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“Fight that guy.”

I turn my head to look at her. “You heard what he called you.”

“Yeah, I know, but …” She pauses, then rolls to face me, too, even though I know she can’t see nothing in this dark. “People call you names all the time. And you don’t do anything about it. I used to think it didn’t hurt you at all, but now …”

I swallow. She ain’t gotta finish the sentence.

… but now I know you’re weak.

Maybe that’s not how she’d say it, but it’s the truth. I might be loud and crude sometimes, but I bruise easy, and I don’t heal real well. But I told her that a long time ago—that I was no Loretta Lynn.

“The only times I’ve ever seen you get into a fight—or get close—were when people said rude things about me or your mama. How come?”

“I dunno,” I say. “Guess it’s just easier to fight for people I love.”

“Do … do you love your mama?”

I’m surprised by her asking, and I think she is, too. Because she immediately starts talking again.

“Sorry. That’s an awful thing to ask. Of course you do. I just—”

“I … love her when she’s sober,” I say. “Lately that’s not real often, but … she’s not always so bad.”

Every so often, Mama would stay clean for a week. Maybe two, if I was lucky. And things would start out good. She’d offer to take me and Colt to the movies in the next town, even though we barely had the money to pay for electricity. She’d start a new job at the grocery store or doing telemarketing, and she’d come home all happy and excited about it. She’d even cook and ask me to help, the way Daddy used to, and we’d sit on the sofa together, watching our old black-and-white TV with the bad reception.

And for a day or two … or three, we’d be a real mother and daughter.

I loved that side of Mama.

But when she was using, when she called me a slut or asked my best friend for money, she got a little harder to love.

“Well,” Agnes says, “thank you. No one’s ever really fought for me before. Except Mama, I guess.”

“Your mama’s gotten into a fight?”

Agnes chuckles. “Not like that. Not with fists or anything. You know … like if the school isn’t helping me with the stuff I need or if some restaurant don’t have a braille menu—that’s when she fights.”

“Do you miss her?”

I hate myself for asking, because I ain’t sure what I want the answer to be.

Agnes thinks for a while. “Yeah. I do. This is the longest I’ve been away from her or Daddy. So it’s just kind of strange, you know? To be away from them. Even if it is what I wanted—what I still want.”

I don’t say anything to that.

For a minute, the only sounds are the cicadas and the soft hoot of an owl overhead.

“Hey,” Agnes says. “You brought that book of poetry, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you read one?”

I almost laugh. “It’s not bright enough to read.”

“Really?” She sounds surprised. “Wow. I guess sometimes I’m still confused by how much y’all sighted people can see. Maybe just as confused as y’all are about how much I see. So moonlight’s not enough to read by?”

“Maybe if it’s full moon. And a clear night. But usually not.”

“I guess I learn something new every day.”

We both laugh, then Agnes yawns.

“Probably for the best. We ought to get some sleep.”

“Yeah. All right.”

“Good night, Bo.”

“Night.”

But while Agnes starts snoring within a couple minutes, it takes me a while to fall asleep. It ain’t my first time sleeping in a car, but it never gets easier. Not because it’s uncomfortable—I can handle that—but because it’s too quiet.

I ain’t gone a night sleeping without the TV turned on in years. I think I started keeping it on after Daddy left. The voices, even turned down low, just made me feel safer. Less alone.

But now there’s no TV. Just Agnes’s snoring and some crickets chirping, and it ain’t enough to help me sleep.

I think of turning on the car, playing the radio, but it’d kill the battery. So I just have to lie here, in the quiet, trying to ignore that familiar ache of loneliness and the guilty voices in my head.

We had our first fight on New Year’s Eve.

It was only a couple days before Colt would be moving out of Mursey and starting his new job, so Bo had suggested the three of us go to Tanner Oakley’s party. The only trouble was, there was no way Mama would agree to me staying out until after midnight. Not at a party. Not anywhere.

I’d pretty much written off the idea until the Thursday night before, when Daddy had asked, “So, honey. I know y’all have had your differences lately, but are you staying at Christy’s for New Year’s? It’s sort of your tradition, right?”

“Uh, no, I …” But then it hit me. If my parents thought I was staying at Christy’s, I’d be able to stay out all night without worrying about a curfew or anything. So I cleared my throat. “I mean, yeah. We worked things out. I, uh … I think she’s volunteering at the church that day, so if you could just drop me off there, I’ll leave with her.”

“No problem,” Mama said. “I’m glad you two worked it out.”

“Me too.”

Good old Christy—doing me more favors now than in the ten years we’d been best friends.

Bo and Colt picked me up at the church, then we headed over to Tanner’s. The plan was for us to ring in the New Year there before heading back to Colt’s place. We were gonna have popcorn and watch movies and stay up all night.

Unfortunately, things went downhill before we got to any of that.

It was close to midnight, and Colt and Bo had stayed sober. Colt was the designated driver, but Bo, I realized, never seemed to drink. Me, on the other hand, I’d had a couple already. And while I wasn’t quite drunk, I think the combination of alcohol and me being sadder than I expected about Colt moving away was partly to blame for some of what got said that night.

“We could go in February. You can get a few days off, right, Colt?”

We were standing in Tanner’s kitchen, leaned up against the counter while George Jones’s “He Stopped Loving Her Today” played on a radio in the corner. Not exactly party music. I took another drink from my red cup, trying to hide the frustration I was feeling.

