So far, Rachelle Allen and Gretchen Hargis are on their way to the FanStory Convention when Hargis's car breaks down. Out of cell service and totally at the mercy of the road, they are rescued by some Amish folks. There they discover a new way of life, and a lot about themselves. Finally back on the road thanks to Rachelle's cousin, Tova, they have two extras in the car. Rebekah, an Amish girl with musical potential and Tova's odd friend Jane. Now, they are on their way to drop Rebekah off at vocal coach in New York.

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I've been to New York once. It was when I was in my early twenties, and it was New York City. I remember my friend, Mary, a native New Yorker telling me the rules of survival.

1. Don't make eye contact.
2. Never play a street game. (Cards or where is the marble under which cup. They let you win, until they decide otherwise. And you never walk away with any cash.
3. Don't stop when someone tries to talk to you.

She didn't have to tell me twice. I'm not the adventurous type. I remember it was drizzling that day. We rode the subway from her home in Yonkers to Manhattan. I was lost in the architecture and the history of the buildings. I gawked at the Empire State Building, twirled around staring up at the ceiling of the Rockefeller Center and peeked into the window of the NBC building. New Yorkers use their umbrellas like bayonets. Weaving through the crowded streets like it was a war zone. I was not prepared for the wet assault of the dripping umbrellas nor the surprised looks when I said excuse me. Several people stopped and jaws slack, they asked where I was from. "Virginia."

"Say it again."

"Virginia." I said and smiled my sweet southern girl smile.

That was the day I learned the power of the southern accent.

My southern accent isn't working on Jane. She just flat out doesn't like me. And that is fine with me. I used to be a people pleaser when I was younger, but those days are history. Now, I keep my circle small, and I can decide within a few minutes if a person is worthy of my time. Jane doesn't make the cut. She's an attention whore. She will whine to get attention. Talk loudly to get attention and I'm waiting for her to start juggling or spinning plates for attention.

The more Rachelle and Rebekah talk, Jane squirms. She looks over at me. "How much longer until we drop the girl off?"

"I have no idea. I'm following Google maps and as my father used to say, "when we get there, you'll be the second to know."

She turns sideways in the seat and looks at Rachelle. "It's rude to whisper in front of others."

Rebekah looks away nervously. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "We are just talking about music."

Rachelle and I make eye contact in the rear view mirror. I can tell, her patience is wearing thin. I feel a tinge of both pity and excitement as I anticipate the come to Jesus meeting she will level on Jane. It's coming, make no mistake, it is coming.

"Maybe if you hadn't called shotgun so quickly, you could be sitting back here and you could hear everything I'm telling her." Rachelle's voice is clipped and I see the strain on her face as she tries to remain civil.

"What exit am I looking for, Rachelle?" I say, trying to interrupt the "meeting between Rachelle, Jane and Jesus". Oh, I want it to happen, but I don't want it to be while I have to keep my eyes on the road and can't fully enjoy the entertainment.

"Babylon," she says. She turns to Rebekah and smiles warmly.

I focus on the road and keep driving. Jane decides we need some music. She starts pushing buttons on the stereo and to my horror but her delight, she finds "her jam". Her words, not mine.

"OOOH my Gawd!! EEEEE!! I looooovvveee this song. Hey, Mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine, you blow my mind. Hey, Mickey," she sings, then claps her hands...right in my ear. "Don't you looovvveee this song?"

Come on Babylon. I wonder how much insurance Rachelle has on this car. In theory, I could say an animal ran out in front of me and I slammed on brakes. Maybe I could coax Jane to unhook her seat belt and reach into the back seat for something. But, I refrain from hitting the brakes and sending our unwanted guest through the glass.

Jane, in her naive idea that everyone likes her, continues to sing and clap in my ear.

"Can you not do that in my ear?" I ask.

"You're a negative Nancy, you know that?" she grins and starts dancing in her seat. "Hey, Mickey. Hey, Mickey," she sings slightly off key.

Through the haze of red I see the long awaited sign. Babylon, next exit. I take the exit on two wheels, hearing the lovely sound of the Mercedes tires squeal in excitement.

"Whoa, Mario Andretti," Jane says, her hand searching for the handle on the ceiling. "I'd like to arrive in one piece, thank you very much."

I glance at Rachelle in the mirror and our eyes lock. Jane has no idea this wasn't her first brush with death while I was behind the wheel.

"Here it is!" Rachelle says, excitedly. She is unbuckling her seat belt as I pull through the gate. Palatial is an understatement. The rolling green of the lawn looked as if it was cared for by a team of landscapers. The Victorian house was stunning but welcoming. The front door opens and a woman steps out on the porch. As Rachelle exits the car they run towards each other.

I turn off the car, pocket the keys and look at Rebekah. "This place is gorgeous. You're gonna get spoiled this week."

Jane looks at the house, trying not to look impressed. "You should see my house."

"I'm sure." I say, ignoring her petty comment and going to join Rachelle, her friend and Rebekah.

I sniff the air. I can smell something delicious. Despite having eaten just a few hours ago, my stomach growls.

Jane walks over, trying to insinuate herself into the conversation, but the woman isn't having it. I smile. I like her. She doesn't waste time trying to unruffle Jane's feathers. No ma'am, she cuts her off and continues to talk to Rebekah.

The woman, Maria, ushers us onto the porch, telling us how she's prepared pasta and meatballs for us. I elbow past Rachelle and start to follow Maria like puppy into the spacious house. As I'm stepping over the threshold I hear Jane bitching about not coming inside and how she's never been so insulted, yada, yada, yada.

Then, Rachelle does the one thing that was like the icing on the cake. She pauses and turns to Jane. "Hey, Jane! On the ride to Atlantic City?"

Jane looks at her, a scowl on her face. "Yeah?"

Rachelle smiles with the cunning of a fox. "I call shotgun."

Dinner is served.