Page 12 of The Slug Crystal

I’m chewing on the straw of a cold brew that’s all watery ice now.

The only thing more relentless than the thrum of the road under our tires is the feeling that this is, hands down, the weirdest group project I’ve ever participated in.

If you can call turning my snail ex back into a human into a group project, that is.

Ben’s in the back, legs splayed wide, one boot propped up on Jake’s toolbox, which he dragged out from underneath the seat, the other wedged against the door like he’s ready to launch himself out of the cab at any moment.

He’s got his battered notebook open and is pretending to take notes.

I can see from the rearview mirror that he’s actually doodling snails with fangs and smoke trailing from their shells.

At one point, he makes eye contact with me in the mirror, raises both eyebrows, and makes a big show of licking the pen tip before returning to his art.

I frown in response, but shake my head without saying anything. Ben is kind of weird.

Jake keeps both hands on the wheel, jaw set, eyes locked on the horizon as though he can will us to the finish line faster through sheer force of will.

He’s doing that thing where he tries not to fidget, but the more he resists, the more his fingers drum, his shoulders twitch, and his knee bounces with an increasing lack of subtlety.

I’m just about to attempt a Group Bonding Activity when Ben beats me to it.

“So,” Ben says, as if we’ve all been waiting for his signal, “I feel like we’re not maximizing the awkward potential here. I propose a game of twenty questions.”

Jake says, “No one over the age of twelve actually plays twenty questions.”

I avoid pointing out that we basically played twenty questions on the first leg of the road trip. It just doesn’t feel like a comment that will be very helpful.

Ben plows ahead. “That’s the point, man. There are no rules on the open road. Let’s act like we’re twelve and play a game that kids play. We could all be dead in a ditch in, like, two hours. Might as well be honest.”

I say, “You just want to harvest our tragic backstories for your blog. Also, you’re not driving, it sounds like you’re plotting to murder us to help you achieve fame.”

Ben shrugs, waggling his pen. “Tragedy is the universal language. And anyway, I already know your tragic backstories. I’m looking for the weird stuff. The real stuff.”

“That didn’t make me feel better about your driving. I second the no driving,” Jake adds.

Ben grins. “Come on, wimps.”

Jake glances at me, then sighs in defeat. “Fine. But if you start asking for my mom’s maiden name or my first pet, I’m pulling over and leaving you in the median.”

“Deal,” Ben says, grinning so wide it nearly splits his face. “I’ll start.” He turns a little so he can see both Jake and me. “Okay, Emma, what’s the most embarrassing song on your phone right now?”

I’m not even embarrassed. “Probably ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ but only because I have the Glee Cast version, and two karaoke renditions, and one that’s just three Swedish dudes doing an a capella with random throat noises for the percussion.”

Ben’s pen hovers over the page. “That’s… specific.”

Jake says, “You once made me harmonize to that in front of a bunch of Girl Scouts.”

“They earned their campfire badge that day,” I say. “You were a solid contribution to their camp experience that I’m sure they will never forget.”

Ben howls with approval. “Alright, Jake’s turn.” Ben points the pen at him. “If you could switch places with anyone for a day, who would it be?”

Jake doesn’t even have to think. “Usain Bolt. He gets to spend most of his day running and gets paid for it, everyone respects him, and he doesn’t have to deal with—” He glances at Ben, then at me. “—this.”

Ben snorts. “I see you as more of a Simone Biles, honestly.”

Jake tips an imaginary hat. “Respect.”

Ben flicks the pen at me. “Hit me.”

“Same question,” I say. “If you could swap with anyone?”

He cocks his head, like he’s not used to having the same question boomeranged. “I’d want to be my dog for a day. She’s a rescue, six years old, doesn’t have a care in the world except tennis balls and naps. I think she’s figured out the meaning of life, honestly. ”

I’m a little thrown by how sincere that is. Even Jake softens.

Ben nods at the terrarium on my lap, like he’s interviewing the snail. “What about Alex?”

Jake and I both answer in sync, “Garfield.”

We look at each other, then burst out laughing.

Ben grins. “Wow, you two really are in sync. I mean, if you weren’t obviously in love, I’d say you were siblings.”

There’s a brief, awkward silence in the cab. Jake takes a sip of his water before responding. “We’re not in love. We’re just—” He looks at me.

“—codependent like a fungus,” I add, to finish his sentence.

At the same time, Jake says, “—used to each other.”

Then Jake laughs. “Like a fungus? You think our friendship is fungal?”

Ben interjects, “Fungi are the foundation of all life, you know. They’re basically the reason everything else exists.”

