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I shook my head, hiding my smile. ‘Big mistake.’

Brooke kept staring out at the surface of the water. I didn’t know what she was running from, but we’d entwined our fates now. Maybe she was thinking about the fact she wouldn’t be able to call her mom, either. Maybe, like for me, that was both absolutely terrifying and an enormous relief.

I didn’t look at her, but tentatively reached out to brush my fingertips against hers.

After a moment, she nudged mine back.

And my heart skipped a beat.

It had stopped raining when we got back to the car, but Brooke didn’t want to take the Mustang’s top down again until she was sure her leather seats wouldn’t get rained on.

When she started the car, the music came on automatically. We were still in the middle of the album.

‘I want to try to get as far across Oregon as we can before we stop for the night,’ Brooke said. ‘Then tomorrow we can cut into Idaho.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

‘Mostly I know the way. We just need to follow the signs for Salt Lake City, then Denver, then Kansas City …’

‘St. Louis?’ I asked, and Brooke nodded.

‘Yeah. Then Nashville, Atlanta and Orlando.’

‘You make it sound easy.’

She grinned. ‘I like driving. And road trips.’

I decided on the spot that I liked road trips, too. I hadn’t known that about myself, and now I did.

‘Me too.’

It felt good to say it out loud.

‘Look.’

I pointed at a sign on the side of the road. It was nearly five p.m.; time had passed quickly since we’d gotten back in the car and started making real progress across the state.

THRIFT&ANTIQUE SUPER STORE.OPEN L8.NEXT EXIT– 2MILES.

‘You wanna go?’ Brooke asked. ‘I could use a break, actually.’

‘Yeah, let’s do it.’

Brooke seemed brighter this afternoon, lighter now that we’d put Washington firmly behind us and we hadn’t seen any more police cars. But I couldn’t relax yet. It felt likeSeattle and all the blood and pain and bone-deep fear were still hovering in the rearview mirror. I hadn’t fully escaped what had happened – not when my brain decided to flash gruesome images at me as soon as I closed my eyes. I tried my best to shake it off.

When Brooke pulled into the parking lot, her shiny red Mustang was the only car there. The whole complex looked abandoned, apart from the thrift store and a hardware store on the other side of the lot.

My mom had shopped in thrift stores for most of my clothes when I was a kid, so stepping into one again felt like a nostalgic blast from the past. The smell of the clothes, the rows of jeans packed in tight against each other, the brightly colored kids’ T-shirts over in the corner. Mom always said I grew too fast to buy new clothes for me regularly. She wasn’t one of those eco-conscious hippies buying second-hand to save the environment, we were just dirt poor.

We split up, Brooke disappearing to go look for music, while I found myself browsing the aisles, brushing aside frumpy dresses and plaid shirts.

I’d never really had a sense of style. I wore whatever was cheap, whatever fit or whatever my mom bought for me. That meant jeans I’d picked up at the supermarket and baggy T-shirts that could be worn year-round, either with the sleeves rolled up or underneath sweaters in the winter. Buying nice clothes cost money, and I always handed a chunk of whatever I earned from my part-timejobs over to my mom, so there wasn’t much left over for fashion.

‘That would look great on you,’ Brooke said from behind me, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

‘Holy crap, Brooke.’

‘Sorry.’ She laughed. ‘It would, though.’