Page 24 of A Summer to Save Us

W e drive several more miles and set up the tent somewhere on the prairie.

There’s a campground nearby with restrooms. For the first time in a long time, I pay close attention to my appearance.

I use the curling iron—which is more of a straightener—to freshen up the curls, but I can’t do it as elegantly as Mariah.

They are not even spirals, just large and small waves, sometimes turned to the right and sometimes to the left.

River doesn’t say anything about it, but I catch him looking at me every now and then when he thinks I won’t notice.

I still feel like I’m in another world, a parallel universe with different rules.

I don’t turn on the phone because it will destroy the dream I’m sleepwalking through.

It’s like a dream because I know so little about River.

That night, the third with River, I slept well and dreamlessly.

I wake up once and don’t see River next to me, so I open the dewy flap and peer cautiously into the night.

The moon casts its light like a wedding dress train over rocks and prairie grass.

River sits on his leather jacket, leaning against a rock with gigantic headphones on.

Muffled music seeps through—he must have turned it up to full volume—and he stares up at the sky, lost in thought.

He seems far away. Millions and millions of stars flicker above us, a sea of lights, but the most impressive thing is the full moon.

It appears huge in the empty landscape, just like you see in pictures of Africa’s savannah, as if it were about to sink into the earth.

I’ve only ever been an industrial romanticist, along with James and sometimes Arizona, but this vast landscape somewhere in Wyoming awakens forgotten things and dreams I locked away long ago.

I feel a longing within me that I’m unfamiliar with.

Until now, that longing always seemed too big for me, too dangerous, too futile.

I retreat into the tent and unfold the little paper swan that carries my Big Five on its body. I rummage around in the bag River bought for my things and pull out the pencil.

Without thinking, I cross out number three, Hug someone, and instead write next to it in pretty letters,

Kiss a boy in the moonlight .

I carefully trace the fold lines of the paper, which appear like veins, like the blood of my dreams. The thought makes me smile. I think of River and fold the paper back into a swan.

I hear noises outside; River is humming a tune to himself.

Because I can’t sleep, I play music at night.

Several days pass. River and I slackline, moving from one place to another like vagabonds. “Moon-and-star vagabonds,” River says once, and I mentally add it to my list of nice words.

Sometimes, we sit together at night and write on the notepad instead of talking.

I tell him about James and Arizona and the relationship we used to have—that the three of us pricked each other’s fingers and swore a blood oath that we would never let each other down.

How Arizona and I would sit for hours on Dad’s gigantic old poncho like conjoined twins, stargazing in the yard.

River never asks why it’s no longer like that, so I tell him a little more every day.

I also mention Mr. Spock, my only friend, but I leave out Kensington.

Strangely enough, our conversations on paper never feel strange, just natural.

But what strikes me is how little he reveals about himself.

He reveals what music he likes to listen to—Good Charlotte and Blink-182—what series he likes to watch— Money Heist and Riverdale —and that he lived in New Orleans for a long time and still has friends there.

He also wants to go to the Craters of the Moon in Idaho again.

For some reason, this is important to him.

I also notice how little he sleeps. Sometimes, I get the impression he doesn’t sleep at all, but that’s impossible. Sometimes, he eats a lot and then just skips meals. Sometimes, there are hours when he’s completely lost, but that’s okay because I feel the same way.

During this time, I am learning how to stand up on a slackline and turn around on the band without help—all things you need to master before venturing onto a highline.

What remains unsaid is why I absolutely have to make it onto a highline.

What remains unsaid is why he sounded so desperate when he spoke on the phone the other day.

I also didn’t mention the high-speed chase and the near-crash because there haven’t been any other incidents since that day. Still, the questions never stop.

It’s difficult when you can only think about things because thoughts are more disorderly than the spoken word.

Thoughts are more like dreams—not yet real.

They hang somewhere between the inside world and the outside world, and that’s why my life passes me by.

It’s a series of unsorted images, but for now, the dream state is too good to leave.

Once, there was a blue sky and sunshine, and River bought two umbrellas. We walked with them open through a small town on the side of the highway. It’s crazy how people stared at us, but with River, I don’t mind. I can stand the staring without tensing up.

