Don't Fail Me Now(26)

“Fine,” she says, giving me a look that says it is most definitely not even remotely close to approaching fine. “But no way she gets her own toothbrush. She can use her finger. Or get cavities.”

“That’s big of you,” I say, only half joking. Under the circumstances, I don’t feel like meeting Leah either, let alone being trapped in a car with her for a week. But as far as I can tell, she’s our only way to get to Buck, unless we feel like driving aimlessly around the country’s third-largest state, randomly accosting handsome sick people. I don’t even know what he would look like now. He could be pudgy or graying, even balding. But nah, if Buck started losing his hair he’d be that guy who shaves it all off and makes it seem like a lifestyle choice. Everything is a facade with him. I have to be careful not to pin too much hope on him this time around . . . which is going to be pretty hard, considering he’s basically the only hope we’ve got left.

Before I can dwell too much on my father’s track record of broken promises, I run back to the car to rescue the receipt with Tim’s number on it before it disintegrates or Cass changes her mind, whichever comes first. Denny is in the driver’s seat, pretending to drag race, so I lean through the open window, fish the slip out of the cup holder, and dial before I have a chance to second-guess this decision, too.

He picks up on the fourth ring and sounds pleasantly surprised—if a little suspicious—to hear from me.

“Does Leah still want to meet?” I ask.

“Um . . . yeah,” he says in a very low voice that lets me know she’s in earshot. “I think so. I mean, I know she would. Yes.”

“Can she be in the parking lot of your school in half an hour?”

There’s a pause, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Do you even know where our school is?”

“You’re not the only one who can use the Internet,” I say, the anxiety making me snippier than usual. “So can she meet me or what?”

“I don’t know . . . that’s in the middle of first period.” Suddenly a female voice asks him something in the background, and Tim says, “Just my physics partner. We have to finish a lab before class.” I smile to myself. He’s not a great liar, but with those altar-boy looks, he probably doesn’t need to be.

“It’s important,” I say. “You said so yourself.”

He starts talking too loudly now, trying to cover his ass. “Okay, no problem,” he shouts. “I’ll be there.”

“Just make sure she’s there,” I say and hang up.

? ? ?

Twenty-five minutes, twenty-two bucks, one map, two bribery sodas, and three off-brand toothbrushes later, we’re turning off the highway onto a leafy suburban road that’s only nineteen miles from the city but feels worlds apart from the streets we call home. The houses here are all set way back from the curb, some so far you can’t even really see them through the trees. And that’s another thing: the trees. They’re everywhere. It’s greener than the city parks.

The houses I can see are well-manicured one-stories, not that showy but still sort of grand, with bright red brick, painted shutters, and bushes carved into rounded rectangles. In a row, they look sort of like those fake presents that department stores line their windows with at Christmas: evenly spaced, gleaming little boxes that hold the promise of the perfect gift inside, that one elusive thing that you’re convinced might make your life different if only you could have it.

“Where are we?” Denny asks, gluing his face to the window, and the innocent question sums up my feelings so exactly that I don’t know quite what to tell him.

“We’re almost there,” I say distractedly, staring at a woman who’s literally on her knees by a flower bed pruning roses, like she got hired by central casting just to be there while we drove by: Show the urban youth with the negligent parents what they’ve been missing, Ruth! Make sure to polish your shears in advance, and bring the gardening gloves with the pink grosgrain trim. Oh, and wear clogs. Not Crocs, real wooden clogs—you know, the kind people never actually walk in and the Dutch use for Christmas stockings.

“We’re almost in California?” Denny says excitedly.

“Yeah,” Cass mumbles, still—and maybe eternally—pissed off at me. “Welcome to Beverly Hills.”

I ignore her and squint down at the map in my lap. I’m so used to driving the same pattern every day without even thinking about it that navigating new territory is hurting my brain. I would get a GPS except, for one thing, Goldie’s way too old to be compatible with most of them, and also they start at, like, $100 and I’ve already spent almost 10 percent of our meager funds on doughnuts and toiletries. I’m not sure I’ll even be able to afford gas for all four days, let alone food, so I hope the sandwich crackers and mixed nuts we stocked up on at Family Dollar can keep us alive until we get there. Or that Leah’s wallet is lined with hundred-dollar bills.

Luckily, there’s a big sign with the school name on it at the turnoff, which is marked by two stone columns.

“It’s like Hogwarts up in here,” Cass says, peering at the long, winding path that leads to a big, intimidating, city hall–looking main building about a mile uphill.

“I want to go home,” Denny says.

I’m gathering the energy for a reassuring speech when I notice a kiosk in the middle of the road a couple hundred yards up. There’s a dude in a gray uniform standing beside it, speaking into a walkie-talkie. I brake and redial Tim.