No, and, as if someone had heard my thoughts, I saw a blue Lamborghini. We started to scream and wave our arms hoping whoever was in the car to notice. The driver did see us and he stopped the car. We told him what had happened and if we could ride with him. In movies he would be a bad person and either shoot us or just drive away but this man wasn’t bad nor in a movie. He agreed to take us to the hotel, where he was also going. We went into his car and he drove us to our stupid, and useless car to get our things. My parents went fast and took less than a minute but I took a little more as I kicked the car. The car was lucky that I didn’t have a hammer. When we were all back inside, he asked, “Do you want something? Music?”
We all answered smiling (even my dad). “Air conditioning, please.” He chuckled and put the air conditioning on. He was a chubby man with a moustache, a white beard, a cowboy hat, and a blue button shirt. We safely got to the hotel. There we called the car-renting company to send us a new car and pick up the old one. There was just one thing that shocked me even more than the adventure and I still have it stuck in my head. It’s what the receptionist said. “You’re the first Spaniards to get here, how nice!”
What did she mean with “to get here”? What happened to the others?! Even today that sentence torments me in my sleep. Well, that’s all folks. Just one piece of advice: be careful if you go to Death Valley, especially if you’re a Spaniard.