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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 – 2 MILES .

‘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 like Seattle 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-time jobs 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.’

‘I don’t think so.’ I set the dress back on the rail, not wanting to spend money on clothes when we were trying to save it for gas and food and motel rooms.

‘Try it on,’ she said eagerly.

The dress was black, knee-length, with tiny white and yellow flowers and a square neckline. It was pretty – unassuming, but pretty.

Brooke reached around me and pulled out the tag. ‘It’s, like, ten bucks, Mouse. Try it on.’

‘Fine,’ I sighed.

But I was secretly pleased. I’d never had this before – a girl friend to go shopping for clothes with.

A friend who was a girl.

Not a girlfriend.

I’d never had one of those, either. Although I might have had a few fantasies during our Chemistry lessons about Brooke being my girlfriend, of walking through the school holding hands, jumping apart when we spotted any of our Catholic high-school teachers.

Fantasies of hiding in supply closets to kiss between classes, of getting a prime spot to watch her play soccer for the school team.

I followed Brooke to the changing rooms that were an alcove with a scrap of fabric stapled over it to act as a curtain. I hated changing rooms, but no one was around except Brooke, and she’d already seen me in my pajamas.

‘What do you think?’ I asked, pulling back the curtain dramatically to show off the black dress.

There wasn’t a mirror inside the changing room, so I had to step out to see myself. Brooke held a finger in the air and twirled it. I obligingly turned a quick circle, the skirt of the dress flaring out around my thighs.

‘It’s super cute.’ She was leaning against the wall, chewing on the arm of her sunglasses. ‘Get it.’

‘Maybe.’

The girl in the mirror looked like me … almost. I recognized myself, even if putting a dress on felt like stepping into someone else’s life.

Brooke smiled, like she could read my thoughts. ‘You look really nice, Mouse.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, staring at myself in the mirror instead of at her, for once.

I couldn’t think of a time I’d ever felt really nice , and I was super bad at taking compliments, so I didn’t want to look Brooke in the eye.

‘Come on, get changed. My turn.’

I hadn’t noticed the monster pile of clothes she’d collected. ‘You have to be kidding me.’

‘I won’t buy all of it,’ she protested. ‘Probably.’

I shook my head and ducked into the changing room to put my jeans and T-shirt back on.

‘Do you have space in the car for all that?’ I asked through the curtain.

That made her laugh. ‘I told you, I’m not getting it all. But I didn’t exactly leave with my entire wardrobe. I need a few more essentials.’

How the hell bright pink Lycra leggings counted as essentials, I had no idea.

I swished the curtain back open again.

‘Plus,’ she said in a hushed whisper, ‘we have three and a half thousand dollars .’

I snorted with laughter. ‘Fine. I’m going to look at jeans.’

‘You’re not going to stay for my fashion show?’

‘Okay. I can do that.’ It sounded much better than browsing jeans.

Brooke wriggled excitedly before ducking behind the curtain.

‘Do you need anything else while we’re here?’ she asked.

‘No, I don’t think so. I brought enough clothes with me.’

I hadn’t exactly been thinking straight when I’d stuffed underwear and jeans and T-shirts into my duffel bag.

I realized then that I’d probably never see anything I’d left in my bedroom again.

That was the first thing I’d felt sad about since I’d left, which made me shallow, and maybe pathetic. It wasn’t like I owned a lot.

I folded my arms across my chest and swallowed hard, trying to keep all the messy emotions inside.

Brooke saved me from my own thoughts by stepping out wearing the pink leggings, a white tank top with sunflowers on it and a black leather jacket slung over her arm.

‘Try this. It’s too small for me,’ she said, thrusting the jacket out.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

I set my dress down on a chair and shrugged into the jacket. I could tell it was real leather – like the seats in the Mustang, it was silky smooth, worn in just the right way.

‘That makes you look so badass,’ Brooke said, so seriously I had to laugh.

‘I’m the least badass person on the planet.’

‘Not anymore you’re not.’

‘Those leggings make you look like eighties Barbie,’ I said, hoping to make her smile.

‘They make my butt look incredible,’ she said, twisting around to check it in the mirror.

‘I can’t argue with that,’ I murmured. I’d thought her butt looked incredible for some time now.

But being given permission to look felt different.

I pushed my hot, squirmy attraction for her aside.

Brooke didn’t need another person leching over her, she got enough of that from the boys – and male teachers – at school.

She laughed brightly. ‘Okay, the leggings are out. You should try this, though.’

