“And you can do math problems in your head.” He let out a sigh. “I’m not saying another word around you.”
“Why? Are you hiding something?”
He smiled. “Of course I am. Everybody hides things. I bet you’re hiding things too.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’ll tell you a confession if you’ll tell me one.”
He nodded as though considering it. “Okay.”
“I can’t really cry on demand. That was a total lie. I actually don’t cry at all.”
I thought it would make him laugh, but instead his eyebrows drew together. “That isn’t healthy.”
“Right. I’ll add that to my list right behind driving too fast and draping snakes around my neck.”
He smiled, but his eyes were intent. “I think you’re the kind of person who refuses to take things seriously.”
This from a guy who made a living wearing tights. “I take some things seriously. I take Jeremy’s illness seriously.”
He glanced at me, reading me like he might have read a passing sign. “Yes, you do. And you’re used to plowing over obstacles to get what you want. It must be hard for you to finally run into something you can’t control.”
“I don’t need to control it,” I said. “I just need to find a way to tip the odds in my brother’s favor.” I was lying, though. I needed to control it. I needed to win this time more than I had ever needed to win anything. To change the subject, I said, “So what’s your confession?”
He eyed me over, and I could tell he was debating what to say. Finally he turned back to the road. “My confession is I’m intuitive too.”
“That’s a confession?”
“I didn’t have to tell you. I could have gone on figuring out stuff about you without warning you.”
Which made me feel as though he had just confessed to reading my mind. “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘intuitive’?”
“Intuitive means you can tell things about people, you know, like when they’re lying to you.”
“Oh, you mean like when you confessed to being intuitive, but I could tell that wasn’t your original confession. You meant to say something else and then changed your mind.”
He moved in his seat uncomfortably. “Right. Like that.”
“What were you going to say?”
“That I’m hungry. I think I’ll get off at this exit, fill up the car, and buy something to eat.”
“Oh, see—I can tell you’re lying.”
“No, I’m actually hungry. It’s almost eight.”
I put my hand on the back of his seat and leaned closer to him. “Come on, what were you going to say?”
But he didn’t even glance at me. He pulled off at the exit to Barstow, looked at his GPS, and told me we still had about 150 miles to go. Two hours. Then he said, “So, you never told me—do your parents know where you are?”
“Well, no. I sort of forgot to tell them.” I’d meant to call my parents when I’d first left the city with Steve. It was okay to tell them what I’d done now because Steve had agreed to come with me. They couldn’t yell at me for going off on some wild goose chase when I was bringing the goose back to meet Jeremy.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and turned it on. I’d missed three messages from my parents. I listened to them while Steve found a gas station. First I heard my mother’s voice telling me to come home. In the second message she sounded more frantic, asking where I was and why hadn’t I called. Didn’t I realize the last thing my parents needed right now was for me to disappear and not answer my phone? It was irresponsible of me, and we were going to have a long talk about my behavior when I got home.
The third message had been left only minutes ago. It was my father using his forced calm voice, which meant my mother was too upset to speak with me. He said he had spoken with Madison’s parents and knew about our road trip to California. He thought it was the most foolish thing I’d ever done in my life, and he couldn’t believe it of me. Didn’t I realize the danger I’d put myself in, that I’d put Madison in? Didn’t I realize the inconvenience I’d caused for Steve Raleigh? Was it really worth all of that so Jeremy could meet someone he saw on TV? Jeremy would have been just as happy with a trip to see Santa at the mall. Dad added that he wanted me to call right away.
While Steve pulled up in front of the gas station and shut off the car, I lay my phone in my lap and felt sick. I had really thought Dad would understand. A part of me even thought he’d be proud of me for doing something this big for Jeremy.
Steve opened the car door but turned back to face me.“I’m going to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat something anyway.” He looked at the phone on my lap, then back at my face. “Come on, you knew your parents would be angry.”
“Maybe I’m not as intuitive as you thought.”