I ignore my phone most of the time, but I can’t avoid texting Dad. And, of course, Mr. Spock.

He keeps asking about what happened to me at school, and I’m close to telling him everything simply because I’m so far away now. He’s merely a virtual person—maybe the only one I could tell.

Dad was all upset after the photo I sent him.

“Are you kidding me, Kansas? You should send a picture of yourself and not some girl with her boyfriend. Come to your senses! The whole hospital staff is talking about you. How can you be so naive and get involved with these guys? Apart from that, you’re missing all of your classes.

If you don’t come home soon, I’ll report you missing to the police. ”

I answered: The girl is me. Nothing more, nothing less, and I’m fine. I can breathe again. Please don’t call the police and let me get my life in order.

“You consider getting involved with these boys as getting your life in order?”

I’m only with one guy if you want to know exactly.

“Chester says otherwise. Everyone says something different. For heaven’s sake, Kansas!”

Maybe I’ll find Mom and move in with her.

Then he exploded, and I could no longer understand his words. A day later: “Just come home, Kans. Chester keeps asking me if I know where you are. He’s afraid for you. Let’s talk!”

Yeah, sure, talk. And now I know for sure that the Porsche doesn’t have a tracking device because if Chester knew where I was, he would already be here.

Since his last message, I only send a message every other day with the same text: I’m fine. I only listen to his voicemails to find out if he mentions the police again, which he hasn’t done so far. Of course not. Otherwise, more people would find out what a “bitch” I am.

I hint to Mr. Spock that I’m on the road with a guy, but I don’t say anything more.

He texts back. You ran away? Shit! Today, Mr. X took all my money.

I wanted to use it to buy Mom the latest Celeste Lynn Miller romance novel.

She loves that trash. Now I don’t have anything to bring her in the hospital.

This all pisses me off so much. God, I would love to come with you.

Are you alone with this guy? Who is he anyway? Where are you?

Of course, I won’t tell him.

Except for these messages, I now leave my cell phone off or in airplane mode because I’m too afraid that they’ll use it to locate me. River shows me where I can turn off the GPS, but tracking also works with cell towers.

The only question is: would they follow me? So, I only text my dad every other morning before we leave and then go offline. One of them could theoretically follow me, but they would never know where I’d be in the evening.

That afternoon, we drive north past Yellowstone National Park, and at some point, River stops at a supermarket. It’s dusk, and the wind has picked up, blowing empty plastic packaging across the parking lot.

“Let’s have some fun,” he says cryptically and opens the passenger door for me like a chauffeur.

What do you have in mind? I type.

“It’ll be a surprise.”

Riv, tell me!

“Since when do you call me Riv?” He raises an amused eyebrow.

Well, you call me Tucks.

“Would you prefer something else? Mary as the nickname of Maryland?”

I have to smile. I’ve been doing that a lot these last few days. Tucks is okay. Still, I want to know what we’re doing. We went shopping yesterday. I think of all the sandwiches, granola bars, jerky bags, and cans of food.

Luckily, we sorted out the money issue. River said he found a wad of bills in the Porsche, which I can certainly imagine when I think about who this luxury car belongs to. Chester probably deals drugs.

River grins slyly. “We’re going to have some fun! You look like you could use this.”

Was the evasive maneuver in the car the other day fun too? I dare ask for the first time.

For a split second, a shadow moves across his eyes like storm clouds, turning them stormy blue. “That was necessary. They can’t catch me.”

That confuses me. The people in the black Camaro?

He nods and looks at me seriously.

They’re making a zombie out of me! I think, but type:

Who are they?

“Hey!” River brushes off my concerns with a smile worthy of an Oscar. But he’s not as super casual as he acts. I know that for certain after the phone call I overheard. “I’ll tell you later, but not today. Agreed?”

What if I don’t agree?

He reaches over the door into the glove compartment of the convertible, takes out two pairs of mirrored sunglasses, puts one on, and hands the other to me. “Put these on.”

Why?

“It’s better that way, believe me!”