She passed something around the curtain. I couldn’t tell what it was at first. It was like someone had taken a dozen bright yellow feather boas and sewn them together.

‘Is that … a skirt?’

‘Yeah. Isn’t it amazing?’

‘Brooke.’

‘Just pull it on over your jeans.’

I was sure even the slightest movement would cause the skirt to explode, but I did it anyway, unable to keep in my giggles. At least the waistband was elastic so I could get the stupid thing on.

Brooke came back out again, now wearing a black denim skirt and an oversized New York Giants T-shirt tied up at her waist.

‘That’s better,’ I said.

‘Yeah, I like it. And your skirt.’

I turned to the mirror and cracked up again. ‘I look like I plucked Big Bird.’

Brooke snorted, then doubled over laughing. ‘All right, all right. You can leave the skirt.’

I wriggled out of it. ‘Thank God. I’m going to have a look at the music.’

‘They don’t have Graceland – I already checked,’ Brooke said over her shoulder as she went to change back into her regular clothes.

I folded the black dress and left it with the rest of my discarded pile before heading for the music section. Brooke could get whatever she wanted, but buying stuff for myself felt stupid. I didn’t need it.

We were still the only people in the thrift store apart from the single clerk behind the counter, who seemed mildly bemused by us.

She was older than me, and way cooler, wearing vintage or second-hand clothes in a way that looked intensely fashionable.

She looked down at her book when I glanced her way.

The back corner of the store was filled with CDs and DVDs and battered paperbacks that had clearly been well read.

I ran my fingertips over the deeply creased spines, past the dozens of Dan Brown novels and crime titles, and plucked a copy of Jurassic Park from the shelf.

I’d never read the book, and it was only fifty cents.

The Harlequin Romances were a quarter, so I picked up three, choosing the ones with the most outrageous titles or swooning heroines on the front.

My mom would intensely disapprove of my choices, which only made me more determined to buy them.

Then I picked a few cassettes at random, going off album artwork and band names I recognized.

Brooke was already at the cash register when I finally made my way over to her, and I was relieved that the pink leggings hadn’t made it into her final pile.

‘I’m being good,’ she said, gesturing at the small stack of clothes that the clerk was folding. ‘Look.’

‘I believe you. I found some music.’

She looked the cassettes over and grinned. ‘Nice. And books?’

I spread them out on the counter, and she laughed brightly. ‘That’s quite a swing in genres you have there.’

‘That’s thirteen seventy-five,’ the clerk said, interrupting us.

‘What a bargain,’ Brooke said pointedly, handing over a twenty.

‘I didn’t say a word,’ I murmured. She elbowed me in the ribs. I held back the temptation to start laughing again and wondered when I’d become comfortable with her touching me. A week ago I would have combusted into a million pieces if she’d done that.

‘If you’re nice to me, I might let you borrow my new wolf-howling-at-the-moon T-shirt.’

‘What?’ I exclaimed, playing along with the joke. ‘How did I miss that?’

The clerk’s lips twitched, just the tiniest amount, and I thought she might be trying to smile. ‘We have a whole section of wolves-howling-at-moons T-shirts, if you’re interested.’

‘It’s okay, she said she’d share.’

I pushed my haul over the counter so the clerk could ring me up.

‘Five dollars.’

‘Even more of a bargain,’ I said to Brooke. ‘And I managed to pick up some classic literature too.’

By the time we left the store, I was absolutely certain the clerk was laughing at us. And I really didn’t care at all.

We dumped everything in the trunk of the car, and I stretched my arms over my head for just a moment, wanting to ease out all the aches before I got back into the passenger seat. It had stopped raining now so Brooke put the Mustang’s roof down.

‘Shit,’ she mumbled. ‘I left my sunglasses on the counter. I’ll be right back.’

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘Enjoy your sun salutations,’ she replied, and I grinned.

‘They’re not –’ I started, but she’d already disappeared.

I went back into the trunk to extract the cassette tapes from the bag so I could put them in the glove box with the others.

‘I can’t believe you fell for that,’ Brooke said, hopping into her seat over the top of the closed driver’s side door.

She dumped a package on my lap. It was the dress.

‘Brooke.’

‘Shut up,’ she said, pushing her sunglasses back down on her nose as she turned on the engine. ‘We have three and a half thousand dollars and it cost ten bucks. Totally worth it.’

‘Brooke,’ I murmured again, but my fingers were already caressing the soft cotton fabric. No one had ever done something like this for me – something nice, just to be nice – and any more protests I had faded away.