“Yeah,” I said absently. “I do.” I looked around for the magazine rack. “Got any more copies of this?” There were no magazines in the store.
“Nah, it’s mine. But I’ve read it five times already. Take it.” She grabbed it and slid it into the brown bag with my candy.
“Really? Thank you . . . I . . . thanks!”
She smiled. “No problem. Thank you for dropping by with your hot, hungover boyfriend. You two have a nice trip.”
The bells jangled again as I pushed through the door, flipping to a full-page photo of Kyra Kelley on stage, wearing a smile that was all hope and light. It didn’t matter that Rusty was leaned back against the seat, passed out again, when I opened the door. I was ecstatic. I had something to go on.
“Rusty! Wake up. The girl inside just gave me this magazine, and it shows Kyra’s new house and talks about her last show and everything.” He mumbled something unintelligible, and I got in. “You don’t understand what this means.” He didn’t answer, but I didn’t care.
It felt like some sort of sign that what I was doing was right and not crazy. I slid the magazine into my purse next to Finn’s letter, tied the little blue tree to one of the AC vents, and revved the engine, ready to drive for three days straight if that’s what it took to get to Kyra Kelley’s last show.
5
Somewhere past the New Mexico state line, after two bags of Sour Skittles and endless miles of static and dusty interstate, I lost momentum. With no working clock, I had no idea what time it was, and my purse with my phone in it was too far away to reach. Rusty was snoring away, just as he had been for the last few hours and was of no use to me. I shifted my weight in the seat, stretched out my left leg, and leaned forward on the steering wheel, then pinched my damp sundress away from my back. It had to be near five, but it was still at least ninety-five degrees out. And it was becoming painfully clear how much I hadn’t thought through—driving through the desert in August with no AC, no real plan, and Rusty as a companion. Not to mention only four days to get from Texas to California and back to Austin—all before my first class. I was pushing it.
I strained to see down the road, hoping for a billboard or another mileage sign to the next town. Anything. I hadn’t been paying close attention to where we were because according to the map I’d looked at, we’d be on the 40 forever. The landscape had changed gradually since we’d crossed the border. Flat farmland had given way to barren, rocky desert that was pretty in its own sort of way, with the cloudless blue sky and surprisingly fresh smell of heat and dirt. Still, I had no idea where we were or how close we might be to somewhere decent to stop. Or where we would sleep. If Rusty could get it together, we could take shifts driving through the night and not have to worry about that at all.
I nudged him, gently at first. “Hey. Wake up. I need you to look at the map for me.” He licked his lips and furrowed his brow, but his eyes stayed closed. I tried again, this time with a well-aimed fist in his shoulder. “Rusty. Wake up.”
It worked. He sat up and yawned loudly, rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, then squinted over at me, one eye still half-closed. “What time is it?” His voice was gravelly from sleep, and he went straight for the water at his feet.
“I don’t know. Check my phone. I can’t reach my purse.” I motioned at it down by his feet, and he grabbed it, rummaging through roughly until he held my phone.
“Almost six, and you got eight missed calls,” he said, dropping it back in. He looked around. “Where the hell are we?”
“Somewhere in New Mexico.” I grabbed the map from beneath the seat and did my best to ignore the guilt creeping over me about lying to Gina and not returning Lilah’s calls. “Here,” I said, shoving the map at him.
He looked at it blankly. “That’s not gonna help us if you don’t know where we are.”
“I know where we are.” I paused, looked around for some point of reference to avoid looking stupid. “We’re on Highway 40, headed west . . .” Lucky for me, the outline of a sign came into view, just up the road. “. . . coming into . . . Santa Rosa, the City of Natural Lakes. Eight miles. See? Look it up.” I pushed the map at him, but he didn’t open it.
“So let’s stop in Santa Rosa. Bet they got a place to eat.”
I didn’t want to stop now that he’d been the one to suggest it, but my stomach felt hollow, and stretching my legs outside the car would feel like heaven, so I put my foot down hard on the gas, and we covered the eight miles in less than five minutes. The Pala was practically older than me and Finn and Rusty combined, but it was fast. Finn had made sure of that.
We pulled into the Comet II Drive-In, which looked like it had probably been around since the old Route 66 days. Though it was styled like an old-fashioned burger joint, it boasted “The Best Mexican Food in Town,” which was good enough for me. After I’d ordered half the menu, the girl at the pickup window seemed surprised to see only two of us in the car. I motioned at Rusty and fake whispered. “He’s hungover. Needs the grease.” She bent down so she could see in the car, and Rusty gave her a nod, sending a flush up her neck that bloomed in her cheeks.
“Y’all have a good night. And good luck with that hangover.” She winked at Rusty, who smiled back, knowing exactly the effect he’d had on her. Gag. I pulled out of the drive-thru before he could say anything back, and plunged my hand into the grease-dotted bag of tortilla chips.