Page 54

We don’t stop for lunch. It’s not worth it. Because even a fifteen-minute Wendy’s run could spell game over. Lunch means Claire

pulling up to the White Plains bus station Kiss and Ride with a giant bouquet and an old-timey boom box.

I try calling Nat each time we pass a new town, but she keeps sending me straight to voicemail. And she doesn’t respond when

I text her from Binghamton. If she’s on the bus I think she’s on, there’s no way she’s home yet. But I can’t stop picturing

the big Claire reunion that’s undoubtedly already in motion. I can practically smell the flowers from here.

“You good back there?” Walter glances up at me in the rearview.

I give him a forceful thumbs-up. “Totally.”

“Okay, because you look like you might need to...” He trails off.

“I think,” translates Mark, “he’s trying to ask if you’re about to pee-soak his car.”

“Eww, no!” I lean forward to swipe him.

“Oh, I meant vomit,” Walter says.

“Even worse!”

“Seriously, we can stop anytime,” Walter adds. “We really need gas soon anyway.”

“Aren’t we pretty close to home, though? Seems kind of silly to stop now.”

I just think it would be a little bit pointless, you know? I’m already seeing signs for the Catskills, which means we’re basically

right at the Hudson Valley already. And at that point, we might as well be pulling into the White Plains bus station.

“I don’t think you’re going to get the girl if we’re stuck by the side of the highway,” says Walter.

I stop short. “Um. What?”

“What do you mean, what ?” Walt asks, and Mark stifles a laugh.

“Get which girl?”

I stare at them both in the rearview. Walter glances sideways at Mark, who makes the same fucking face he always does, with

the smile and the glasses. But of course, neither of them answer.

“You mean Natalie ?” I ask, finally.

“Yes, I mean Natalie!”

“I’m not trying to get Natalie! Wow. Guys, I’m trying to rescue her.”

“Rescue her from... getting back with her ex?”

“Her horrible ex! Oh my God, don’t listen to Mark. Claire’s not—seriously, she’s not well-intentioned. She tricks you into thinking she’s well-intentioned, but that just makes her even more diabolical.”

“Right,” Walter says. “Or you’re just in love with her.”

Mark does a spit take.

“I’m not in love with Claire! Holy shit—”

“I’m not talking about Claire!” Walter’s voice is fully threaded with laughter.

“Well, I’m not—” I start to say—but it dies on the tip of my tongue.

I mean, I’ve thought about it. Of course I have. But you can’t convince me that’s not normal. I’m queer, and she’s queer,

and we spend about a million hours a week together. I’m obviously going to wonder about things. Like whether her ChapStick

tastes like it smells. But not in a gay way. Not necessarily.

Anyway, everyone has that one friend, right? Where sometimes it’s totally normal. And sometimes their smile makes you feel

like you’ve tripped up the stairs.

“You broke Amelia,” says Mark.

“I’m”—I blink—“in love with Natalie?”

“Are you asking us or telling us?” Walter asks.

I try to laugh, but it comes out choked.

Like I guess it’s kind of gay to keep a mental list of the most fascinating Natalie details, including but not limited to:

the way her eyes go soft when she listens to music. Her hair in the sun. The way she holds a guitar. Her cheeks, in smoothness

and in dimple. The way she’s secretly the funniest person I know.

I stare down at my phone. At my lock screen. I change it all the time, but right now, it’s from prom. Nat, me, Zora, and Mark,

in front of the Rosemann-Long hedges. Carefully cropped to remove all traces of Claire.

In the picture, our heads are almost touching. Mine and Nat’s. Well, for what it’s worth , she’d said, right before Mom snapped the photo, I think the hair’s really cute .

“What do I do?” I say, barely out loud.

“I mean,” Mark suggests, “you could talk to her.”

I press a hand to my forehead, like I’m holding my brain in place. Is it supposed to feel like this? Like my breath won’t catch? Like my whole body’s unraveling?

The way her smile makes my stomach ache. And how the sound of her laugh makes my brain spin out. Every time. Always has.

I feel like a bow, with the string pulled back. Arrow, locked and loaded.

“How much longer? We’re close, right?” I ask.

Walter shoots me a grimace-smile in the rearview. “Theoretically, yes.”

“Theoretically?”

“Well, now there’s some kind of slowdown? In, like, a mile or so. I don’t know what’s up.”

My heart drops. “You’re joking.”

“Could be nothing,” Walt says quickly. “I don’t know, sometimes it’s already clear, and it just hasn’t updated—”

“Can we go around it?”

“There’s no exit. I mean, nothing before the jam.”

“We are still on the fastest route,” Mark says, in a robotic GPS voice.

“Fuck. I can’t—fucking believe this.” I peer out the window. “It’s clearly sabotage! Claire, you did this!”

“Claire made the traffic?” Mark asks.

“She’s buying time to make her move! Making sure I can’t stop her!”

“Or maybe,” Walt says, “Natalie’s caught in the same traffic as we are.”

“Yeah, but.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “What if Claire’s not the only threat.”

“Define... threat,” Mark says.

