up, but he seems to think it does.

"You just reminded me!" Seth grinned, looking excited. "Reach into the glove compartment will you, there's a CD I made for the trip."

Ooh. Great. This is going to be full of crap.

I slid the CD into the stereo and watched Seth as he turned the music up to full blast. Even better. I don't want to press play and have some Asking Alexandria shit blasting in my ears. No, thank you. I don't do screaming music. It's not music. It is torture.

"Press play then, Sylvie!"

I cringed as I pushed the button, waiting to be hit by the horrendous noise that Seth calls his favourite band. Instead-

"COME ON! VOGUE! LET YOUR BODY MOOOOOOOVE TO THE MUSIC, HEY-"

"NO, SETH! ANYTHING BUT MADONNA!"