Don't Fail Me Now(33)

Tim and I have spent most of our time hashing out a decent cover story. I have more experience crafting lies of omission, but it turns out that he, in addition to singing lead tenor in an all-boys a cappella group called the SkeleTone Crew, is co-captain of the McDonogh debate team, which means he always has to have the last word. So for now, we’re at an impasse.

“I just don’t think it’s believable that I would borrow a friend’s car and then drive it three thousand miles on a whim,” he says. We’ve been trying to come up with an alternate vehicle for them to be riding in, since everyone agrees it’s best that Tim and Leah’s parents don’t know they’re with us.

“Could you hitchhike?” I ask.

“Ew, no way,” Leah says.

“Yeah,” Tim says. “That would completely freak them out. They’d have our pictures on some national news site in about five minutes.” He sighs. “Missing kids drive page views like crazy.”

“Depends on the kids,” I say, changing lanes. “What about . . . do you have a girlfriend?”

Leah snorts, and Tim reaches back to swat her. “Why is that so funny?” he asks. To me, he says, “Uh, not currently.”

“Damn.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. Believe me, I wish I did.”

“It’d be a good cover for a car,” I shrug.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

I feel color rising in my cheeks but hope it’s too dark for him to notice. “Not relevant,” I say. “I’m not driving with you, remember?”

“Right,” Tim says. “I forgot.”

“You can’t forget that part!” I say. “I don’t want the cops chasing me.”

“They wouldn’t actually call the cops,” he says at the same time Denny announces, “Michelle doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Thanks, Den!” I say, hoping to cut him off there. I guess I don’t mind Tim and Leah knowing I don’t have a boyfriend—this trip means we’ll have to start getting to know each other, piece by piece—but I don’t want them to know I’ve never had one. The sad truth is that I’ve only been kissed once, in sixth grade, on a dare during a brief and regrettable period when I was trying to make friends with the popular girls in middle school. His name was Ernest Hudson, and we faced off on the basketball court like it was high noon, slowly moving closer and closer and then connecting almost violently, as if we were two magnets held apart and then let suddenly go. His potato chip–flavored tongue thrashed around in my mouth for exactly four seconds. I know because I counted, because I just stood there, squeezing my eyes shut, listening to the catcalls swelling around me in surround sound, thinking, Is this how it’s supposed to feel? I still don’t know, because I never tried it again.

“What about that weird Russian guy in your grade who looks like he’s forty-five?” Leah asks. “Doesn’t he drive to school?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never even spoken to him,” Tim says.

“Then he’s perfect,” I say. “So here’s what you tell them: Leah was going to sleep over at Hannah’s house, but then during English, the teacher mentions As I Lay Dying or something, and it makes her think about Buck, and she freaks out in the middle of class, so you decide to take her off campus to calm her down, and she starts begging you to take her to see him.”

“We have a counselor at school,” Leah says. “Even if I did lose it in public—which I wouldn’t—I’d get sent to her office.”

“Maybe she was at lunch,” I sigh. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, Tim is worried enough that he asks his Good Samaritan buddy Vladimir or whatever to borrow his car.”

“His name’s Dmitri,” Tim says.

“And security would never let us leave,” Leah adds. “You can’t hide under a set of Toy Story sheets if you’re the one driving.”

“Just say you forged it,” I say. “This doesn’t have to be airtight. You just have to make it pathetic enough so they won’t focus on the details.”

“It’s definitely pathetic enough,” Cass says.

“You got something better?” I expect her to retreat back into the hood of her sweatshirt, but instead my sister speaks up.

“Well, I just don’t think she should snap all of a sudden. I think it should be premeditated.”

“Why?” Leah asks.

“It’s just more serious or something. You thought it out. You knew what you were doing.” Cass leans back, the vinyl squeaking against her jeans. “It’s better than being powerless.”

“I think they’d be even madder if they knew we planned something,” Tim says. “But man, how do you accidentally drive across the country?”

Desperation, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. And after a few long seconds our collective exhaustion syncs up and everyone falls silent for a while, until there’s no noise but the whirring tires on the Indiana highway. And, of course, the ever-present death rattle.

“I’m going to look for a place to stay,” I announce, trying to sound pumped for the kids’ sake.

“Thank God,” Leah says. “I can’t be in this car anymore. I think my butt fell asleep.” Denny guffaws, and I hear the soft shifting of cotton on pleather that tells me Cass is probably throwing her some serious side-eye before tucking her face back into her sleeve.