“She could have met some girl on the bus! We don’t know who’s on there.

Could be an entire bus full of hot lesbians.

Could be a whole women’s field hockey team.

Like a full team of muscle girls with tattoos and raspy voices, and they’re all single.

Every last one of them. And Natalie’s strapped in there with them for seven hours, minimum. That’s without traffic!

Do you have any idea what could happen in seven hours?”

Walter pauses. “I can’t tell if this is an anxiety spiral or a porn premise.”

“Both!” I cover my face with both hands. “Holy shit. How is this even—”

A sharp, urgent beep from the dashboard stops me short. I open my eyes. “What was that?”

“Okay,” Walt says slowly. “So—the gas light’s just a warning, right? Like, there’s still gas in there for a while?”

“Um. I don’t know,” Mark says.

“I’m pretty sure. Yeah.” Walter glances at him. “It’s probably fine.”

I nod quickly. “Probably. Yeah.”

“Not like it’s gonna stall out in the middle of the road or anything.” Walter lets out a slightly shrill laugh.

“When’s the next rest stop?” I ask.

“Um. Four miles.”

“I swear to God, this is Claire’s fault.”

Mark twists all the way back to face me. “Okay, what’s the scenario here?”

“The scenario?”

“Like what does Claire have to do with any of this?”

“Are you joking?” My mouth falls open. “Claire has everything to do with this—”

“No, for real. I don’t get the rush. Does Natalie have some kind of first-come-first-serve girlfriend policy, or—”

“Okay, no. Obviously not.” My eyes flick upward. “But Claire’s going to do the Claire thing, and she can be very persuasive.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, though,” Mark says. “You can’t talk someone into dating you—”

“I’m not!”

“No, I mean Claire can’t talk Natalie into it. Unless Natalie wants to, I mean. And if Nat wants to date Claire—you really think the timing is

make-or-break here?”

“Wait.” I lean forward. “You know something.”

“What are you talking about?”

“With Natalie! Come on. What am I walking into? Is this going to be another me-asking-Walter-to-prom situation?”

Walter laughs. “That wasn’t a situation!”

“ Please. ” I hold Mark’s gaze. “What am I working with here?”

He puts his palms up. “Absolutely not. Nope. None of my business.”

“Oh my God, you’re no help.” I scowl, turning to stare out the window. But of course, our stupid unmoving car just happens

to be aligned with some other fuck-ass unmoving car. And of course, some bozo in the back seat hits me with an eyebrow raise.

I stare them down without blinking, until they turn away in shame.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought—”

Mark laughs incredulously. “What the fuck kind of mood is this?”

“I’M IN LOVE, REMEMBER?”

There’s a short, hanging pause.

“Oh-kay,” Mark says, finally.

I turn back to the window. “Where even are we?”

“Um, the Catskills? Near Woodbourne,” says Walter.

“Shut up.” I cover my mouth. “Marcus Aurelius, we went to camp here!”

“Here?”

“Yes, sir. Camp Kunin! Woodbourne, New York!”

I shut my eyes, and I’m there.

Nat and I used to sneak out of our cabin after dark sometimes. Not for sinister purposes; mostly we just liked to wander.

But a lot of times, we’d bring a blanket to spread over the grass of the meadow. Then we’d lie there for hours, making wishes

on stars.

Funny how I don’t remember a single thing I wished for. But I remember how we used to overlap our legs at the ankles. The

way it made my heart flip, like a hiccup. How I’d wonder, sometimes, if Natalie thought I was pretty.

Have I just been hopelessly in love with this girl for my whole stupid life? Has it always been—

“Nat?” Mark says, suddenly, and my brain goes blank for a second.

He’s on the phone. But not on speaker. It’s pressed to his ear.

“Oh no,” he says.

My heart jumps. There’s a pause.

“ Oh . Okay, good. Fuck. Wow.”

I lean forward. “What?”

“No, I think—not until later,” Mark says. “But—wait, where are you?” He pauses. “Yeah, where on 52?”

“She’s still on the bus?” I nudge Mark’s arm.

He ignores me. “Okay, yeah. We’re—I mean, it’s bumper to bumper, but I think we’re, like, half a mile behind you.”

My jaw drops. “She’s where ?”

“Walter and Amelia,” Mark adds. And then: “No, she’s still at Blackwell. Yeah.” Mark laughs shortly. “How is it your fault?”

Pause. “Okay, yeah. Yup! See you in a sec.”

“What was that?” I ask, as soon as he ends the call. “She’s here? Is she caught in this shit?”

Mark glances back at me. “Sounds like her bus is the source of the shit.”

“Wait.” My chest clenches. “She’s okay, right? What happened?”

“Not an accident! She’s fine. The bus broke down. They’re sending a new one, but apparently everyone’s just chilling by the

side of the highway right now?”

“Yikes,” Walter says.

“We have to rescue her!” I scoot forward in my seat. “Where is she? She’s close, right?”

“Yeah, she’s—”

“Are you texting her? Okay, wait, tell her—”

“You’ll see her in five minutes,” says Mark. “You tell her.”