by Una LaMarche
“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.
“You didn’t tell me your school has a bouncer,” I say. Cass rolls her eyes.
“Did they stop you?” he asks, genuinely confused in the way only a privileged white boy could be.
“Not yet, but I don’t want to give them a chance,” I say. “Can you come down the road?”
“I don’t think so,” he says with a nervous laugh. “It’s probably harder for us to get out than for you to get in. Listen, I’ll call and put you on the list. I’ll tell them you’re dropping off Leah’s math textbook—they hardly ever question academic stuff.”
“Okay,” I say, acid churning in my stomach.
“Also, what does your car look like?” he asks. “They’ll want an approximate make and model.”
“Tell them it looks like it doesn’t belong here,” I say. “Just like us.”
“I’m serious,” he says.
“So am I. It’s a 1973 Datsun that looks like shit run over twice. I’m pretty sure they’ll know it.”
Somehow we make it past security, like Annie’s grubby orphan friends sneaking into Daddy Warbucks’s mansion, and drive up to the main campus, which looks like one of those Ivy League schools on the college brochures I may or may not like to page through in my school’s library on low days.
Tim and Leah are standing in a handicapped parking spot under a big maple tree, having what looks like a heated conversation. Leah is willowy and almost as tall as Tim, with long, skinny legs that my mom would call a symptom of TTDT—Thighs That Don’t Touch—Disease. They’re both in polo shirts and khakis (him, pants; her, skirt) that look so aggressively matched they’ve got to be uniforms. As we pull up, they stop fighting and turn to stare at Goldie. Leah says something to Tim and then stays put, staring down at the toes of her black Mary Janes, as he walks up to the car. He taps on Cass’s window, but she doesn’t react, so I put the car in park and get out to meet him. The breeze smells fresh and a little bit sweet, like someone sprinkled it with cinnamon.
“Hey,” he says, grimacing a little. I look past him to Leah, who refuses to break eye contact with her shoes.
“She wasn’t in on this one, huh?”
“No. Well, she knew you might call, but she didn’t expect—it’s all just a lot for her, I think.”
I take a few lungsful of this real-life Yankee Candle air and weigh my options. I could make everyone’s life easier and just leave her out of it, get the details for the hospice like Cass wanted and then split. But for some reason I can’t shake a nagging feeling not only that we need her but that she needs us. Why else would she have made Tim drive her out to a Taco Bell in a bad part of town? Also, as far as I know, we’ve only got four living blood relatives, a number that will soon shrink by a full 25 percent. And she’s one of them. I push past Tim and walk straight up to her.
“I’m Michelle,” I say, forcing my hands to stay at my sides and not hug my chest defensively like they want to. Leah glances up at me, taking in my hair, my face, my slept-in shirt and well-worn jeans. I clench my fists, not out of anger but because I don’t want her to see my nails, chewed down to the quick—another coping mechanism I’ve relied too much on lately.
“Hi,” she says, avoiding eye contact and crossing her arms. She reminds me a lot of Cass already.
“Look,” I say. “I know we’ve never met, and this is a weird way to do it, but I feel like I should tell you that we’re going to California. To see Buck.”
Leah knits her thin blonde brows and looks over my shoulder at Tim.
“You didn’t tell me that,” she says.
“I didn’t know!” Tim appears at her side, and now I have two Children of the Corn staring me down. “You’re driving to California?” he asks incredulously.
“Yup.”
“In . . . that?” Leah asks, nodding her head at Goldie. I look back and see Denny watching us through the back window. He’s got a finger up his nose. I turn to Leah and offer a thin smile.
“Yup.” Tim and Leah exchange perplexed looks. They don’t understand why I’m here. They’ve never had to live with an escape route constantly evolving in the back of their minds. “I heard,” I say, looking pointedly at Tim, “that you might want to try to see him before he . . . you know.” Leah bites her lip. “So I figured I should come and ask if you want to come with us.”
“What?” Leah says, shock replacing her frown of confusion. “Drive cross-country? Like, today?”
Tim grabs my arm and pulls me a few feet to the left. “I thought you were going to talk to her,” he whispers.
“We are talking,” I shoot back, yanking my arm away. Behind me, I hear the car door open and know without even looking that Cass is standing on the curb now, ready to have my back if I need her. That’s what real sisters do, I think, watching Leah pout. But then it dawns on me that if Cass saw enough commotion to break her mime act and come to my defense, there might be people inside the school—people with a lot more power—ready to come to Leah’s. We have to get out of here soon.
“If you don’t wanna come, don’t come,” I say, holding up my hands. “But you’re the one who found me. I figured I should at least ask.”
“It’s really nice of you,” Tim says. But Leah looks like she’s slowly imploding.
“What about school?” she asks, her face getting pink. “I can’t just leave. And what about Mom and Jeff?” She lets out a laugh of disbelief. “Don’t your parents even care where you are?”
“Leah,” Tim says.
