Deep Fried and Pickled (Book One - The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles) by Paisley Ray Page A

lowered her red-rimmed glasses down the bridge of her nose. “What friends, exactly, are y’all drivin’?”
    “The usual. Patsy, Shelby, and Addie.”
    With piercing eyes, Dr. Brown told Katie Lee, “No Nash. Understood?”
    “Oh Daddy, he’s old business.” That was news to me.
    “Alright then,” Dr. Brown said. “Drive safe and don’t be too late.”
     
     
    A PLASTIC ODOR CLUNG to the van interior and a light dust coated the dashboard. Clicking the power window switch, I let river air subdue the upholstery smell. “We’ll pick up Patsy first. You’ve probably heard me talk about her. We’ve been friends since the fourth grade. She’s a senior at New Bern High.”
    Riding around in a van full of girls didn’t hold much promise for meeting guys and partying. I figured we’d go to the football game and then end up on someone’s porch, shooting the shit. I guessed I’d shadow Katie Lee as she caught up with her high school friends. I’d try not to be the clingy roommate, but not knowing anyone in New Bern, that could prove to be a challenge. Not my idea of a killer night, but it was better than staring at dorm room walls.
    A mile from her house, Katie Lee eased off the gas and glided into an oyster shell-covered driveway that popped and cracked under the van tires. Headlights illuminated Patsy McCoy. Wisps of honey-streaked hair entwined her thin gold loop earrings, and she wore a silk scarf as a headband. Patsy’s patchwork denim skirt had been several pairs of Levi’s in a prior life. Leaning on a mermaid mailbox, she impatiently tapped a flip-flopped foot. Uncrossing her arms, she uncovered a peace sign logo on a tie-dye tee. 
    “Patsy,” Katie Lee said. “Rachael.”
    Patsy slammed the door shut. “Y’all are late. What happened?”
    Katie Lee had never fully depressed the brake and the van lurched when shifted into reverse. “Lord, Patsy, our ride, as sweet as he was, drove below the speed limit the entire way home is what happened. Then Mama went and made crab cakes. The table was set. We couldn’t leave.”
    Holding her hand on her heart, Patsy’s gaped her mouth open. “With the pink sauce?”
    “Rachael and I are wrecked. The trip took an hour n’ twenty longer than it should’ve. Hugh’s car isn’t road trip safe. We’re not ridin’ with him on Sunday.”
    “Katie Lee, how are we going to get back?”
    “You just leave that to me.”
    Patsy unzipped her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Pick up Shelby next. Leslie is over at Addie’s. I told Trish, Sarah, and Delany we’d be there in twenty.”
    “Patsy, no smoking in the van. If Daddy smells tobacco, he’ll make us look at x-rays of lung cancer patients again.”
    Katie Lee may as well have driven a oversized yellow bus. Lost in a maze of names and conversations, I decided to stop paying attention to the body count at the fifth driveway. I knew there were enough girls in the back to clear a drug store’s shelves of lip-gloss and hair spray. With the van seating at capacity, Katie Lee pulled into the 7-Eleven.
    Sucking on an unlit cigarette, Patsy held out her hand. “Everyone who wants BJ’s, pitch in a five.”
    “Sounds good. I’m in,” voices mumbled.
    Handing five singles to the back of the van, BJ, I thought, didn’t sound right. I’d lived in North Carolina for a month and still found myself confused when a southerner spewed slang, tall tales, colloquialisms or idioms. “So,” I asked Katie Lee, “they’re getting BJ’s?”
    “And cigarettes,” she told me.
    I still didn’t have a clue what my five dollar donation would be purchasing.
    Two girls left the van and moments later, a rap, rap, rap noise startled me. They climbed back in and emptied paper bags in the middle of the seats. Patsy handed me a green glass bottle with a silver label. “Rach, you like Bartel & James wine coolers, right?”
    Katie Lee spun the driver seat around. “Y’all, listen up. I’m drinking. Who’s gonna