Don't Fail Me Now(29)

“No way,” Leah says. “No. Effing. Way.”

“Got a better idea?” I put my hands on my hips and give them my best I-suffer-no-fools face, a dominant gene mutation inherited from my mother.

“I just don’t think we’ll both fit,” Tim says hesitantly.

“It’s not for both of you. One can go on the floor in the backseat next to Denny. We’ve got plenty of clothes and a few sheets we can cover you with.”

“It’s like riding in steerage on the Titanic!” Leah whimpers.

“Only to the bottom of the hill,” I say through clenched teeth. “Then some prime first-class seating will open up. Our amenities include seatbelts and all the Golden Grahams you can find embedded in the cushions.”

A few minutes later, our reluctant cargo loaded and concealed, I walk shakily around to the driver’s side door and slide back into my seat, Goldie’s furious rattle matching the rising panic in my chest. Whatever I started this morning is growing, fast, and threatening to spiral out of control. I’ve got two extra runaways now, who come with a lot of extra baggage. And if we get caught, I know there’ll be no cozy stopover at Aunt Sam’s this time, no chance any CPS agent would grant me custody. They’ll split us up. I’ll lose Cass and Denny, which means I’ll lose everything.

I ease the gearshift into drive and roll slowly out of the parking lot. There’s no going back now.





SEVEN


Wednesday Afternoon

I-40, Near Cumberland, MD




Usually I love highway driving. That steady thrum of engine, white noise of rotating tires, and the blur you catch if you look out the side windows, like life just turned into a watercolor. But these past two hours in the car have been tense. As soon as she sat down, Leah got chocolate frosting on her butt, which led to a stream of delighted poop jokes from Denny that almost made her cry. Then Tim’s knees were digging into my back through the seat, and I asked Cass to switch with him, and she gave me the finger. When we finally stopped for gas and Tim clambered into the passenger seat, he asked me where the USB cord was so he could charge his iPhone, and then he proceeded to try to diagnose Goldie’s rattle for twenty miles. Meanwhile, Leah and Cass were concentrating on totally ignoring each other while Denny updated us all on the status of a booger he was slowly excavating from his left nostril.

But then, as if by magic—or intense boredom—three of them fell asleep. Unfortunately for me, though, the chattiest one is still conscious.

“Could it be a loose wheel bearing?” Tim asks, straining his seatbelt as he leans forward to reach an ear toward the front of the car. He peers over the dashboard like he might be able to see what it is using X-ray vision if he just concentrates enough. “Maybe it’s the lower shock mount, or the heat riser or heat shield on the exhaust pipe,” he mutters.

“It’s fine,” I say for maybe the thirteenth time. “If it bothers you so much, you can look under the hood when we stop for the night.”

Tim shuts up for a minute, and I hear the faint tapping of his finger on a screen. “How far do you think we’ll make it today?” he asks. “I can hit up Yelp for hotels and make a reservation.”

I’m already regretting bringing them along. I spent so much time worrying about how we’d fit in with them that I never considered the fact that they might not fit in with us. There’s no way they’re going to be able to hack three nights of sleeping in a car and taking “showers” in fast-food sinks. “Why don’t you worry about your parents,” I say, changing the subject. “You need to make sure they’re cool with this.”

“‘Cool’ is not a word I’d use to describe my dad,” Tim says with a laugh.

“Well, your school then. Aren’t they gonna call someone when they realize you guys disappeared?” For once in my life I’m thankful that no one cares where we are. It makes running away a lot easier.

“Crap, you’re right,” he says. “Don’t talk for a minute.” I hear the tapping again, and Tim clears his throat. “Hi there, this is Jeff Harper,” he says in a slightly deeper voice. “I sent a family friend to pick up Tim and Leah this morning. Unfortunately there’s been a death in our family, and I need to take them out of school for a few days.” He pauses. “My mother. Yes, thank you. I appreciate that.” I grip the wheel tighter. I hope he knows what he’s doing, because it sounds like he’s just quoting Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Tim coughs nervously, a dead giveaway. “Yes, of course,” he says. “If you, uh, send the form to my email address I can fill it out and fax it right back. Yup, it’s jharper71 at Yahoo. Okay, thank you so much. Take care.”

“What was that?” I ask. “Now your dad’s getting an email from the school, genius. And where are we supposed to find a fax machine?”

“Relax, I know his password,” Tim says. “He never checks his personal account until he gets home from work. I’ll just download the form and delete the email. And then we can just go to a Kinko’s or Staples.”

I purse my lips in reluctant agreement. “Only if you can find something on the way. I’m not taking some crazy detour through the backwoods of Ohio just so you can use the latest cutting-edge technology from 1992.” I glance over to see Tim smirking at me.