He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “You knew—otherwise, you would have told them before now.”
I watched him walk into the gas station, but not even the sight of his broad shoulders and faded jeans could take my mind off the impending phone call.
I speed-dialed home. Jeremy picked up after about two seconds. He said, “Annika, where are you?”
“I’m driving back to Nevada. And, hey, I talked to my genie about your Teen Robin Hood wish. You’ll get that soon—before you go in for surgery.”
Instead of being excited, his voice brimmed with reproach. “Mom and Dad are really worried about you. Mom cried at dinner.”
Great.
I heard the phone being taken away from Jeremy and then Leah’s voice. “You realize you’re in a boatload of trouble, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Did you actually drive all the way to California to try and find Steve Raleigh?”
“Yeah, he’s with me right now.”
“Steve Raleigh is with you?” I could hear the doubt in her voice. “
The
Steve Raleigh?”
No, some random Steve Raleigh I found wandering around the street. Honestly, Leah refuses to believe that I am a competent person. In her mind I will always be perpetually thirteen years old. “Yes,” I told her. “He’s driving back to Henderson with me.”
“Uh-huh.” Still doubt. “Can I talk to him?”
“Well, he’s not actually with me this second. He’s inside the gas station buying something for dinner.”
“Ahh. Of course. Because celebrities eat at gas stations all the time.”
“It really is him.” I didn’t get to say more because my father took a hold of the phone.
He asked where I was, whether I was okay, and then laid into me, repeating everything he’d already said in his message, but with a harsher tone this time. This trip of mine was
irresponsible
,
dangerous
, and I’d
lied
to them about where I was going.
But I couldn’t stop thinking that he was just like Leah. He was mad because he still thought of me as thirteen years old. “I’m sorry I lied to you about all of this,” I said. “But I had to try and help Jeremy, and I knew you wouldn’t let me go otherwise.”
“Of course we wouldn’t have let you go. You’re never to go anywhere,
anywhere
without getting our permission first.” He said a lot after that, but my mind kept circling around those phrases. I realized that my parents had been holding on to Jeremy so fervently, they’d tightened their grip on me too. And perhaps I was just as guilty of clinging to them. But no matter what happened with Jeremy, I had to grow up and make decisions—even bad ones, for myself. I already had.
I said, “Dad, I’m going away to college in less than a year. Can’t you trust my judgment a little? I pulled off this impossible thing to help Jeremy. Can’t you be happy about that?”
There was a long pause. When he spoke again his voice sounded softer. “Look, I understand that Jeremy’s cancer has been hard on you. Maybe harder than your mother and I realized. I know we haven’t been giving you the attention that you need.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I was afraid he was implying this trip had been part of some nervous breakdown. I wondered what Madison had told them.
“We’ll be there in two hours,” I said. “Let Jeremy stay up until Steve and I come, because Steve’s going to turn around and drive back to California afterward.”
My dad grumbled about this, said to call him when we hit Nevada, then added again that we’d have a long talk about this when I got home. Which I wasn’t looking forward to. I snapped the phone shut and slipped it into my pocket.
Steve came back out of the store and handed me a bottled water, a muffin, a yogurt, and a plastic spoon. “It was the healthiest thing I could find.”
I looked at him, but my mind stayed back on my father’s conversation. How much of his anger was because he thought of me as a child? How thin was the line between a really good idea and a nervous breakdown?
“You haven’t had dinner,” Steve said. “You need to eat something.”
I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but I wasn’t hungry. When I still didn’t move, he added, “I’m not starting the car again until I see food going into your mouth.”
Which as far as threats went, was pretty effective. I opened the yogurt and took a spoonful. He gave me a satisfied look and went to pump the gas.
As I ate I watched him put the gas nozzle into the tank. Pumping gas was such an ordinary thing to do, it was hard to believe famous people ever did it. While the gas ran, he took a squeegee and wiped off the front window.
