Lucy read thirty seven messages of love and gratitude and apology and condescension and nagging and regret from her mother upside down.
Whether it was her topsy turvy position, stuck upside down through a monster truck's sunroof, or the barrage of emoticons beeping into her brain via her eyes, Lucy suddenly felt flush with blood to her head.
She precariously tipped her feet upward, trying to dislodge herself from gravity with gravity.
If only she had the keys, she could turn on the engine, stretch for the control panel, and open the sunroof a little more so she could squeak through.
But the crowd like mice at the far end of the earth began to move from that busy corner of the truck pavilion toward hers, and Lucy worried.
No one was above her, but still: what if they saw her underwear?
She'd better squeeze.
Sucking in her insides until she felt inside out, Lucy closed her eyes and pushed.
Plop.
Landing in the backseat, she flipped her hair out of her face, hugged her phone, and curled up into the fetal position, eyes closed, to ponder her next move.
Where do you go when everyone wants you and nobody knows you?
Downtruck, Jay was thinking the same.
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