“And you want me to get in that falling-apart car right now and just go?” she continues. “I don’t have clothes. I don’t have a suitcase. I . . . I don’t even have my retainer!”
“Neither do we,” I shrug.
“So you’re just wearing that for a week?” she asks, barely able to mask her horror.
“We didn’t exactly have time to pack,” I say. “And we don’t have time now, so if you don’t want to come, just tell us where his hospice is, and we’ll get going.”
I want her to take the bait at this point. She might be spoiled, but based on all of the emoticons on her Facebook, I expected that she’d at least be happier. What does she even have to be that pissed about (dying loser dad aside, obviously)? She has the life that everyone’s supposed to want—pretty, thin, white, blonde, popular, family just screwed up enough for her to have a legitimate claim on teen angst but not so much that she turns tragic and starts to scare off the ripped lifeguards at the country club pool. I’m working myself up now, starting to get angry. We’re risking everythi
ng to go on this trip, and she’s sulking because she won’t be able to bring her retainer?
“Well?” I ask impatiently.
“He . . . didn’t tell me the address,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. “He sounded kind of out of it.”
“So you don’t even know where it is?”
“He said Venice Beach, right?” Tim jumps in, putting a hand on Leah’s shoulder. She nods.
“The Golden . . . something,” she says and then sighs heavily. “I guess I could map it on my phone for you.”
“Don’t bother,” I say. “I’m sure we can find it.” I give them a wave and turn to head back to the car. I know I should probably thank her, but I’m afraid if I talk any more I might crumble; I don’t know if it’s disappointment that she’s not what I wanted her to be, or shame for dragging myself and my siblings through this crappy Disneyland detour of Things We’ll Never Have, or just the anxiety of what lies ahead for us, but I’m suddenly on the verge of tears.
“Wait!” I hear Tim call, but I can’t turn around until I get myself under control, so instead I lean against the car on my elbows and pretend to check my phone.
“You should go,” I hear him say. “You know you won’t have another chance. And this is something you could regret for the rest of your life, Lee, I’m serious.”
“I don’t even know them,” she stage-whispers, her voice high and unstable. “And Mom would freak.”
“She wants you to go, it was her idea.”
“Yeah, on a plane or something. With her.” There’s a long pause. “I’m not going anywhere by myself with them. And seriously, that car—”
“What if I go with you?” Tim says. “What if I come, too?”
I freeze. That was not part of the plan. I like Tim more than Leah at the moment, but that’s not really saying much. And it’s another mouth to feed—or to have to listen to. For twelve hours a day. Plus, I’m not even sure the middle seatbelt in the back works. I spin around.
“We have to go,” I say. “So whatever’s happening, it needs to happen now.”
Leah scrunches up her face like she might cry. “I don’t know,” she squeals, looking desperately at Tim.
“What do you have to lose?” he asks. “A few days of school, maybe a few weeks of being grounded. But this is your dad. I know if it was my mom . . .” he trails off and tries to compose himself. It’s the same line he used on me in the parking lot last night. I hope he really does have a sick mom, because if not, he might be kind of a sociopath.
Leah looks back and forth between her school and Goldie a few times, as if weighing the potential costs of such an enormous social downgrade against the chance to reconcile with her biological father. “Okay,” she finally says, squeezing Tim’s hand. “I’ll go if you go.”
Tim hugs her tight, and I have to look away. Something about their obvious closeness and how much he cares about her makes me irrationally jealous. They’ve only been steps for, what, three years, he said? I can’t remember the last time I hugged my real sister that way. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m the one creating the distance.
“We’re in,” Tim says, walking toward me with Leah following/being dragged behind him. I hear a tapping on the car window and turn to see Cass looking at me with murderous eyes.
“We?” she mouths. All I can do is break eye contact and suck in my cheeks.
“So what now?” Tim asks.
“Now get in the car,” I say.
Tim blanches. “We’ll need early dismissal notes to get past security,” he says.
“Not if they can’t see you,” I say, annoyed that he’s only just realizing this roadblock. Devereaux rule #4: Identify your obstacles in advance. I knew the minute I saw the guard station that I’d need a way to get Leah out, if she said yes. I open the trunk hatch, shove aside the boxes of ramen and the random bags of Mom’s stuff, and gesture to the space in between.
“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. “H
i 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.
“You’re the boss,” he says. We drive in silence for a few minutes, and I stare at the back of the car in front of us, a powder blue Prius with the bumper sticker NOT A LIBERAL. I wish more people would be up-front about things that might not meet the eye.
“That was pretty cold, killing off your grandma,” I say finally. “It’s bad juju.”
“Juju?”
“It’s like a superstition,” I explain. “Bad luck, or a bad omen.” I’m not sure of the exact definition, but my mom says it all the time—which is ironic, considering where her own juju landed her.
“Well, she’s already dead,” Tim says. “So I don’t think it counts.”
“She’s rolling in her grave then.”
“She was cremated.”
I swallow back a smile. Tim is quicker and more resourceful than I gave him credit for, but I’m still a long way from trusting him.