“Didn’t realize I was the unsung hero of the biosphere. Thanks, Emma.”

I saw the phrase on a bookmark once, but I feel like I can’t disclose that now. Instead, I raise my cold brew in salute. “To my favorite fungus.”

Jake clinks his water bottle against it, the awkward tension evaporating as fast as it appeared.

Ben drums his pen against the seat. “Okay, next round. What’s your guilty pleasure show?”

Jake looks at me. “You first this time, Emma.”

I consider. “Probably that dating show where they all wear animal prosthetics? Sexy Beast? I’m obsessed with trying to guess if the dolphin is hot or not.”

Ben nods. “Strong choice.”

“I watch reruns of American Gladiators on YouTube,” Jake admits.

“No judgment. I once auditioned for Wipeout. Made it to the final round, then tore my hamstring falling off a giant rubber ball.”

We all process this for a second.

Ben adds, “It’s not on my resume, but it should be.”

There’s a lull, the road noise filling the gaps, but this time it’s a comfortable sort of quiet.

I’m not sure if Ben’s run out of questions or if he’s just taking extensive notes to document everything we’ve said so far.

Either way, I realize I don’t hate this dynamic.

It’s like we’re all in the same weird foxhole, and the only way out is to make each other laugh enough to forget why we’re here.

Ben doesn’t allow the silence to linger for long. After a few more rounds, including hard hitters like favorite pizza topping, superstitious rituals, and go-to karaoke songs, Ben dials up the stakes.

“Alright, now it gets real,” he says, suddenly solemn. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done for revenge?”

Jake freezes, eyes flicking to the road, then to me, then back. “That’s a loaded question,” he says. “You first.”

Ben sighs, runs a hand through his beard. “Once, in high school, a guy stole my girlfriend. I broke into his car and licked and coughed on every surface, hoping to get him sick. He got mono two months later, and I like to think they’re related.”

“Isn’t that, like, illegal?” Jake asks.

“It’s not not illegal,” Ben responds.

“Did you even have mono when you broke in?” I ask.

“No, I think I manifested it,” Ben responds.

“I don’t know if that’s how manifestation works,” I state flatly. “Mine is pretty obvious. I turned my ex-boyfriend into a snail after he broke my heart.”

“Touche,” Ben says.

Jake looks thoughtful for a long time. “Once, when I was little, my brother punched me for eating the last brownie. I waited until he fell asleep, then drew fake mustaches and dicks all over his face in Sharpie. We had family photos the next morning.”

I laugh. I’ve definitely heard this story before. Last year when I had Thanksgiving dinner with Jake’s family. I would feel bad, but his brother is honestly kind of a douche, and he probably deserved much worse.

Ben comments, “Classic.”

“He still brings it up at holidays.”

We’re all grinning now, the old scars of our pasts worn like badges instead of painful secrets. Even the snail, err Alex, seems to be getting into the spirit, glomming onto the side of the plastic and leaving a path of silvery goo that looks, weirdly, like a thumbs-up.

Ben taps his notebook and says, “If I had to categorize us, I’d say we’re all the type to burn down the village to prove a point. Or at least, draw a dick on the side of it.”

“Speak for yourself, man,” Jake says. “I’m more into the peaceful protest.”

“Well, I’m that way at least. It’s my best quality,” Ben says.

I lean my forehead against the glass, letting the coolness settle the flush in my cheeks. “Can I ask a real question?”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” Ben asks.

“Why are you so interested in all of this?” I ask, watching him in the mirror.

He stops doodling and folds the pen into the notebook.

For a moment, I see something a little raw peek out.

“My last book bombed,” he says. “I haven’t had a good idea in three years.

I thought maybe if I just… said yes to something totally unhinged, I’d get my spark back.

Turns out, you two are the best unhinged decision I’ve ever made. At least so far.”

“We aim to please.”

“You do. I mean, turning your ex into a snail? That’s Pulitzer shit. ”

I look down at the terrarium. Alex is pressed flat against the plastic, unmoving except for his antenna stalks, which twist in the air.

I wonder if, in his mollusk brain, he knows we’re trying to help.

Or if he’s just waiting for the next lettuce leaf and praying we keep the playlist off the Jonas Brothers.

Wait, can snails hear? I need to research this later.

Forcing my eyes away from the snail, I reach over and poke Jake in the arm. “Your turn. Ask something.”

Jake considers, then says, “Okay. If this lady can actually undo the spell and Alex is human again, what happens next?”

Ben whistles. “That’s a biggie.”