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Middle of Nowhere – Hanson

I noticed the black van within thirty minutes of leaving Salt Lake City and silently panicked for the next few miles. How the hell had they found us again? And so quickly? I really thought we’d managed to escape without anyone noticing.

The car stereo was playing nineties pop music, and I couldn’t tell whether Brooke’s continuing sour mood was because of me, or because of what had happened.

I didn’t know if telling her about the van would make things worse, and, in the end, I did the only thing I could, and watched it weaving in and out of traffic.

It never got too close to us, just hovered in the rearview mirror a few cars back.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the blonde lady smiling at me.

Except it didn’t feel right to call it ‘smiling’, there had been no emotion behind her expression other than pure malice.

She knew me, she knew why I was in Salt Lake City, and she knew I was watching her.

Just the thought of her sent ice crawling down my spine.

‘Are you hungry?’

I jumped when Brooke spoke to me. We’d barely said anything since leaving the city.

‘I could eat.’ We’d skipped lunch after our leftover pizza breakfast, and my stomach was starting to notice.

‘I want a burrito bowl or something,’ she said in that decisive way I envied.

‘Sure. Sounds good,’ I said, going along with her preferences like I always did. I didn’t mind. It was more important to me that she was happy than that I got what I wanted, and, anyway, I didn’t have a better suggestion than burrito bowls.

We drove for another fifteen minutes before spotting a sign for a Tex-Mex place, and I waited in the car, looking out for the black van while Brooke went inside and ordered.

I couldn’t see it, and for a moment, I let myself believe we’d finally lost them.

When she came back outside, I followed her to a seating area set back far enough from the road that the sound of cars mellowed into a low hum, and the day had softened into a beautiful afternoon with fluffy white clouds floating across the endless blue sky.

I waited until she had finished eating to tell her about the van.

‘Oh my God, Mouse,’ Brooke said, putting both her hands over her face. ‘I don’t know what to do with you anymore.’

‘What?’

She scraped her chair back to stand up and pace.

‘First it was Chris supposedly stealing my room key, which I didn’t see happen.

Then it’s Chris and some woman trying to break into our room in the middle of the night when I was asleep.

Then this random woman is somehow in the exact same Starbucks as us. ’

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it again. She was on a roll.

‘Now,’ Brooke said, throwing her hands in the air, ‘there’s a black van that’s been following us since Salt Lake goddamn City. A van that I’ve never seen before, but you’re convinced was in the parking lot at the motel last night.’

‘What are you trying to say? That I’m making it all up?’

Hot anxiety tightened in my throat. I hated this. Hated arguing, hated conflict. But I especially hated being the one who was making Brooke angry.

‘I don’t know!’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t know, Mouse. Are you?’

‘No!’

I swallowed hard, begging myself not to cry. I didn’t know how to make Brooke trust me, and it stung that she clearly didn’t.

‘But you don’t tell me anything until it’s happening, or after it’s happened,’ Brooke said, more gently now. ‘Do you see where I’m coming from? All of a sudden there’s this new thing that we have to worry about.’

‘That’s because you don’t pay attention,’ I snapped, feeling hurt. I immediately regretted it.

‘Well, I think you’re paranoid,’ she snapped back.

‘I’m paranoid because you don’t pay attention,’ I countered.

Brooke slumped down to sit on the grass in one heavy movement, then laid back, crossing her arms over her face. After a second, I got up from the picnic bench and sat down next to her, cross-legged.

The grass was softer than I had expected it to be.

I plucked a single blade and ran it between my thumb and finger to smooth it out.

Sometimes I was good at smoothing things out, like with my mom.

I’d learned how to placate her over the years, and most of the time now I could avoid arguments altogether.

But Brooke was different. She bit back, and I actually liked that about her.

She wasn’t a pushover, and sometimes being snarky with her was fun …

it almost felt like flirting. I had a feeling this argument was about something deeper, though.

Something bigger. If we were going to stay together, we needed to trust each other.

I knew the obvious solution to the current problem – it was the same one I’d been sitting on since Brooke had picked me up.

‘I can –’

‘If you’re about to suggest that I drop you off somewhere, just stop now,’ she said, her voice muffled by her arms. ‘I’m not going to ditch you.’

An emotion I didn’t know how to name flared in my chest, and all of a sudden I wanted to scream.

‘You don’t trust me,’ I whined. I could tell I was whining, but I couldn’t stop myself.

‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, Mouse,’ she said, propping herself up on her elbows to look at me. ‘I don’t think you trust yourself. Your instincts are good, but you never want to share them with me, and I don’t know why.’

‘Because …’ I sighed.

‘Because?’ she prompted. ‘People haven’t believed you in the past?’

That was a little too close to home.

‘Yeah.’

‘And so now you think it’s better not to say anything at all, rather than say what’s bothering you and have someone tell you you’re being stupid.’

Partly that, and partly wanting to protect her. Brooke saw me in a way no one had before, and that was scary and exhilarating, and I didn’t want to lose it.

‘All right,’ I grumbled. ‘When did you turn into a therapist?’

‘Not a therapist,’ she said easily. ‘But I have been told I’m a pretty good friend.’

That stopped me short. I didn’t really have friends that I could talk to about these kinds of things. Things that worried me.

‘I don’t have a therapist. Or many friends.’

That made her laugh. ‘I’m your friend, Mouse.’

‘Because you’re stuck with me and have no other choice?’

‘Yeah,’ she said, but I could tell she was joking. ‘Obviously.’

We fell into a comfortable silence for a while, watching the clouds float past. Before this week, I’d never have thought Brooke would want to be friends with me.

I’d never have thought I’d be friends with her, too.

That was … good. It was real . Not a wild fantasy about a girl I liked, but something messy and imperfect, and real, and that was so much better.

‘Go on, then,’ Brooke said after a few minutes. ‘Tell me about the van.’

‘There isn’t much to tell,’ I said, still smoothing out the blade of grass. ‘I saw it last night, and then I’ve seen it a few times in the rearview mirror since we’ve been driving.’

‘Is it just a generic black van?’ she asked, and I nodded. ‘So how do you know it’s the same one?’

I didn’t, not 100 percent, but I was certain Chris was trouble and I didn’t want to take a risk. The van was following us, which meant they had some way of keeping track of either us or the Mustang.

‘Because it is,’ I said. ‘If there was a tracker on the car, would you be able to find it?’

‘Good God, Mouse,’ Brooke groaned.

‘Would you?’ I pressed.

‘Yeah. I restored that car from a rusted chunk of metal. If someone messed with it, I’d notice.’

I didn’t say anything to that, letting her stew in the silence.

‘Fine!’ she exclaimed, after a far shorter period of time than I’d expected. ‘I want to check it out myself, though.’

She sulked all the way to the next garage.

We passed garages periodically. Most of them were attached to gas stations and well advertised. I guessed plenty of people had car trouble on these long stretches of highway. Even though it was after four, the garage was buzzing when Brooke pulled in.

The lot was infused with the sharp, bright smell of rubber tires, overlaid with a funky fuel perfume. It was dirty and messy and there were pictures of almost-naked women on the wall, and Brooke looked like she was in heaven.

I had no idea how we’d be received – two teenage girls in a vintage Mustang – but Brooke had a confidence around her car that was completely unflappable, even in the face of dirty men in overalls staring at her like she didn’t have a clue.

‘I just need you to hitch it up for me,’ she said, her hands firmly planted on her hips.

As we’d driven south, it had gotten progressively warmer, so Brooke was now wearing denim shorts and a loose white T-shirt tied in a knot, exposing a flash of her belly.

She looked gorgeous , and I had to wrap my arms around my waist to keep my feelings to myself.

This wasn’t the time to make things weird between us, not when we were right on the precipice of starting to trust each other.

‘What’s wrong? We can take a look.’

One of the men stepped forward. He was wearing a white tank tucked into his overalls, which were open to the waist with the arms tied up. With his close-cropped hair and scruffy beard, he was almost too perfect. He looked exactly how I expected a mechanic to look.

‘I don’t need you to look at it,’ Brooke said sweetly. ‘I just need you to hitch it up so I can check something.’

Two more guys in the back of the shop exchanged glances.

‘Okay,’ the first mechanic said, holding up his hands. ‘You know what you’re doing?’

‘Yes,’ she said emphatically, already pulling her thick hair back into a ponytail.

In that moment, I didn’t feel like I could keep my feelings for Brooke hidden, so I went to the vending machine in the little waiting room and got myself a Sprite, coaxing a wrinkled dollar bill into the slot until it was finally accepted.

One of the other mechanics came in while the machine was spitting out my can.

‘Hi,’ I said, trying out being friendly.