Bo hadn’t given up on that road trip to Nashville she’d suggested months ago. I’d tried to tell her more than once since then that I didn’t think it could happen, but I guess it wasn’t sinking in, because she just kept at it. She made all sorts of plans about the places we’d see and the route we’d take and how good it would feel to get out of Mursey.

And I wanted all that. I wanted it so bad.

Which was the reason I was getting so annoyed. It was bad enough to be trapped here, but worse when Bo kept acting like there was some chance of escape.

I just wanted her to stop.

“Don’t y’all have school?” Colt asked.

“Since when do you care about school?” Bo asked, laughing.

“Agnes might care.”

“Agnes wants to get out of town as much as I do.”

“Agnes can talk,” I said.

“Good,” Bo said. “Then tell him why we gotta go to Nashville.”

“No.”

“What?” Bo sounded surprised, but I didn’t know how she could be.

“I’m not going to Nashville with you, Bo.” It came out harsher than I’d meant it. Apparently, a couple beers made me a little mean.

“Why not?” she asked. “This was our plan.”

“No. It’s
your
plan,” I said. “There’s no way my parents will let me. You know how they are.”

“You ain’t even asked them yet,” she pointed out, still sounding confident. “It’s just Nashville. It ain’t that far.”

“Bo, I had to lie to even be here tonight,” I reminded her. “They’re never gonna let me go to Nashville for a week, during the school year. Not with you. Not with anybody. It’s never gonna happen.”

“You ain’t even asked them,” she repeated. And now she sounded like the one who was frustrated.

“All right,” Colt said, his voice tinged with a hint of nervous laughter. “Maybe we should—”

“I don’t gotta ask them. There’s no point.”

“You’re always talking about wanting to get out of Mursey.” She was getting mad now. Her voice raising just a little bit, but enough that I noticed. “Well, here’s your chance. Why’re we arguing about it?”

I slammed my cup down on the counter, sloshing beer onto the sleeve of my sweater. “Because not everyone can just take off for a week and leave the state, Bo. Not everyone can just decide when they wanna skip school in the morning and know no one’s gonna punish them. Some of us actually have families that give a shit about us.”

I knew the second I said it that I shouldn’t have.

I could blame it on the beer if I wanted. Or on my weird, secret crush on Colt making me crazy and clouding my judgment. But deep down, I knew it was mostly me. Me and my jealousy. Not of Bo’s situation with her parents—I didn’t want that—but of the freedom it gave her. Of the fact that she really thought she could just go to Nashville for a few days. No worries. No consequences. I didn’t have that. Nothing close to that. And the more Bo talked about these plans, the more angry and jealous I got.

But now, I’d crossed the line.

For a minute, no one spoke. There was no sound but the radio and some drunk boys singing in the next room.

Then Bo pushed herself away from the counter. “Happy fucking New Year,” she muttered.

“Where are you going?” Colt asked. When she didn’t answer and just kept walking toward the door, he hollered at her. “Bo! Where the hell are you going?”

“Getting a ride home!” she yelled back at us.

“Bo!”

But she didn’t come back, and he didn’t follow her. Instead, Colt turned to look at me.

I’d been having dreams about the two of us being alone for months, but this wasn’t quite how I’d pictured it happening.

“Damn it,” I said, looking at my cup still sitting on the counter. Then, after a second, I dumped it into the sink. I wasn’t gonna be having any more tonight.

In the next room, the boys started singing louder, belting out “Family Tradition” a cappella, at the top of their lungs and way off-key. It didn’t mix well with the heartache in George Jones’s voice on the radio.

Colt sighed. “Wanna get out of here?”

I looked at him. I couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t sound mad at me. He should’ve been, though, after what I’d just said. But instead, he just sounded tired.

There was a crash and some laughter from the room full of singing guys next to us.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m ready to go.”

I wake up with Utah’s tongue lapping at my cheek. I groan and look at her. She’s got this big doggie grin on her face, like she’s real proud of herself. Outside, the sun is up, light shining down through the tree. The bruised skin around my eye is throbbing a little.

“Finally,” Agnes says. Her seat’s already propped back up. “I was starting to worry you’d never wake up.”

I stretch and readjust my seat. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. We both needed some rest.” She combs her fingers through her short, tangled hair and tries to fix the shirt that’s sticking to her skin. “But we better get moving, don’t you think?”

She’s right. There’s a chance the police from that town are still looking for the two girls who got into the fight at the street fair last night. And my black eye would be an easy way to recognize us now. We’re lucky this road seems to be just as deserted and unused as I’d hoped.

I take Utah for a quick walk through the woods, letting her sniff around for a few minutes before she finally pees. Then she looks at me with big, expecting eyes, and I gotta look away. Because I ain’t got a thing to feed her.

“Don’t worry,” Agnes says, reading my mind as I climb back into the Reliant K. “We’ll be at your daddy’s in a few hours. Once we get the money from him, we can stop by a pet store.”

We’ll be at my daddy’s in a few hours.

That nauseous feeling in my stomach, the one I’ve been fighting for days, gets worse all of a sudden. And it don’t get any better as the ride goes on.

Agnes is feeling good. Smiling and laughing and talking about our future, even as I try to hold back the panic burps that keep rising in my throat.

“I had a real nice dream last night,” she says once we’re a good hour into the day’s drive. “We’d found this little apartment and we had Utah and a cat, like we talked about yesterday. And you were working at a bookstore, and you kept bringing home books to read. And Colt came to visit. Doesn’t that sound nice?”