I glanced at the cars around us, wondering if any of them had noticed him. Everyone seemed oblivious except for one gray car. A man stood pumping gas, but his gaze kept returning to Steve.
I had seen that gray car behind us in the thick of traffic. I peered closer at the man, and my stomach clenched. I’d seen him at the restaurant too. He’d been the one who said I looked fourteen. He must be following us.
As Steve put the squeegee back, he took out his PDA and pushed buttons on it. I tried to get his attention, but he only looked at the PDA and not me. I would have gotten out of the car and told him, but my last trip out of the car in front of photographers had not gone well.
Besides, if Steve knew we had paparazzi trailing us, would he call the police again? How long would that delay us this time?
I stayed where I was, and in another minute Steve put the nozzle back on the pump and opened the passenger side door.
“Jim just e-mailed me my new lines. Do you mind driving while I go over them?”
“That’s fine.” I slid over to the driver’s seat and he got in the passenger side, still reading off of his PDA.
When I pulled out of the gas station, so did the gray car. I headed onto the freeway, every once in a while glancing in the rearview mirror. The car kept its distance, but its headlights never lagged far behind us.
Steve ate and read. I went over my options. How did one lose a car on the freeway? I continued to increase my speed. The gray car kept pace.
Steve chuckled. “Jim now has Maid Marion crawling out the window of Sir Guy’s castle and leaping into a tree. I wonder how Esme will like that?”
“Does she get pushed into a fishpond anywhere in the story?”
Steve shook his head. “Not that I can see.”
“Too bad. I suggested that plot twist too.”
Steve looked at the speedometer for the first time. “You’re going ninety-five. If you get pulled over going twenty-five miles over the speed limit, it’s a criminal offense.”
“Really? How do you know that?”
Steve smiled. “Don’t ask. Just slow down a little.”
“I’m trying to lose that car behind us. It’s one of the guys from the restaurant.”
“What?” Steve’s head swung backward to check. “Where?” But I didn’t have to point it out. He saw it and swore.
“I recognized him at the gas station. It’s the guy who thinks I look fourteen.”
Steve ran his fingers through his hair and looked back at the car again.
I asked, “How do you usually get rid of them when they follow you?”
“Usually I don’t give them interesting enough stories that they want to trail me for hours on end.”
“You must have some method for discouraging them,” I prompted.
“Yeah, I drive home and sit in my house until they get tired and go away.”
“Well, we just need to think of something else. Come on, what would Robin Hood do?”
Steve lifted one hand in exasperation. “Shoot him? Steal all of his stuff and give it to poor Saxon villagers. . . .”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. If you aren’t going to be any help, I’ll take care of it myself.” I slowed my speed way down.
“This is the fast lane,” Steve said. “Is your plan to annoy the other drivers until they—”
But he didn’t finish because at that point I veered the car onto the median that divided the highway so we could head back the opposite direction. And let me say, for a guy who can do his own stunts, you wouldn’t have expected him to grab hold of the dashboard and curse like a sailor as we drove over to the other side. I mean, okay, so we flattened a bush and some branches flew into the windshield. I could still see. And besides, bushes are resilient. It would grow back eventually.
We jiggled and bumped over the gravel to the other side. I glanced at the rearview mirror and didn’t see any headlights following us across the median. “Did we lose him?”
Steve still had hold of the dashboard as though he expected it to jump in his lap. “I can’t believe you just did that! Are you crazy?”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Why do people keep asking me that?”
He turned to stare at me, his eyes worried. “Who else keeps asking you that? Are any of them doctors?”
I put my foot down on the accelerator, heading the wrong way but getting there really fast. I needed a place to get off the freeway to turn around. “I am not crazy. Because at least when I have crazy things happen to me, I know they’re crazy. Crazy people would think they’re normal.”
Steve still had one hand on the dashboard. “You’re not reassuring me at all. Pull over and let me drive.”