Page 40 of Chasing Stardust

Two hours later, I am filled to the absolute brim with regret. Regret for eating my weight in pulled pork and barbecued baked beans. Regret for inhaling half that again in gator gumbo and deep-fried Oreos. And so much regret for every single drop of Memphis sweet tea that passed my lips.

The heavy wood and glass door falls shut behind us, barely muffling the live music blaring from inside the historic Beale Street café. My stomach sloshes in time with the sound of blues guitar, and the first real twinge of fear creeps into my consciousness as my bladder finally reaches maximum capacity.

“Don’t lie. You loved the gator, right?” Dash loops his arm with mine and tows me toward the river. “And the music. Too bad we can’t stay longer. I’ll bet it’s amazing after dark.”

The sound of a trolley bell in the distance steals my attention. If we catch the next one, how long will it take to reach the car? I rack my brain to remember how long it took us to get here from Hicksville. Can I hold it that long?

Dash pokes a finger into my side. “Hey! Earth to Zoey?”

My bladder spasms, and I let out a squeal, clenching my pelvic floor as hard as I can.

Dash roars with laughter. “Wow, ticklish much?”

“No.” I inch away from him, making him laugh even harder. “You just scared me.”

I’m not even lying. I’m terrified if he pokes me one more time, I’ll explode. Oh, God, please don’t make me pull these medieval torture panties down in some sketchy restroom on Beale Street!

Oblivious to my growing panic, Dash drags me toward another sweet shop. “How about some homemade fudge?”

“How are you even hungry? You ate more than I did, and I’m literally a breath away from bursting.”

In more ways than one.

“Fast metabolism. Come on, Zo-ey.” He says my name like a kid whining to stay up late on a school night. “You know you want to. Besides, this is the perfect opportunity to hit the restroom.”

“I’ll wait. I’m good.” I force a smile and block out the smell of sweets in the air.

“How can you possibly hold it that long?” He winces. “That can’t be good for you.”

It’s all I can do not to cackle at his expression. Laughing with a full bladder would be . . . unwise.

“I’m fine.” I keep lying, like the great big liar I am, and clench harder. Simply talking about peeing makes the urge more unbearable. And standing still? Nearly impossible. I dance forward, beckoning him to follow. “Come on, Dash. Let’s go. I’m exhausted and beyond full. If we hurry, we can make it to Mack’s before they close. I miss my backpack, and I’d pretty much kill to be able to change, uh”—I swallow another hysterical laugh—“my clothes again.”

“If you insist.” Dash sighs and pivots from the sweet shop, jogging to catch up. “But I’m starting to believe one of us is actually a psycho killer . . . and it isn’t me.”

A few blocks later, he swings into a bakery for a quick pit stop—his third since we arrived in Memphis. Just imagining the sound of a toilet flushing nearly brings me to my knees.

“How much farther?” I whine, my voice climbing another octave until it’s nothing but a breathy squeak.

At this rate, there’s no way I’ll make it back to Hicksville. If I clench any harder, something down there is bound to break. Medieval device be damned, I need to stop soon. If I’m lucky, I’ll find a nice clean Starbucks around the next corner.

“That’s it.” Dash stops dead in the street and faces me, all stony and hot. “I don’t know what kind of weird hang-up you have about public restrooms, but this is getting ridiculous. Just pee already.”

A whimper sneaks out of me before I can stop it. I’m so close to the breaking point, I can taste it. “Fine! You’re right. I can’t do it. I can’t hold it anymore.”

Dash releases a massive breath. “Jesus, finally.” Grabbing my hand as if he’s the one with the critical bladder situation, he drags me into a little café and walks me all the way to the ladies’ room. “I don’t know what you’re afraid of, but I promise I’ll be right here when you’re done. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

Blinking back tears, I nod and then scurry into the restroom, barely pausing to close and lock the door behind me.

After launching my tote onto the hook behind the door, I drag my shorts down my thighs, the taste of impending relief on the tip of my tongue. Goose bumps erupt over my skin as I struggle with the waistband on the stupid prison panties for what feels like hours but . . . They. Will. Not. Budge.

Then I remember G-Lo’s warning. “The tag!”

Heart stuttering behind my ribs, I snatch my tote from the hook and dig through its contents for the brown paper square with the secret code.

“Come on! Where are you?” Rising panic grips me as I dump my bag onto the filthy floor, dropping to my knees and foraging through the chaos. “No, no, no. Not again.”

Teetering on the edge of desperation, I pitch everything back into my bag and search my memory for the damn code. I vaguely remember the pattern, but no matter how hard I try to re-create it, I fail.